“She went up and they were there.” When the girl aimed her defiance at the corpse, I kept my eyes on her face. “They didn’t chase her any more,” she said. “She ran away from them and fell off.”

“They must of been some runner if they went up all them stairs when she was in the lift.”

While the girl looked stubborn, this led to silence. “Do you know where they went after she fell?” I said.

“I saw them going to the church.” With the first hint of doubt the girl said “Going round there, anyhow. They couldn’t of got in, it’s nearly always locked. And then they weren’t there at all.”

“Never was at all,” the boy said, “that’s why.”

This time her silence was plainly final, and I could think of nothing else to ask. I was retreating when the man who had closed Hattie Dennison’s eyes said “Aren’t you staying? You’re meant to be her friend.”

“I wasn’t much of one,” I said, so truthfully it was dismaying. I made for my car, not looking back until I was safe inside. Spectators were raising their heads at the sound of an oncoming siren. I drove off as fast as I dared, because I wasn’t anxious to be interviewed by the police. Could I have prevented the tragedy if I’d arrived sooner? My sense of guilt was putting off the need to think what had happened on the roof.

I felt anxious to speak to somebody I knew. Not just anyone – my son. As the distant siren dwindled into silence I parked on the verge of the deserted road. Roy’s phone had hardly started ringing when he said “Hello.”

It sounded closer to a protest than a greeting. “Yes, hello,” I said.

“What, dad?”

This was even less welcoming. “Can’t I talk to my son?”

“I’m just waiting for the bus.”

I didn’t want to take this for a refusal. “Where are you?”

“Why do you have to keep asking that? The bus station.”

“Which one, Roy?”

“You’re talking to me like I’m little.” A pause suggested this might be his only answer until he admitted “Leeds.”

I heard a voice several times the size of his announcing a coach to Hull. Leeds was at least an hour away from me, and I felt still more remote. “Are you on your own?”

“Bell’s here now. It’s my dad. You were a long time, Bell.”

“Where was she?”

“Oh my god, do you want to know everything? Where girls go and we can’t.”

“I’m sorry,” I said, feeling unexpectedly close to hysterical mirth. “I think I’m a bit shaken up.”

“Why, dad? What’s wrong?”

“I’ve just been to see Miss Dennison.”

“Who?”

“The woman who saw Thelma fall,” Bella said.