He’s a shit, arrived promptly. Grady stared at it. Did that explain Francesca’s action? Was she blindly hitting out at Ruben? But how would telling Grady do Ruben any harm? Perhaps she was one of those toxic busybodies who used ‘ought to know’ as code for ‘I enjoy giving people bad news’. Grady was perplexed.

After a few minutes’ thought he typed in: What do you expect me to do with this information?

The reply flickered up on his screen: That’s between you and your conscience.

His conscience? Why his? People lie, he tapped out, pressing hard, as if he could transmit his anger and fear through the screen to the unknown woman who’d taken advantage of the public nature of his business page to send messages that had begun a deep, black dread growing inside him.

People also tell the truth, he got back.

Then the messages stopped. Grady sent several more questions but it seemed Francesca had left the conversation. He lay back in bed, trembling with frustration and worry. Laurel had spoken of bullying but Francesca had used the word ‘attack’. And what she described … If it were true … A fresh wave of nausea rolled over him. Poor Laurel.

He couldn’t do anything now but neither could he sleep. He switched on the TV to occupy his mind. So much of the late-night programming was about murderers and rapists that he had to search to find a nature programme about woolly monkeys instead. The screen was filled by tiny primates feasting on berries, hanging from prehensile tails, but what he saw was flashbacks to Laurel’s white face when he’d tried to talk to her after he’d had to miss that party at the village hall.

After a couple of sleepless hours, he sent a text for Mac to see in the morning. Must see you alone ASAP. How about this evening?

At just after six-thirty a.m. he received his brother’s reply: How about 8? Your place? Then: You OK?

OK, Grady returned, and dragged himself out of bed to face the day.

That morning, Grady had planned to work at home, producing sketches for a client in need of a surfer cresting a wave on the side of his camper van. He did settle himself at the table with his sketchbook, computer and pencils but all he could think about was Laurel. Laurel, emotional over the emptiness of infertility. Compassionate over his problems with his ex. Comfortable enough to kiss him goodnight and make a date for Saturday.

Saturday was only tomorrow but a date with Laurel now felt unlikely as last night’s messages ran through his mind like a ticker tape. … your brother attacked Laurel Hill … They waited on the playing field for Laurel to walk home. Mac and Amie grabbed Laurel and pulled all her clothes off her top half … You ought to know what your family did to her.