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I watch from my bedroom window and see Mel’s car getting closer. Good. I’m starving and supper smells super-scrummy. Also, I need to talk to Mel again. And Mum. About how to handle Dad.

Tomorrow, I get my exam results. Eek! Sooo nervous. But I’m excited too because I worked hard and I want so badly to get everything going now. Out in the open.

I think it surprised my parents that I want to go back to Devon for my sixth form. I haven’t had the courage yet to tell them why. My big plan. I tried to talk to Mel last night because I need her help. But she said – You need to talk to your father first, Amelie. Promise me?

So tonight’s the night.

It’s going to be hard because I love him so much and I know this is going to scare him to death. But I also feel it’s time. And I need Mel’s help before she goes home. To make Dad see that it really will be OK.

When we moved here, I think Dad imagined we would stay forever. Put the past behind us. I did too. At first we were all just in shock. Wanted to feel safer. It felt the right thing to be somewhere completely different. And I’ve loved it, I honestly have. The great weather. The great food. And yes. Feeling safe.

It’s cool to be bilingual too. Like a superpower. And so much easier than I expected. I picked an international school so I could study in English for GCSEs. None of us realised how quickly I’d become fluent in French.

But being here, as lovely as it is, has come to feel like a bubble. Not quite real. Like hiding now. And sixteen-year-old me wants something more. I’ve figured it all out in my head now. Which is why I need to explain it to my dad.

I tried telling him a couple of years ago that I want to be a detective. You should have seen his face! The blind panic. He closed the subject down; said I could be anything I wanted. He didn’t want to talk about it because I could see that it terrified him.

My father has this idea, you see, that he is to blame for all the bad things that have happened to our family. He thinks he can fix that by hiding us away in rural France. And giving up the work he loves.

But I know that he misses it. His old work. I see it when he talks to Mel. Asks about her cases.

I’ve tried to talk to Mum about it all and I think she gets it. But she’s scared too. Be patient with us, Amelie.

The problem is they both want to wrap me up in cotton wool. But I’m nearly an adult now. They can’t keep me safe forever. Very soon that will be my job. Not theirs.

I think the biggest problem between the three of us – and I’ve only figured this out properly in this past year – is I haven’t told them yet what happened in the wood with Olivia’s father. I’ve been too afraid. I knew it would hurt them, the detail, so I used to shut it down. And when they asked, I pretended not to remember. But that isn’t true.

I think about it all ... the ... time. And it’s why I’ve made up my mind. That I’m going to do my A levels in England. I am going to do a degree in criminology.

And I am going to become a detective.

What my father doesn’t realise is that it’s because of him I’m here at all. He thinks it was his fault I was in danger. He doesn’t realise the truth. That he saved me.

When I was in that wood with John Miles, I wasn’t brave at all. Not at first. I was so afraid, I wet myself. He made me march alongside him deep into the wood. I was certain he was going to shoot me and when he lifted the shotgun and cocked it, I turned to face him. I don’t know why. Not bravery. Just instinct.

I thought – this is it . And I remember worrying how much it would hurt. And I was thinking about my parents. How awful it would be to never see them again.

And then he surprised me.

‘Run,’ he said.

I didn’t move. I was too scared.

‘I’m going to let you go, Amelie,’ he said. ‘Now run. Run! ’

That’s when it all changed. And clicked in my brain.

I looked into his eyes and I just knew. He had no intention of letting me go. I could read his face. His weird and horrid face. He was a coward, that’s all. He didn’t want to shoot me while I was looking at him. He wanted me to run so he could shoot me in the back.

I remembered two things. Like this flash of pictures. First a video on socials of a big cat chasing a guy along a dirt track. I was sure it was going to kill him. But the man walked backwards, throwing rocks. He kept facing it and in the end, the big cat ran away. I googled it. Big cats like to pounce from behind. They don’t like to be looked in the eye.

That’s when the much bigger second thought landed.

You need to run, Amelie. Go on. Run.

I remembered my dad and the cathedral. It was as if I was right back there. So little, in town with Mum and Dad and all these people running down the High Street. They were shouting there was a gunman in the cathedral. Everyone yelling. Run. Run away.

I was petrified. Dad told Mum to pick me up and run to safety. But he didn’t run with us. He turned the other way. He pushed his way back through the crowds towards the cathedral. Towards danger. To see if he could help.

At the time I hated him for that. Selfishly, I wanted him to run away with us.

But he refused. And he saved people that day.

So in that wood, when Olivia’s father gave me one last chance to run away, I turned to him and said, ‘No.’

He looked confused. ‘I mean it,’ he said. ‘You need to run, Amelie.’

‘ No ,’ I said again. I stared him right in the face and I thought of my dad. ‘ I won’t. ’

His face was so angry. He pointed the gun at me and I waited for the pain. I waited and waited. I tried to believe in heaven; that I would see my parents again in heaven one day. But I didn’t move.

He seemed not to know what to do. His face changed. Suddenly he raised the gun and fired two shots into the air. Then he grabbed me roughly by the arm and marched me back to his car. He put a gag on me and bound my hands and threw me into the boot. And that’s where the police found me.

So now I think – and as I watch Mel’s car pull up, I know that I need to find the right words to explain this to my father tonight – that the only reason I survived what happened with Olivia’s father, is because of him. The man who doesn’t run.

Which is why I’ve made up my mind.

I am going to be a detective.

And all the mad and the bad and the sad excuses for human beings out there with evil on their minds had better know this.

I am my father’s daughter.

And I will . . . not . . . run.