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My father goes on. ‘I’m afraid it might take her some time. She’s coming from Bristol.’

Three hours. Without traffic.

Ash smirks and I take a second to register that while Ava starts worrying a cuticle. ‘Dad, what?’ she says, looking over at Tristan, as if it were he who had said it.

Tristan goes to stand behind Ava at the table, resting a hand on her shoulder. ‘Father, I’m sure this isn’t necessary.’ He looks at me, his hazel eyes glinting with a silent promise to stand up for me.

‘The police have their protocols, and we have ours,’ says Father.

‘Are you very practised in being interviewed by the police, Mr Beaufort-Bradley?’ Bevan asks.

‘Perhaps if I were, I would consider it unnecessary.’

‘Father, what are you doing?’ My blood beats in my ears.

He gives me an apologetic smile. ‘This is how we do things.’ He looks more powerful suddenly, the wrinkles showing fortitude rather than age.

‘I-I’m not waiting for a lawyer.’ My mind is racing. Will he get in the way of the search too? Would they need a warrant without his consent? Why doesn’t he want to be questioned without a lawyer?

‘Your brother is in the public eye now,’ says my mother, and my father squeezes her shoulders. She’s good at knowing what to say when his attention isn’t directly on her.

‘Grandad, it’s fine,’ says Ash. ‘We followed Jenna to make sure she was okay. We tried to get her to come back to school but she told us to go away. That’s it.’

Ash thinks his grandfather is trying to protect them. Is that what’s going on? Why would Father think they needed protection?

Bevan smiles a hard little smile.

‘Really,’ says Ash.

‘If you’re absolutely sure, Ash. Ava?’ Tristan looks at his twins, one by one, then over to me with a raised eyebrow.

We have a silent code for communicating in front of Father. Tristan will stand up for what I need. But Father must believe it’s the twins swaying him, not me.

I realise I should’ve done everything in my power to talk to Father about Jenna before anyone else. I’ve left him wrong-footed.

‘For God’s sake,’ says Mina. I want to hug her. She stands up, takes a cup from my mother and hands it to Croft.

‘Thank you, Mina,’ says Tristan, his voice clipped. She seems to shrink slightly and reminds me for a second of my mother, after my father has told her off.

Theo looks at me and presses a hand to his chest in solidarity. But what does he really think? He’s a campaign manager. He’d prefer Tristan consult a lawyer before ordering coffee.

‘I think it’s okay, Father,’ says Tristan.

‘Please,’ I say. ‘Can we just get started?’

Bevan agrees and I show her to Tristan’s office. We sit and Bevan reaches across the desk. ‘I am sorry.’

My nose stings.

‘I’ll be as quick as I can, but I must be thorough.’

She asks me all the same questions I’ve been asked before and agitation rises up my neck. She asks about Glastonbury. She wants to know about Jenna’s real father and I explain, ‘He knows about her, but it was just a fling. He hasn’t even met her.’

All the same, Bevan takes his details.

I describe how quiet Jenna has become, hearing the truth of it.

I press my thigh and close my eyes to live in the pain but worry I’ll start bleeding again so I reach under my chair for the upholstery pin that pokes through. I drive it into the pad of my index finger.

I have to tell her about Georgia. That’s why my father wanted a lawyer – to advise us on what to say about Georgia – isn’t it? But we have nothing to hide. It’s all in police records anyway.

‘Look,’ I say. ‘I think someone needs to question a teacher of Jenna’s, Georgia Smith.’

Bevan looks up. ‘Tell me about Georgia.’

‘We went to school with her. She hates our family. But Mr Whitlow, the headteacher, says she’s developed a close relationship with Jenna – that doesn’t make sense. And look.’ I show her the message from the Redmoor College mother. ‘It can’t be coincidence that she’s turned up and now Jenna is missing.’

Bevan rests her pen on her pad. ‘I know it’s difficult, but we should try not to make assumptions.’

I feel tears start to form. ‘We’re wasting time. She’s taken my daughter. Please, will you send someone to talk to her?’

I explain about losing my job out of the blue, the stolen credit card, the deep, angry scratch along the side of my car. I tell her about the photograph of Dan and she asks to see it but I have to admit I threw it away.

Bevan sips her coffee. ‘Where did you say your husband was, and when is he getting home?’

‘He’s been in Exeter. He should be home in an hour or so.’

She studies my face. ‘Any idea who this woman might be?’

I shake my head.

‘And you think it’s true – he’s having an affair?’

‘They were having sex.’ I clench my fists.

‘Was Jenna aware of a problem in your relationship?’

I clench my hands. ‘I don’t know.’

‘How would you describe their relationship?’

‘He’s been her father since she was three.’ I’m about to say, If anything, they get on better than we do, but as I realise it’s true, it sticks in my throat. How many truths must I face up to today? ‘But Georgia Smith,’ I say, squeezing my fists tighter.

Bevan flattens her palms on the desk. ‘Interviews first. Then the search. Then Georgia. I promise.’

‘We’re wasting time,’ I say again.

Bevan cocks her head slightly. ‘Why does this woman hate you so much?’

I close my eyes. ‘She blames us for the death of her mother.’