I park up about a hundred yards from my house and sit for a moment gathering my limited energy for whatever lies ahead, wishing I could just curl up and fall asleep in the car. It’s a tempting thought, but the police are there, waiting. If I don’t come out now, they’ll catch up with me eventually. And if one of the journalists were to spot me sleeping, I’d be surrounded in no time. No, I’ll just have to be brave.

I hold my breath and open the door, stepping out onto the icy pavement and heading towards my dark, sad-looking house with its overgrown garden and boarded-up first-floor window. It’s only a few seconds before one of the journalists notices me and strides my way, a hungry look on his face. Almost as one, the rest of them turn like a pack of wolves and begin eagerly filming me and snapping away on their cameras.

As I come nearer to the house, two officers get out of the police car. I recognise them: it’s Chibuzo and Marshall. Marshall starts speaking to the press. I don’t hear what he’s saying, until he raises his voice. ‘Okay, move back,’ he commands.

Of course, they listen to him. Reluctantly, they step down off the pavement to let me through – a small mercy – but it still doesn’t stop them yelling out their questions.

As usual, I don’t respond. Just keep my eyes aimed at the frosty ground, only occasionally glancing up to get my bearings.

‘Evening, Tessa,’ Chibuzo says as I draw closer. ‘We’d like you to come down to the station for a chat.’

The cold creeps through my coat and settles on my chest. ‘A chat?’ I say, my voice wobbly and high. ‘I’m really quite tired. Is there any chance I could come tomorrow instead?’

‘We’d rather you came now,’ she says firmly.

‘Am I under arrest?’

‘Not at the moment,’ she says, but I can detect a warning note in her voice.

‘Okay,’ I say, not feeling like I have much choice.

‘We can drive you there if you like,’ she says, gesturing to the silver BMW parked outside, its silent lights still flashing.

I consider how that might look to the press. Me getting into an unmarked police vehicle, being driven away. ‘I’ll meet you there,’ I say.

Chibuzo nods.

---

Less than twenty minutes later, I’m back in an interview room, the chill in my body spreading outwards to my fingers and toes, despite the stifling, musty heat of the room. Marshall fires up the recording equipment and Chibuzo runs through the time, date, who’s in the room and all that official stuff that makes everything feel ten times worse.

‘Mind telling us where you’ve been today, Tessa?’ she says, her voice distinctly less friendly than the last time I spoke to her at the station, her brown-eyed gaze unwavering.

I’m sure they know. Why else would they have been waiting outside my house? Fisher must have called them after I left. I decide I have no alternative but to tell them the truth.

‘I’m sorry,’ I say in a small voice. ‘I went to Cranborne. To see Dr Fisher. To explain. After everything that’s been in the news, I needed him to know that I didn’t take his son.’

‘James Fisher claims you trespassed on his property,’ Chibuzo says.

‘I didn’t want to,’ I begin.

‘So you admit to trespassing?’ she says.

I huff at her interruption. ‘I told you I didn’t want to. I would much rather have gone up to his front door and rung the bell, but as you probably know, the media are camped outside his place, too. If they saw me at Fisher’s front door, they’d have drawn all the wrong conclusions and I’d never have heard the end of it. So I went round the back and knocked on that door instead.’

‘I see,’ Chibuzo says.

‘I’m sorry,’ I say, hearing the petulant tone in my voice.

‘Did you realise at the time that you were trespassing on private land?’ she says. ‘I have to warn you that if you attempt something like that again, you could be arrested for harassment.’

‘I’m sorry!’ I cry, this time really meaning it.

‘For now,’ Chibuzo says, ‘we’re issuing you with a harassment warning. It’s called a police information notice, or PIN for short.’ She hands me a document.

I stare at it, the words a blur on the paper, as she carries on talking.

‘It states that you have been accused of trespassing and harassment. It lists the points of law and warns you that if your conduct continues, you could find yourself arrested.’

‘What?’ I say stupidly, not understanding what she’s telling me. ‘I didn’t harass him!’

‘Don’t worry about the letter too much,’ Chibuzo says kindly. ‘These PINs aren’t actually covered by legislation. They don’t constitute any kind of formal legal action, they’re more like a warning of wrongdoing. Telling you not to do it again.’

I suppose I should be grateful they didn’t arrest me outright. But I’m still shaken up by the formality of the document.

‘Why did you really go there today, Tessa?’ Chibuzo asks.

‘I already told you. I wanted Fisher to know that the stuff in the media is all lies.’

‘Don’t you think that going to his house could’ve been seen as an aggressive act?’ she says.

‘Aggressive?’ I stutter. ‘No, not at all. If you must know, I wanted to ask him why it took him so long to report Harry missing.’

Chibuzo’s eyes narrow and Marshall stops writing for a moment to look up at me. I notice the quick glance that passes between them.

‘How do you know about that, Tessa?’ Chibuzo asks.

Shit. I can’t tell her that someone from inside the force leaked it to Carly. That might make things worse for me. I think quickly. ‘One of the reporters outside my house told me.’

‘Which one?’ Chibuzo asks.

‘I don’t know. One of them shouted it out, they’re always yelling things like that.’

Her shoulders relax; she seems to buy this. ‘Well, you more than anyone should know how much credence to place on those tabloid stories.’

‘But Harry was with social services for days before his dad came forward,’ I persist. ‘Why did Fisher leave it so long to report him missing? He was—’

Chibuzo cuts me off. ‘We strongly advise against playing amateur detective. We have the facts, and if anything seems amiss we’ll follow up on it. You taking matters into your own hands isn’t helping anyone, least of all yourself.’

‘It’s my reputation that’s being dragged through the mud,’ I counter.

‘Tessa,’ Marshall says. ‘Did you take Harry last Sunday and bring him to your house?’

‘What!’ My chest tightens. I can’t believe they’re going over all this again. ‘No, I didn’t take him. How many times do I have to tell you before you’ll believe me? I never set eyes on him until I found him in my house.’

‘The thing is,’ Chibuzo says, ‘you going all the way to Dorset today, it doesn’t look good, no matter what your reasons.’

‘Okay,’ I agree. ‘I know, I messed up. I shouldn’t have gone. But I’m under a lot of stress with all those journalists camped outside my house. I just wanted to try to clear my name. But I get it, I made a mistake.’

‘Look,’ Chibuzo says, her tone softening once more. ‘Like I said, we’re just warning you that it’s in everyone’s best interests if you stay away from Dr Fisher and his family. Leave the man in peace, okay? Can you do that for me, Tessa? I don’t want to have to turn up at your house to arrest you.’

‘Fine,’ I say quietly, already feeling like a criminal.

‘Good.’ She ends the interview and gets to her feet.

Marshall stands to join her, and tells me I’m free to go.

---

I cannot wait to get home, despite the chaos outside my house. Today has seemed to last forever. I drive back on autopilot, cursing the police for showing up like that. Because of them, the press will now recognise my hire car. They’ll see me coming. Sure enough, as I head towards the house, the pack turns towards me. With a grim smile, I flick the headlights to full beam to blind them as a little ‘fuck you’. My small triumph doesn’t last very long, as they soon crowd around the car. I fling the door open, hoping it will hit one of them in the face or, even better, the nuts. But they’re wise to it, and move back out of the way just in time.

‘What did the police want, Tessa?’

‘Are you in trouble?’

‘Can you tell us where you’ve been all day?’

I stride past, head down, trying to block out their cries. Surely they’ll give up soon and go and pester someone else. Can’t they tell this story is dead? Over. Finished. I have the feeling that this really could be the end of it all. That I’ll never know why Harry was brought to my house. That it will be one of those mysteries I’ll simply have to live with.

I walk through my gate and up to the front door, desperate to get inside. To sit down and organise my thoughts. At last, I close the door behind me and lean back against it for a moment, listening to the blood whooshing inside my head. The house is damp, cold as an ice box, the hall light no comfort. I must have left it on this morning. I walk through to the kitchen. It seems like weeks since I was last here. I can hardly believe it was just this morning. In fact, time has been playing strange tricks on me all week. It’s only been five days since Harry showed up at my house and turned my life sideways yet it feels like months ago.

I freeze as I hear a soft thump from upstairs. What the hell was that? I strain my ears. Voices upstairs… burglars? It can’t be. No one would be crazy enough to break into my house with all that lot outside. My heart judders as I hear the creak of a door, then footsteps on the landing.

Whoever it is, they’re about to come down the stairs.