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killed herself.’

The words vibrated in Ursula’s head like a plucked string. She couldn’t make sense of them. She smiled and shook her head. ‘You must have got it wrong, Bill. You’ve misread it.’

‘No mistake, my love. I double-checked it on half a dozen sites. Her body was washed up by the mouth of the River Exe. Looks like she walked into the river with a pocketful of stones to weigh her down.’

‘The River Exe? Isn’t that in Devon, somewhere like that?’ She gave a false laugh. ‘There’s obviously been a mistake. Jasmine Burton lives in Birmingham.’

Bill shook his head. ‘She’d been staying down there in a friend’s cottage. Apparently she wanted to get away from it all. The trolling, it was starting to get her down, one of her workmates said. Out there on her own, it must have got to her.’

Ursula turned away, putting her mug down with a clatter. ‘I don’t believe it. I can’t believe it. We were only emailing last week.’ Her fingers started clattering over the keys as she summoned up the news sites she visited most often. The BBC, the Guardian , the Huffington Post , the Independent , the Daily Mail – they all told the same story as Bill. He sat in silence as she browsed the screen. ‘Poor woman,’ Ursula said at last, her strong voice made small. ‘She seemed so tough. Like she’d never lie down and give in. If she reached the end of her rope… Well, it’s a scary thought.’

Bill hauled himself out of the chair and put his hand on her shoulder. ‘Thing is, my love, she was on her own. According to what I read, anyway. She wasn’t living with anyone. No kids. And no matter how supportive your colleagues and your mates are, when you shut that front door behind you at night and it’s you all alone with the nutter-sphere, it’s hard not to feel the walls closing in. It’s not like that for you. You’ve got me, our family, our friends. Plenty of validation when you start to wonder about the crap that’s being sent your way. Jasmine didn’t have that safety net.’

Ursula reached up and grasped his hand. ‘I know. But all the same… It feels like the bastards have won.’

‘Totally get that. And I’m sorry for what Jasmine went through. But you’re not Jasmine and they’re not going to wear you down like that.’

His stout confidence should have made her feel better. But as she sat there staring at the screen, all Ursula could think about was the cold creeping up Jasmine’s body as she walked into the estuary, the mud sucking at her feet, the steady rise of the water covering mouth then nose then eyes, the instinctive gasp for air, the choke and struggle as the river claimed her for itself, the terrifying moment when she knew it was too late to change her mind.

And then the peace.

She’d had the foresight to grab her dog-walking clothes the night before and she quickly dressed in the warm weatherproof gear that blended in with the landscape and the locals. There was a dull ache at the base of her skull and her body craved coffee. But she wasn’t ready to confront her overnight guest yet. Fresh air and a brisk walk up the moor at the back of the house would give her the upper hand.

She deliberately chose a route that took her in the opposite direction from George Nicholas’s house. The last thing she wanted was to have to explain how her evening had ended. He’d have to know, of course. But she couldn’t face him yet.

Half an hour later, she came down the hill at a good pace, moving swiftly over the bent yellow grass from tussock to tussock, the dog ranging round her in wide loops. The cold air had brought colour to her cheeks and seen off the pain in her head. So many mornings like this, a prelude to a day of hard work and mindlessness.

The light in her kitchen window gave her a jolt. She’d never seen that before, coming off the hill. The barn was always in darkness. It was an unwelcome reminder that today wasn’t going to be like all the others.