Mum always told us that good things happen to good people. Guess what? She doesn’t say that any more.

I’m sorry if this blog has just got really depressing but that’s how our life is right now. My family, the eternal losers. It’s not a story, really, is it? It’s a flipping cautionary tale.

The police came on the fourth day after Norman’s accident. Jess watched the officer coming up the garden path through the living-room window and for one stupid minute she thought she had come to tell her Norman had died. A young woman; red hair pulled back in a neat pony tail. One Jess hadn’t seen before.

She was coming in response to reports about an RTA, she said, as she opened the door.

‘Don’t tell me,’ Jess said, walking back down the hall to the kitchen. ‘The driver’s going to sue us for damaging his car.’ It was Nigel who had warned her this might happen. She had actually started to laugh when he said it.

The officer looked at her notebook. ‘Well, not at the moment, at least. The damage to his car seems to be minimal. And there have been conflicting statements as to whether he was exceeding the speed limit. But we’ve had various reports about what happened in the lead-up to the accident and I was wondering if you could clarify a few things?’

‘What’s the point?’ Jess said, turning back to the washing-up. ‘You lot never take any notice.’

She knew how she sounded: like half the residents of this estate – antagonistic, braced for confrontation, hard-done-by. She no longer cared. But the officer was too new, too keen, to play that game.

‘Well, do you think you could tell me what happened anyway? I’ll only take five minutes of your time.’

So Jess told her, in the flat tones of someone who no longer expected to be believed. She told her about the Fishers, and their history with them, and the fact that she now had a daughter who was afraid to play in her own garden, even though Jess had repaired the hole in the fence. She told her about her daft cow-sized dog who was racking up bills at the vet’s roughly equivalent to if she had bought him a suite in a luxury hotel. She told her how her son’s sole aim now was to get as far from this town as possible, and how, thanks to the Fishers having made a misery of his exam year at school, this was unlikely to happen.

The officer didn’t look bored. She stood, leaning against the kitchen cabinets, and taking notes. Then she asked Jess to show her the fence. Jess didn’t bother going outside. ‘There,’ she said, pointing through the window. ‘You can see where I’ve mended it, by the lighter wood. And the accident, if that’s what we’re calling it, happened about fifty yards up on the right.’ She watched her walk outside, and turned back to the sink. Aileen Trent, pulling her shopping trolley, gave her a cheery wave over the hedge. Then, when she registered who was in the garden, she ducked her head and walked swiftly the other way.

PC Kenworthy was out there for almost ten minutes. Jess almost forgot about her. She was unloading the washing-machine when the officer let herself back in.

‘Can I ask you a question, Mrs Thomas?’ she said, closing the back door behind her.

‘That’s your job,’ Jess said.

‘You’ve probably been through this a dozen times already. But your CCTV camera. Does it have any film in it?’

Jess watched the footage three times after PC Kenworthy called her into the station, sitting beside her on a plastic chair in Interview Suite Three. It chilled her every time: the tiny figure, her sequined sleeves glinting in the sun, walking slowly along the edge of the screen, pausing to push her spectacles up her nose. The car that slows, the door that opens. One, two, three of them. Tanzie’s body language. The slight step backwards, the nervous glance behind, back down the road. The raised hands. And then they’re on her and Jess cannot watch.

‘I’d say that was pretty conclusive evidence, Mrs Thomas. And on good-quality footage. The CPS will be delighted,’ she said cheerfully, and it took Jess several seconds to grasp that she was serious about this. That somebody was actually taking them seriously.

At first Fisher had denied it, of course. He said they were ‘having a joke’ with Tanzie. ‘But we have her testimony. And two witnesses who have come forward. And we have screenshots of Jason Fisher’s Facebook account discussing how he was going to do it.’

‘Do what?’

Her smile faded for a minute. ‘Something not very nice to your daughter.’

Jess didn’t ask anything else.

They had received an anonymous tip that he used his name as his password. The div, PC Kenworthy said. She actually said ‘div’. ‘Between us,’ she said, as she let Jess out, ‘that hacked evidence may not be strictly admissible in court. But let’s just say it gave us a leg up.’

The case was reported in vague terms at first. Several local youths, the local papers said. Arrested for assault of a minor and attempted kidnap. But they were in the newspapers again the following week, and named. Apparently the Fisher family had been instructed to move out of their council house. The Thomases were not the only people they had been harassing. The housing association was quoted as saying the family had long been on a last warning.

Nicky held up the local newspaper over tea and he read the story aloud. They were all silent for a moment, unable to believe what they had heard.

‘It actually says the Fishers have to move somewhere else?’

‘That’s what it says,’ Nicky said.

‘But what will happen to them?’ Jess said, her fork still halfway to her mouth.

‘Well, it says here, they’re going to move to Surrey, to near his brother-in-law.’

‘Surrey? But –’

‘They’re not the housing association’s responsibility any more. None of them. Jason Fisher. And his cousin and his family. They’re moving in with some uncle. And, even better, there’s an exclusion order preventing them from returning to the estate. Look, there’s two pictures of his mum crying and saying they’ve always been misunderstood and Jason wouldn’t hurt a fly.’ He pushed the newspaper across the table towards her.

Jess read the story twice, just to check he’d understood it correctly. That she’d understood it correctly. ‘They actually get arrested if they come back here?’

‘See, Mum?’ he said, chewing on a piece of bread. ‘You were right. Things can change.’

Jess sat very still. She looked at the newspaper, then back at him, until he realized what he had called her, and she could see him colouring, hoping she wouldn’t make a big deal out of it. So she swallowed and then she wiped both her eyes with the heels of her palms and stared at her plate for a minute before she began eating again. ‘Right,’ she said, her voice strangled. ‘Well. That’s good news. Very good news.’

‘Do you really think things can change?’ Tanzie’s eyes were big and dark and wary.

Jess put down her knife and fork. ‘I think I do, love. I mean, we all have our down moments. But, yes, I do.’

And Tanzie looked at Nicky and back at Jess, and then she carried on eating.

Life went on. Jess walked to the Feathers on a Saturday lunchtime, hiding her limp for the last twenty yards, and pleaded for her job back. Des told her he’d taken on a girl from the City of Paris. ‘Not the actual city of Paris. That would be uneconomical.’

‘Can she take apart the pumps when they go wrong?’ Jess said. ‘Will she fix the cistern in the men’s loos?’

Des leant on the bar. ‘Probably not, Jess.’ He ran a chubby hand through his mullet. ‘But I need someone reliable. You’re not reliable.’

‘Give me a break, Des. One missed week in two years. Please. I need this. I really need this.’

He said he’d think about it.

The children went back to school. Tanzie wanted Jess there to pick her up every afternoon. Nicky got up without her having to go in six times to wake him. He was actually eating breakfast when she got out of the shower. He didn’t ask to renew his prescription of anti-anxiety medication. The flick on his eyeliner was point perfect.