Sure enough, around 7am the following morning, the newspaper reporters and television cameras returned and took up their pitches outside the house. It seemed strange how quickly we had fallen into a pattern of living – another day camped out on the street for the press pack, another day of waiting in the kitchen of our blacked-out house for us.

As usual, the post arrived early. To add to all of the madness in the street, we started receiving letters from complete strangers. They would have the words ‘To the parents of Gemma Grant, Eastbourne’ on the front of them and yet, unbelievably, they still somehow got to us, like those letters addressed to ‘Father Christmas, Lapland’ you hear about.

I received some saying ‘God will protect your daughter, God will keep her safe’. I’m not a religious person, but I didn’t mind well-wishers saying things like that. It was comforting to know that Gemma’s story had touched them enough for them to take the time to write to us.

But not all the letters were positive. Some, frankly, were just plain disturbing. One in particular I remember was from a retired schoolteacher, who wrote: ‘You need to let your daughter be with this man. She loves him and you should let the relationship continue.’ He said it wasn’t important what I believed and that Gemma was entitled to do what she wanted.

I couldn’t believe how some people felt they were entitled to wade in with opinions on good parenting. I received letters, some from other parents of teenage children who should know better, saying, ‘She’s nearly sixteen, she’s free to do what she wants’. To read stuff like this was so upsetting. How could these people not understand that this was abuse, not romance? Gemma had only turned fifteen in June, so presumably the ‘relationship’ had started when she was still fourteen.

Gemma was my little girl; Jeremy Forrest was a predatory monster.

Being a small neighbourhood, I knew the postman, and he would look a bit sheepish when he knocked on the door with armfuls of mail. He was very respectful, though, and even months later would ask us if we were OK and tell us if reporters were still hanging around. It was incredible, the amount of support we got from the most unlikely people.

Darcee arrived quite early and helped me get through all the ‘normal’ things – getting Lilly settled, getting Alfie off to school, and so on – and tried to make me eat something. I’d been surviving on coffee for the past few days; I just wasn’t interested in food. Over the course of that week, I lost a stone, but I can assure you that it is not a diet I would recommend.

One of the first phone calls I received that day was from the Sussex Police media team, telling me that the BBC1 programme Crimewatch was planning to run a report on Gemma that night and asking me if I would be prepared to appear on it. As before, my immediate reaction was: ‘Will it help bring back my daughter?’ The police media team were very honest with me. They said it wouldn’t necessarily make a difference, and there was already much going on in France which the press didn’t know about, but equally it wouldn’t do any harm either. I didn’t like the idea of leaving the house for the day – Gemma could call at any time, after all, and I had the other children to consider – so it was agreed that Max would do it instead.

Darcee and I spent the remainder of the day waiting for news. At that stage, I felt as if everything was out of my control and that I had pretty much done all that I could. I logged on to Facebook and tried to catch up with everything that was happening on social media. There were lots of messages from well-wishers and an old school friend of Gemma’s had set up a Facebook support group. She became my eyes and ears as to what was happening on social media and was good at warning me if someone was being more interested in the case than they should be – she could spot disturbed people very quickly!

The press, meanwhile, had found more songs online that Forrest had written for Gemma. They also started to piece together Twitter conversations that Gemma and Forrest had shared and random comments that she had posted on Facebook. If there was anything to be dug up, it seemed the newspapers managed to find it.

At 3pm that day, Forrest’s parents, Jim and Julie, appeared at a press conference at Lewes police station. I only got to see it much later in the day and, to be honest, I wasn’t all that interested in what they had to say; I was more interested in what they looked like and whether they seemed like good people. I could instantly see the pain on their faces. I could see his mother’s fear, the worry, the strain and devastation. I could hear his father’s voice shaking as he tried to hold it together. I walked away from the TV with a very saddened heart. What a mess …

Following Mark Ling’s conversations the day before, his colleague, Neil Ralph, called to ask if I would send Louise a text to see if I could get her to open up to me about Gemma. I realised it was a very scary thing for her to be going through, but at this stage it was crucial that she told me the truth.

This is what I wrote to Louise:

Her reply didn’t contain any useful information. All she said was: ‘Hi, I’m okay, just praying for Gem’s safe return. Thinking of you all. Love Louise.’

I later found out that the reply had been scripted by Louise’s mother. I wasn’t surprised, as I imagine she may have thought Louise was an ‘accessory to the crime’ or something like that. Although I understood why she replied that way, it was so frustrating.

Nothing really seemed to be moving forward. I wondered how much more of it I could take.

We watched Crimewatch later that evening and Max came over extremely well on the programme. I was really proud of him and I remember thinking what a shame it was that he was referred to as Gemma’s stepfather. Max had always been a wonderful father to Gemma and brought her up as if she was his own, and I felt really sorry for him in that respect. He’d been more of a father to her than her biological dad ever had.

The next day, Friday, 28 September, began in much the same way as the one before. Chloe came over and helped me with the morning routine as the media once again descended on the street and took up their positions outside our house.

As usual, Paul was at his sentry post at the front door, ready to face the barrage of reporters asking for more information. Chloe and I were talking in the kitchen when I realised he was having a much longer conversation than usual with one of the reporters. He came into the kitchen and told us that a journalist from the Daily Mail had come up with an idea that he thought we should consider – writing a letter to Gemma that they would publish in the newspaper.

Unlike the other requests we’d had, we thought this idea actually sounded constructive. First, though, I wanted to talk it through with Nick Cloke, the head of Sussex Police’s media team – I wasn’t going to do anything without the police’s approval. When I called him, he seemed a bit lukewarm about the idea. He explained that he was on a train so he couldn’t talk properly and would get back to me about it as soon as he could. He sounded a bit off with me and I wondered if I’d said something to annoy him.

I was a bit disappointed – I wanted to do something proactive instead of just sitting around, waiting for the phone to ring. Paul was confused and disappointed, too.

Little did we know but Nick Cloke had just received more information about Gemma …

A little while later, at 12.30pm, the phone rang.

It was Hannah. She sounded very serious as she confirmed it was really me that she was talking to, and my heart skipped a beat.

Then she said the words we had all been desperate to hear: ‘We’ve got her!’