In Depth:  Anne Atkins

I’m a sucker for an apology. Kick me till I’m down, tell me my mother was an ’amster and my father smelt of elderberries, then look me in the eye and say you’re sorry, and I will embrace you (at two metres’ distance) and reinstate you as my bestie.

So when I was shown a letter from Jonathan Fletcher to a victim saying he was ‘so, so’ (double-underlined) ‘sorry’, I wondered why others – who know him better and have spent far longer with him – believe that he isn’t. Of course, none of us can ultimately see into the heart of another – only God can judge, and we must let Him do that.