St Leonards Police Station was an eighties-built, orange-brick block crouching in the shadow of Salisbury Crags. It formed an L shape along two intersecting roads, large glass frontage, revolving doors and dark-blue trim everywhere. Jenny wondered how many people were in the cells right now, what they’d done, if they felt hard done by. She’d visited the police station once before when she was a Napier student in the mid-nineties. She was groped in the queue for an indie club at Espionage on Victoria Street at two in the morning, a hand up her skirt and into her pants, and when she kicked up a fuss she was punched in the face by one of the guy’s mates. The bouncers made sure they hadn’t seen anything. When she got to the station the officers on duty struggled to hide smug smiles. Dressed like that, you deserve what you get. The disgust was palpable. She hoped things would be different now if Hannah had to report abuse, but she doubted it.

‘Shall we?’ Dorothy said.

Jenny followed her mum through the doors into reception. Dorothy asked for Thomas Olsson at the desk then stood playing with the strap of her leather handbag. It was more of a satchel really, a practical thing with buckles.

‘Are you OK?’ Jenny said.

Dorothy nodded but she looked worried. Jenny felt something powerful, seeing her mum like that. It was never easy, seeing your parents’ power diminish, realising all their frailties and foibles. Realising that they’re just ordinary people struggling to get by like the rest of us.

Jenny had returned to Greenhill Gardens earlier, still shaking 76with adrenaline from her encounter with Bradley. What the hell was happening to her? If that had been the other way round, she would’ve been shouting about sexual assault. But there was something about his attitude that made the red mist descend. It didn’t take the world’s best shrink to realise Craig had fucked up her attitude to men, but that was so long ago, why was it rearing up again now? She had to keep a lid on it.

When she’d got home from Kings Buildings, she found Mum in the garden staring at the charred site of the funeral pyre. Dorothy explained about the payments, Rebecca in Craigentinny, her daughter. The implication was clear, either Jim was involved with Rebecca, or Rebecca was his daughter, or maybe Natalie was his daughter. Maybe he had something to do with Simon’s disappearance. Either way, he was a liar. He’d lied to his wife, kept secrets from his family, and given away thousands of pounds of their money. Of course, with Dorothy’s unfaithful past, she couldn’t claim too much moral high ground. But at least she hadn’t lied, Jenny supposed. As far as Jenny knew.