‘Which I think makes it voluntary manslaughter – rather than straightforward manslaughter, which, as I said before, is a mistake. But not murder.’

‘So better?’ I breathed.

‘A bit. But still custodial.’

I swallowed. ‘Right.’

‘But I don’t think you’re nearly there yet. I mean at the court door. So I really think – calm down.’

I noticed we’d dropped the pretence of ‘my friend’. I was so incredibly encouraged by his words there was no way I was going to protest.

‘How long did you say you sat there for? When he was unconscious?’

I went very still. Forced myself to tell the truth. ‘I think I lied a bit, when you asked me that the other day. I think it might have been more than fifteen minutes.’

He gazed at me. With dark, bottomless brown eyes. Didn’t say anything.

‘But you didn’t look at the clock.’

‘Well, I—’

‘You didn’t look at the clock,’ he interrupted fiercely, holding my gaze. ‘OK?’

‘OK,’ I breathed. ‘But the woman at the back …’ I told him about my fears. About Ingrid. About how I knew her. Had realized who she was on the doorstep. Then I told him about her links with my sister-in-law. About Amanda’s insinuations in the restaurant. Her mental state.

‘Your sister-in-law clearly has psychological problems and is taking her deranged thoughts to their absolute limit. Encouraging you to come along for the ride. She’s playing on the fact that guilt is an overriding emotion when anyone dies.’

‘She is,’ I said eagerly, ‘deranged. And the guilt thing, I’ve read about that. In fact I even mentioned it to her.’

‘It’s a natural reaction. You think – oh God, was I responsible in some way? Was it my fault?’

Then I told him about a new fear. About a light being on, in a top-floor bedroom of Ingrid’s house, which had kept me awake. A sudden flashback to that top room being briefly lit up. I didn’t know if I’d imagined it, I told him. Didn’t know if my mind was playing tricks in the small hours. I told him about her being at the memorial service. And about Amanda’s threatening speech.