The pub was full, so it was good that Helena had booked. I could see her looking around with interest at her old haunt, as I had done when I first moved here. When we’d got our table and ordered our food, she leaned in and folded her arms on the table. She fixed me with her blue, Hartley eyes.

‘OK. Suppose you tell us exactly what happened at the police station.’

I took a deep breath and filled them in, trying to tell it as verbatim as I possibly could. It took a while, and they both took a moment to absorb, once I’d finished. I could see the cogs whirring.

‘R-ight,’ said Helena slowly. ‘So they asked if you wanted someone present …’

‘But they didn’t charge you,’ finished Imo.

‘No.’

‘Which is odd, isn’t it?’ asked Imo, turning to her aunt. ‘Scaremongering, d’you think?’

Helena shrugged. ‘Possibly. And the whole story about Michael legging it after the burglar is total bollocks, as is the suggestion that you came down and had a furious row with him, presumably about him being pissed and incapable of giving chase, and gave him a shove.’

‘Exactly.’

‘Exactly, as in, you didn’t?’

‘No, of course I bloody didn’t!’

She nodded. ‘Luce, I had to ask. But surely then,’ she frowned, ‘if that’s the case, you have nothing to worry about?’

I felt my mouth drying again. ‘I … didn’t call the ambulance immediately.’

They stared at me. I saw Helena’s eyes widen slightly. Not Imo’s, though. In hers I saw a flash of recognition.

‘How long?’ She leaned forward intently. ‘How long did you wait?’

I took a deep breath. This old chestnut. ‘I think about half an hour.’

Neither my sister nor my daughter recoiled in horror at this news, though Helena’s mouth pursed a bit. Then they both sat back and digested it for a moment.

‘So it could have been longer?’ asked Helena.

‘Conceivably. But I’ve since learned,’ I leaned in, lowering my voice, ‘from someone I know, someone who’s an expert in these things, that there is no actual legal compunction to save a life. For example, if someone was drowning—’

‘Hang on,’ interrupted Imo. ‘Jesus, Mum, who? Who have you talked to?’

I explained about Josh, the criminology professor, saying criminology professor about six times. Obviously not someone I’d met in the street. ‘Ned’s met him,’ I said. ‘He really liked him.’

‘No one else?’ asked Helena quietly.

‘No.’ I felt stupid. ‘No one else.’

They looked at each other. ‘I wouldn’t see him again,’ said Helena.

‘OK. Except – he’s asked me to lunch. With other people,’ I added quickly. ‘Won’t it look a bit odd?’