She waited for her daughter to fall asleep before she poked her head around the door. She smelt the acetone traces of alcohol. She picked Maisie’s school blazer off the bedroom floor and smelt the sharp and sweet herbal scent of weed on it. But what authority did she have left?

She tiptoed back to her own bed and sat, head in hands.

Two days later, Becky was waiting at the school gates after a meeting. She’d spent nearly half an hour in the headmistress’s office laying out the case for her daughter as a talented and deserving scholarship candidate, who was going through a rough patch. The headmistress had been supportive. Maisie had never been a problematic student before now. Then Becky had decided to wait at the gates for Maisie, risking the cold shoulder, a stony silence, head in her phone as they made their way home. And so, when she saw Maisie break away from her friends and walk towards her with a not-unwelcoming smile, Becky was surprised.

Even more surprised when Maisie began talking to her as if she was picking up from a conversation they’d started earlier that day. ‘Jules’s mum showed me pictures of the women living in shacks who look after their kids by selling their bodies to truckers,’ she said. ‘She said you’re a victim of a patriarchy that pressures women to support men. I think that’s what she said. I was a bit stoned. She also told me to stop getting stoned in term-time.’

‘What did you think about that?’

‘She seemed really shitty that I was angry with you. And she’s really clever. So, I don’t know …’

‘You don’t know what?’

‘I don’t know. Maybe I’m wrong? I don’t know. I sort of want to be wrong.’

Marry Jules, Becky had thought. Marry him for his mother.

It’s not like it was all bad. Some old friends came out of the woodwork to support her. She even got a postcard from her schoolfriend Mary wishing her well. A few industry contacts reached out and told her that it didn’t sit right that ‘yet again’ a powerful man’s downfall also took out the women around him. You may be down but you’re certainly not out, they told her, though nobody went as far as offering her a job. Nobody was that stupid, bringing that kind of heat to their own doorstep. But there were at least hints that, when things died down, it wouldn’t be impossible for her to find her way back. If that was what she wanted.

Matthew didn’t get in touch, either before or after the trial. For all matters relating to Kingfisher, Becky spoke to lawyers.

In fact, apart from in court, Becky hasn’t heard Matthew’s voice in a year. She has seen him in the papers a few times, looking pale and overweight and bone-tired.