I breathed deeply and steadied myself. I always hated this bit, this time in a trial where everything you’ve worked for hangs in the balance. If I was to live up to my reputation as some sort of Ice Queen, I had to keep my act going–but it was hard when I was bricking it. I stared unblinking at the jury box, thanking God for my poker face and Boots for the six inches of make-up that was hiding any emotion that might be lurking there. In truth, all I wanted was someone to hold my hand and tell me I’d done well and that everything would be fine. I’d be as well hoping for Santa to make an early appearance.

To keep my hands busy, I pretended to scribble down notes on the yellow legal pad in front of me. It had been a long, tiring murder trial, but this moment was where everything was so exciting yet so terrifying. It was out of my control and I hated and loved that feeling. Would I have changed anything? Would I rewrite the script if I could? What if I’d fucked it up? My mind was flooded with all the little things I could have done better. There was also a part of it that was trying to remind me of all the things I’d done well. Really well. My mother’s voice wanted to sneak in there–Mary McLennan wouldn’t want me to get too confident in case I was heading for a fall. My mind was a busy place.

A stout, pigeon-chested woman in her mid-fifties struggled to her feet. With her beige hunting gilet, green tweed skirt and reading specs hanging from a gold chain round her neck, she was a perfect advert for Horse and Hound. I rechecked the chart I’d drawn up two weeks ago during jury selection. This was Miss Agnes McPhail, breeder of Rhodesian Ridgebacks. My stomach tightened a bit–I felt somewhat uncomfortable with the thought of Miss McPhail as the foreman. She was only on the jury because I had run out of challenges. I remembered the old adage that dog owners end up looking like their pets–well, she must have been housing a few mutts that looked like well-skelped arses. The sound of the odd nervous cough was the only noise as the court macer took the verdict from Miss McPhail and handed it to the judge. I couldn’t take my eyes off the white sheet of paper. The judge unfolded it as I studied his face for a telltale sign. There was none. He was as good as me at this lark.