‘I asked her not to.’

‘But in the last couple of weeks, when we were going to be working together?’

‘Like I said yesterday, need-to-know.’

Robin had looked away. In the grand scheme, it was nothing, but it still pissed her off that Christine had known something about her job that she hadn’t. Her work was hers, it was nothing to do with her mother. Yet another incursion, another erosion. And beyond that, what did it say that she’d kept her promise to Maggie rather than tell her own daughter something that might affect her? What was that, for Christ’s sake?

‘We’re looking at a graphic designer,’ she said now. ‘We were waiting for him to leave the office where he’s moonlighting so we could record his hours.’

‘Today, of all days?’ Christine’s eyes widened. ‘With everything that’s—’

‘Well, no harm done,’ said Dennis quickly, putting his hand over hers. ‘You’re here now, aren’t you, Robin? Teething troubles – it’ll all settle down.’

She felt a surge of frustration. Teething troubles – as if this were the start of something long-term. She didn’t want it to settle down; she didn’t want to have to eat when her mother told her to, what she told her to. The powerlessness – the complete, stifling powerlessness. But then, said a nasty little voice, beggars couldn’t be choosers, could they? And she who paid the piper – or made the cottage pie – called the tune. ‘I was back at seven fifteen – it was hardly late.’ She picked up her wine and took a gulp.

‘I’m sure it seemed late to Elena. Do you usually drink on a Tuesday evening?’

‘Yep.’ She took another. ‘Specially if my best mate’s been murdered.’

It was a hand grenade lobbed onto the table – the word exploded in their faces, burnt the oxygen in the room, left their ears ringing. Murdered, murdered.

Christine put down her knife and fork and bent her head. It wasn’t the sob but the genuine effort she made to stifle it that filled Robin with remorse. She was a monster – a real, vile monster. ‘I’m sorry, Mum. I shouldn’t have said that. I’m really sorry.’

Dennis gave her a terse nod – Right. Now shut up – and squeezed her mother’s hand. ‘It’s okay, love. It’s okay.’ As if he was murmuring to a child. Lennie looked down, avoiding eye contact with any of them.

It was a minute or two before her mother got it together again, taking a tissue from the sleeve of her cardigan and blotting her eyes. She gave her head a little shake. ‘Tell her, Dennis. You have to.’

He looked startled, shot a look at Lennie. ‘Now?’

‘Tell me what?’ said Robin.