She fell silent again, unable to determine exactly how she was feeling now, apart from oddly remote from it all. As if they weren’t talking about her and what had happened to her mother. But they were, and Marcy could have lost her life in that fire, would have if the emergency services hadn’t turned up when they did, so there remained no doubt in her mind that a charge of attempted murder was the right one to pursue.

Breaking the silence, he said, “We’re getting a little ahead of ourselves with all this talk about charges and prison sentences. What we need to focus on right now is how to make all this more bearable for you, Jasmine, and your mother.”

Although she could hardly argue with that, her voice was edgy as she replied, “And you think getting to know Archie Colbrook will do that?” For some reason it didn’t sound as horrific as she’d expected it to, although that still didn’t make it a good idea. “Do we have to meet him?” she asked. “I don’t think . . .”

“We’re not there yet,” he came in gently. “I haven’t even broached the possibility with Archie, but I know he’ll be willing if you and your mother are.”

She wasn’t, she knew that without having to think about it, but could she say the same for her mother? “I have a feeling she will be,” she said, “depending on what’s in the letters, of course.”

“There really isn’t any reason to be afraid of them,” he assured her.

She let her eyes drift to the dark night, lit by streetlamps and the glow of the sign over the Botanical Gardens. She was picturing a nineteen-year-old thug in a prison cell writing to someone he didn’t know because he’d been told to, not because he wanted to. She saw him in the dock being accused of his crimes. She thought of Marcus, safe and triumphant in his own prison cell, his only regret that it wasn’t her who’d been scarred for life.