“They won’t bother you,” she’d assured them as she’d pushed open the door to this room and waved an arm as if she were introducing them to the royal suite. “No one will interrupt you in here. It’s very private and comfortable—I’m told it’s even soundproofed, but I’m not sure anyone’s ever put it to the test.”

Dan thanked her on behalf of them all, and after she’d gone to chase up coffee and biscuits he and Andee exchanged ironic glances. This was quite a luxury in comparison to some of the places they held RJ meetings—and in a prison? Who’d have thought it?

The seating arrangements were easily sorted, with Claudia, Marcy, Jasmine, and Andee on one side of the table, Dan on the other with Archie when he arrived.

“I’m going to lower the blinds a little,” Andee said, “or we’ll be looking into the sun and it’s important for you to see more than the silhouette of the person you’re talking to.”

Marcy watched her adjusting the shades and nodded when she’d achieved the right level. Although everyone had a role to play here today she knew that the main focus was going to be on her and Archie Colbrook, and while she accepted that, it was still making her nervous.

Beside her, to her left, Claudia was checking again that her mobile was off, and after putting it away she reached for her mother’s injured hand. It was OK to touch it now; it didn’t hurt as much, although the itching could still be its own form of living hell. They’d joked the other day about getting half-price manicures now that she only had properly formed fingernails on one hand.

“What about half-price makeup too?” Marcy had added, but that little witticism had fallen flat as she should have known it would. There was nothing funny about her raw, scarred face and porcine eye, nothing to laugh at there at all—only oceans of desperate tears to shed in the privacy of her room. Still, the fact that they’d been able to raise at least one smile about her new look was surely a step in the right direction.

“If you want to leave at any time,” Claudia whispered, “you know you can.”

Yes, Marcy knew that, but she couldn’t imagine herself just upping and walking away now that they’d come this far. Unless things went horribly wrong, of course, in which case she might have to. Turning to Jasmine, she gave her a reassuring smile in spite of knowing how grotesque it was; hopefully the tone of her voice would convey her feelings. “You speak if you want to,” she told her. “Just because you’ve opted not to doesn’t mean you can’t change your mind.”