‘Don’t you fucking dare,’ she hisses. Tom’s shrug and the impassive expression on his face make her want to slap him. ‘When you went to prison I lost everything. My home. My friends. My job. My reputation. That money went on a tax bill, on paying off our credit cards, it went on a year’s worth of mortgage. I tried everything I could to hang onto what we had. I—’

‘You didn’t work for a year after I went to prison.’

‘Because no one would hire me! My name was mud. You’re the one who went to prison but I paid too. God knows I paid. Christ, Tom. I can’t … I can’t believe you’re saying this … doing this … after everything I’ve done.’

He shoves his hands deep into the pockets of his wax jacket and turns away, staring after the horses that have lost interest and wandered off. He mumbles something Kate can’t hear.

‘What was that?’ She grabs his arm and turns him towards her, forcing him to look her in the eye. ‘What did you just say?’

‘I never wanted this. I’ve told you that over and over again, but you railroaded me and organised it anyway.’ He looks back towards the house. ‘Two people died. And you expect me to act like it never happened. To stand in front of broken, vulnerable people and ask them to trust me.’

‘What happened was an accident, Tom!’

‘You don’t get sent to prison for accidents.’

‘Well, you did! You didn’t mean to kill those people, you didn’t plan it. You’re not a murderer. They wanted to make an example of you. They wanted to shame you, Tom. Like they shame celebrities that drink drive or hit their partners. But I’ve been doing research into that, into how you come back from public shaming. I listened to the audiobook by Jon Ronson and—’

‘Fuck Jon Ronson!’ Tom’s spittle hits Kate on the cheek, the forehead, the side of her nose. ‘And fuck you! I’m not doing this. It’s not a business, Kate. It’s not a money-making enterprise. It’s not a way to get our old house back. This is people’s lives we’re talking about. And I’m not doing it. I’m never doing it again.’

Rage burns in Kate’s chest as he pulls away from her and turns to walk back down the field.

‘No.’ She grabs his arm again. ‘You don’t get to walk away from me.’

‘Don’t I?’ He glares down at her. ‘And you’re going to stop me how?’