‘I know that!’ I pulled away and went to the kettle. I needed tea, something warm and soothing. ‘God, if I could go back and do it differently . . . But it’s too late now. I just – I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.’ The police hadn’t arrested me, at least. They couldn’t prove I had seen her, could they? And I didn’t touch her, so there wouldn’t be prints or anything like that. I had to hold on to these small bits of hope, although I knew all too well how twisty physical evidence could be. It’s nothing like as concrete as we all think, from watching TV crime shows. It’s all open to interpretation, and with the right spin it can be written into a story that will condemn you. March you right to Death Row.

Having let myself think those two words, the worst ones I could imagine, my knees buckled under me, and I leaned on the counter for support. I fumbled for the kettle, the rush of the water calming me enough to let other thoughts in. Hold on to the good things. Brandy twisting around my legs, her body warm and reassuring. The time I’d met Alex, when he’d just been a local tree surgeon come to look at the half-rotted oak in my back garden, and how I’d made him tea and my hands were shaking then too, because I already knew there was something between us, some kind of heat or understanding or whatever it is when you look at a stranger and feel they can see inside you. And I’d been right, hadn’t I? Until this, until now, things had been so good between us, despite . . .

‘Oh my God! What about Sam?’ I hadn’t even considered him. So selfish. I was appalled at myself, worrying about my own skin when a little boy had lost his mother. ‘Where is he? Does he know?’

‘He’s at school. I have to get him soon. I’ll have to – tell him.’ Alex leaned against the wall, and I saw how tired he looked, as if he hadn’t slept at all. Shock can do that to you.

‘Where was Sam earlier, though – you had him?’