‘You’re all right?’ She’s holding me at arm’s length.

‘I’m fine. A bit tired, but OK.’

‘They didn’t hurt you?’

‘Of course they didn’t hurt me. No bruises. No missing teeth.’

‘But in here, my lovely.’ She has a hand clasped to her chest. ‘That kind of hurt.’

‘Ah …’ I manage to summon a smile, and then nod towards the kitchen. ‘Tea, maybe?’

Mitch joins us shortly afterwards. He’s finished his phone call but leaves the mobile on the kitchen table where he can see it. It seems to be ringing non-stop. He checks caller ID each time but resists the temptation to pick it up.

‘So, tell me what happened,’ he grunts.

‘Us,’ Evelyn says. ‘Tell us what happened.’

I do my best. Both of these people, I tell myself, have my best interests at heart, though possibly for different reasons, but the more detail I get into, the more uneasy I feel. In the end, I try to boil it down to a single proposition.

‘They want me to admit that I was there when she died,’ I say.

‘But you weren’t.’ This from Evelyn.

‘I know. That’s what I kept telling them. The police live in a world of their own. And they’re not great listeners.’

‘You mean they didn’t believe you?’ Mitch seems amused.

‘Not at all. They’ve built themselves a little fantasy about the way Christianne died. I suppose that’s their job, but I’m the one they want to put beside her when she left us. Me and Andy. The long goodbye.’

‘Nice title.’

‘Horrible title. Excuse my French but they fuck with your head, turn you round and round until you’ve no idea where you are, who you are, or even what matters any more. Maybe I should treat it as some kind of masterclass. What it really feels like to be on the receiving end. Next time I play the innocent victim, I promise you I’ll win an award.’

Mitch’s phone is buzzing yet again. This time, he picks it up, listens to the voice at the other end, then hands it across.

‘For you,’ he says. ‘Beth.’

Beth announces she’ll be arriving at the bungalow within minutes. By now, we’ve decamped to Evelyn’s lounge, and I’m inspecting a poster that Mitch has commissioned from a local graphics studio. I’m about to tell Beth she’s welcome, but it’s too late because she’s hung up.

‘It’s just a rough proof.’ Mitch nods at the poster. ‘We’ll obviously have to change the shoutline.’

The poster features mug shots of myself, Bill Penny, Sylvester, Nathan, Beth and Presley. God knows where Mitch laid hands on them, but what really grabs my attention is the bannered line across the top, and the three lines of text beneath.