That proves impossible. For one thing, Beth has whisked her off to Bill’s house for a council of war with the other escapees from the Heavitree custody centre, and for another, I’m exhausted. I share a mug of cocoa with Malo and by ten o’clock, I’m asleep in bed.

This morning finds me alone in the kitchen, watching Evelyn preparing Mitch’s usual full fried breakfast.

‘You volunteered for tonight?’ I ask her.

‘I did.’

‘Why?’

‘Partly because Mitch asked me. That man can be very persuasive. Women my age are far too susceptible to compliments, and he knows that.’

‘So, what did he say?’

‘He told me about all the folk who’d been at that little thing I did in St Peter’s, that weekend you first came down. Apparently, he’s talked to some of them. They thought I was OK, perhaps better than OK. He also said tonight was about stories, about Christianne, about that poor man Adam we saw on YouTube, and if anyone knew about storytelling, then it had to be me. So …’ She reaches for the frying pan and gives a sausage a poke. ‘I said yes. Is it vanity? Probably. Am I terrified by the prospect? Of course I am.’

‘But you don’t agree with euthanasia. We had a bit of a debate. Remember?’

‘That’s true, and oddly enough, that’s the other reason I said yes. Mitch thinks we need a moderating voice, and I agree. This little town is spitting bullets. Some of the people at Bill’s last night? They’re outraged. A lot of them think that we should have the right to die the death of our choice, and I suspect they really believe that, but this whole thing goes way, way further. They think people like you, and Bill, and Nathan have no place in a police cell, and I must say I agree with them. It’s excessive, and it’s spiteful, and they should be ashamed of themselves.’

‘You’re slapping their hands?’

‘Of course I am, and they deserve it, especially that man Bulliwhatsit, but there’s something else, my lovely, since you’ve asked.’ She pauses to break a second egg into the hot oil. ‘I had a long talk to Bill Penny last night, as you might imagine. They’ve all compared notes, everyone who got arrested, and they agree that you’re Bulliwhatsit’s prime suspect. Bill thinks it has to do with your profile, that stellar career of yours. You in the dock, he says, will put Bulliwhatsit on the front page of every newspaper in the country.’

‘And that’s where all this leads?’

‘It does, my lovely, unless we can head that frightful man off.’

‘And that’s why you volunteered? For my sake? For little me?’

‘Of course.’ She turns from the stove and presents her cheek for a kiss. ‘It’s the least you deserve.’