‘We let things happen which we shouldn’t have done, all of us,’ Eve begins bravely. ‘And the other thing is …’ Eve’s voice begins to falter, ‘something about us, about being friends, about how good that’s felt this year. The trouble is …’ She is speaking through tears. ‘I don’t know what to do with that feeling now. Eric used to say I should do what my heart tells me to do, but …’ She wipes her eyes with her sleeve and attempts a smile. ‘… how the hell does that work when my heart is broken?’

She leaves the room, and seconds later the front door bangs. She has gone to her children.

The wood in the range slips lower. Noah comes over and rests his head on Melissa’s lap. She is glad of the warm weight, the gentle eyes. The low sun through the windows strikes the pans above the stove, the copper glows like flames.

18. April – Same Day

Grace

Grace gives the policeman a glass of lemonade and asks him if he wouldn’t mind waiting outside. He has a tattoo around his wrist, nice eyes. Fit-looking. He parks himself, feet apart, just inside the door. ‘Sorry love, I need to stay close. She’ll forget all about me in a minute.’

The police van and the social workers are due to arrive in half an hour. Grace and Izzy are alone in the yellow-painted room at the front of the house, the old ballroom. There are deep alcoves and an expanse of floor, constructed for dancing and perfect for secrets. You might think that your words would fly up into the dusty cornices and disappear among the cobwebs; you might imagine there would be no consequences. Grace pours lemonade into the two remaining glasses, pulls a couple of armchairs to the window and sits in one, sprawling a little, relaxed or pretending to be. Izzy is pacing in circles like an animal in a cage.

‘Sit down, won’t you? Try to relax, have a drink.’ Grace points to the glasses on the table between them.

Izzy sits in the armchair, her back to the door and stares at Grace. She doesn’t touch the lemonade.

‘You’re good, Izzy, very smart,’ Grace says, nodding. ‘We all thought it was Paul. The tiara in the car was clever. He didn’t stand a chance.’

‘Don’t forget the abuse.’ Izzy’s mouth twists in a smile. ‘It mightn’t have worked without that.’

Grace pauses, the lemonade half to her lips; another piece of jigsaw slots in.

‘Ah. Paul was already on trial; was that necessary?’

‘I had to make absolutely sure. I had to think of something, and it fitted so well.’ Izzy laughs, she’s warming up. The policeman was right; she’s forgotten him completely. ‘You should have seen Dad’s face.’

‘Your father loves you. Do you have any idea what you’ve done?’