‘He’s explained it all. It was just a photography project. Art. Anyway, that’s rich coming from you. You’ve systematically hunted down Jack’s exes and done … stuff.’

I shake my head.

‘I’m just defending myself. Looking after what’s mine. Most of them even apologised one way or another. Come on, Emma, you must have heard of retribution? That was my reason. But it’s over now because I’ve realised that actually it wasn’t their fault. It was his. He did it. And it wasn’t fucking art. That’s just another lie. What about you?’

She stares at me.

‘You have to wade through the mud to find the gold.’

I laugh loudly.

‘Jesus Christ. You don’t believe that, really, do you?’

But she does. Like me, she’s conditioned. Here we are, two educated women, both experts in the nuances of the human condition, standing in a muddy back garden arguing over a man.

‘Look, I just want to be with my husband.’

It’s like an echo from the depths of my marriage. I just want to be with my husband. As if that excuses everything.

‘So what’s that got to do with me? Be my guest. I don’t want him. Please, take him.’

‘Well, I want you to take those pictures down. It’s the past.’ I knew it. She is upset about them. ‘And I want the children to live with you. I encouraged Laura to go to her teacher. She cried for you every night. I told her to ask to see you.’ My temper flares at her manipulation of my daughter and frankly I can’t see how Jack will agree to this, but I hear her out. ‘So if you agree to this and promise to stop fucking with my life, I won’t tell the police about what you’ve done.’

She thinks. There’s more.

‘Oh yes. That fucking simpering Katy. Obviously Jack’s going to want to see his kids at some point, so I want it all coordinated so it’s all on one day every two weeks or so.’

She’s staring straight at me expectantly.

‘So how do you suggest I get the kids? You know exactly what’s happened. You know how he’s painted me. It’s not that easy.’

She smiles.

‘Not my problem. You’ll find a way. But you have to tell me now. You have to tell me now.’ She’s kicking the stolen stuff into the hole and she gets her phone out. She throws the photographs into the hole, reaches into her pocket and brings out a Zippo lighter. ‘Come on, Caroline. My finger’s on the last nine.’