She picks up a tin of soup and slowly rings it up on the clunky register. She doesn’t want this conversation to leave the store.

‘Jesus, forget it.’ I grab the meat, green beans, throw down more than enough cash to pay for them. ‘Dad, we’re going.’ In an instant we’ve switched roles: I’ve taken charge, speedy with adrenaline. ‘Now.’

I open the supermarket door to hot wet air, walk into the wind for a half-dozen steps or so, before realising that Dad is not behind me. Then I see him lurch out the door with Roberts still talking at him.

‘They’ve committed a crime. It’s not an option to ignore it.’

Dad raises his forefinger. ‘You are an officer of the law. You know better than to make accusations without evidence, in or out of uniform. You should be ashamed of yourself.’ He stops. I can hardly hear his voice over the rain. ‘How do you not understand? They’re all I’ve got left.’

‘Oh no. Dad.’ I jog back to where he stands, grab his arm and pull him towards the car. ‘Don’t.’

‘That’s not how things work,’ Roberts says, following us. ‘People commit a crime and they go to jail. You can’t decide when laws apply to you.’

Dad pushes my hand off him. ‘What good would come of locking up a young mother, leaving her husband to raise a family on his own? What good would come of jailing my son, destroying his life and mine?’

‘Dad, stop talking.’

‘Don’t you want justice for Skye?’

‘No, I don’t,’ Dad says. ‘I’ve lost a fiancée and a baby. I want them back. And if you lock up a hundred people that’s never going to happen. The one you’ll hurt most if you send them to jail is me.’

We stand under the cover of a sagging canvas, rain pooling above our heads.

Roberts glares at me. ‘One day you’ll need me. Or someone like me. I’m the type of cop you want on the force. A cop who cares about the truth.’

‘You’re right,’ I say. ‘You’re right about everything.’

‘Charlie, no,’ Dad says.

‘It’s okay, Dad.’ I hadn’t anticipated my manning-up would extend to a confession to the cops, but lately life is throwing all kinds of curve balls. ‘There’s no evidence and Doyle has shut the case. But if you need to hear it – and you seem to – you’re right. I was driving. I fell asleep. Abby tried to get Skye up to the car but she couldn’t. It was too late anyway . . . It’s on me, the whole thing. And I’ll be sorry till the day I die. You good now, man? We’re done?’

‘Oh, Charlie.’ Dad shakes his head slowly.

‘Let’s go home,’ I say.

We’re walking towards the car when Roberts calls out. ‘Wait.’

‘Ignore him, Dad. There’s nothing else to say.’

‘You proposed that night.’

Dad stops at this, turns, as Roberts moves closer. ‘Leave it alone, son. He’s told you what you wanted to hear.’