The police station was red-brick and Victorian, a thin ribbon of scrubby grass ringing the exterior. I faltered at the bottom of the steps for a second, but Nick’s determined stride forced me forward. He marched up to the desk. There were people hovering in front of it, but he cut through them, speaking directly to the uniformed female PC behind the desk in a voice that carried across the noisy chaos.

‘We’re here to report a crime,’ he said. ‘Coercion. Is there a detective available to take a statement?’

I’ve loved that about him from the very beginning of our relationship, his innate ability to slice a path through the world. He even had it as a sixth former, his choice of university – his choice of girlfriend – perfectly mapped out. I was grateful for the reminder. I needed it right then.

Soon we were in a blank box of an interview room, a callow young detective listening intently to our story. I let Nick speak first, his lawyer brain ordering the facts into a coherent narrative.

‘So your daughter’s a drug addict?’ asked the detective, scribbling notes.

What a repulsive statement.

‘No, I wouldn’t say that,’ I said, too quickly. Nick squeezed my hand, hard. It was the opposite of a gesture of solidarity.

‘Yeah, she’s got a real problem,’ said Nick. ‘Alcohol too. This woman’s exploiting that to extort money.’

‘But she’s a therapist, right?’ asked the detective, his pale, pasty face twisting up with concentration. ‘Like a shrink?’ He looked like a man who didn’t put much store in Freud’s insights on the human condition. ‘That’s her job? So it makes sense she charges for it.’

‘Supposedly,’ said Nick. ‘But we can’t find any sign of her qualifications.’

‘But aren’t you the ones who hired her?’ said the detective, his large palms turned upwards in resignation.

‘My wife…’ started Nick.

I cut across him.

‘Detective, can I stop you there? I was desperate. My daughter was lying in a hospital bed having had her stomach pumped, after countless incidents of bingeing on drink and drugs. This last time, she was found lying unconscious on the street. I love my children with all my heart, and I couldn’t let it continue. Amber Greville felt like my last hope.’ I let my voice crack. ‘My only hope.’

Detective Maron’s shoulders, encased in a nondescript navy suit, dropped a little. He looked too young to be a father, but recently everyone looked young to me. Age was creeping up on me, enveloping my perceptions. Maybe he did have a little girl of his own at home, toddling around, all innocence. I could take him on a journey now.