After a few minutes, she clinks her glass against his. ‘To the future,’ she says.

41.

Now

First Day of Trial R. v. Plant

‘I swear by Almighty God,’ I say, ‘that the evidence I shall give shall be the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.’

But what is the truth? That is what I am thinking as I enter the witness box, looking out at the courtroom. It is more mundane than I expected from the grand exterior, and from television and films. The seats are foam chairs covered with a teal wool. The room has the quiet atmosphere of an office on a weekday in January. Hard working, reflective, slightly dreary.

In the public gallery, Dad’s hands are on the wooden bench in front of him. There is something assertive about the gesture, like we’re here to sort out a load of nonsense. And maybe he does think that, I don’t know. He won’t take my calls, not since it all ended, not since it blew up on that August night.

All truths are different, and mine is different to Joe’s. I look down at my feet in tight, new black shoes, take a breath, and meet the jury’s eyes, one by one.

‘Ms Plant,’ the barrister says, exactly as Jason said he would. ‘If you don’t mind, will you take us through the afternoon leading up to the – to the incident?’

‘Yes,’ I say, my voice clear in the courtroom.

Jason catches my eye, drawing my attention towards him, back towards the process, I guess. The reason we’re here. He’s my solicitor, but I am questioned by a barrister, who is old and male. Way past retirement age. Lithe, tanned, big ears, a large nose, wild eyebrows under the wig.

‘Go ahead,’ he says nicely to me. My eyes dart to the jury, the judge, back to him.

‘We were on holiday, in Verona,’ I say. ‘We had been over many times, mostly in the summer. We own a villa there.’

‘And is that villa in your three names?’

‘Yes, we bought it collectively, me, my sister and my brother, Joe,’ I say, staring ahead, not letting my eyes stray to them again. ‘Now sold.’ I glance at Joe as I say this, who looks away.

‘Okay. So talk me through what happened, then, in Verona.’

‘It had been a normal holiday.’

‘Completely normal?’

‘Until that point, yes. Just – you know. We’d been enjoying the sun and seeing the sights nearby. Cooking together, drinking.’ I pause, wishing I could take back that word.

‘Okay, and where were you, exactly, on the afternoon before the death of William McGovern?’

‘At the market,’ I say. I can’t help but give a gulp. My digestive system betrays me, my guts clenching against my will. ‘Shopping together,’ I say softly. And, for a moment, I am in the before. Just me and my siblings, on holiday. In a phase of our life, a past phase, when we all lived in one row of houses together, in and out of the others’, looking after Paul, a little community. Working together at the vets’. It’s all gone. It’s all gone.