‘Since when are you about technicalities?’

‘True. I have even dealt with jurisdictional conflicts for you … to get the trial here.’

‘I knew it would be hard. I thought I was –’

‘You are ready,’ Jason says, chewing the skin on his lips, which are dry. He’s staring down at the floor and not at me. ‘Look. I’m not going to lie to you. You have to be ready.’ He looks at me and I realize that, while it isn’t a threat, it is a command. The strong arms of the justice system are around me now, and there is no choice in this, no freedom, not really.

‘Okay,’ I say in a small, sad voice. ‘How long have I got?’

‘We need to make some progress before lunch-time,’ he says. He gets out the blue folder with my name on it and taps it.

‘You aren’t going to your evening appointment today,’ I say, trying to buy time, trying to buy some normality too, to let my heartrate return to normal.

Jason throws his head back and laughs, grey hair catching the dim courtroom lights. A couple of barristers turn to look at him, but he doesn’t acknowledge them.

‘You want to know what it is,’ he says, looking sideways at me.

‘Absolutely.’

‘All right, but only because you’re mid-trial,’ he says lightly. ‘I don’t trust just anyone with this level of intel.’

‘Okay,’ I say softly. I look at the door to the courtroom.

‘Is the barrister good?’ I say.

‘Not bad,’ Jason says. ‘It’s AA.’

‘What’s AA?’

‘Where I go. I am an alcoholic.’ He says it as though he is remarking on the weather, sips his coffee and looks at me.

‘Oh.’

‘So there you are. I am afraid you are represented by a madman.’

I let a little laugh escape. ‘We all have our vices.’

‘I’ve been sober ten years.’

‘And you go every day?’

‘The alcohol masks the problem.’

‘And what’s the problem?’

Jason finishes his coffee. ‘Oh, a whole host of them. Getting obsessed with stuff. Filling the voids, you know. Like you say’ – he glances at me – ‘we all have our vices. Anyway – I’m very glad to say I’m quite level these days, and more than capable of being a good lawyer … technicalities or not.’

I feel a rush of hope, right there, in the courtroom, halfway through a murder trial. That, when this is over, I might regenerate too. A phoenix in the ashes. That there is hope for damaged people, for people who have made massive, massive mistakes.

‘I’m rooting for you,’ he adds.

That’s all it takes. A little glimmer. Of support, of coffee, of warmth. I can’t see the road there, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist. Jason can see it for me. I get to my feet. ‘Okay,’ I say, the two syllables tumbling out in one hot breath. ‘Okay.’

Jason gets to his feet again and follows me in, leads me to the witness box, past the empty jury seats, past the empty judge’s bench. The courtroom gradually fills up again.