She can’t help but giggle, and he laughs too at the absurdity of it, of her. ‘Oh, you know, just terrified of aubergines and painfully shy,’ she says lightly. She feels him nod in comprehension next to her.

‘Look,’ he says, ‘it’s only me.’ And that sentence is enough for her body to open up to his. They become a hot tangle of limbs immediately.

Afterwards, Tom offers her food – ‘No aubergines, I promise’ – and drinks, repeatedly, but she doesn’t want them. Wants to lie in this warm room that smells of his clean laundry, with him. She can’t risk him leaving and coming back, upsetting the balance, this room a rare ecosystem that might change at any moment.

‘So last night was …’ he says. His tone is casual. He’s obviously waited hours to ask why their evening was cut short.

‘Oh, nothing,’ she says. ‘My brother.’

Tom messes with a cushion. Buying time, maybe. His chest is covered in deliciously dark hair.

‘He’s just – he’s a bit, I don’t know. Difficult,’ she says.

Tom evidently draws a conclusion from his purchased time, but Cathy doesn’t know what it is, because he says nothing, just looks at her.

‘You know how you said – about us all living basically together …’

‘And working together.’

‘Yeah.’

‘I’d never say a bad word about them,’ she says truthfully.

‘But …’

‘Well – I just wonder now. How healthy it really is.’

Tom turns down his mouth, evidently considering what to say. ‘What do you think?’ he says eventually.

‘I just wonder … no – I mean. I shouldn’t gripe about them.’

‘I hope they’re as loyal to you as you are to them.’

‘I’m sure they are,’ she says softly, but she isn’t, she isn’t at all. Frannie lied to her about the crime. They keep things from her. They are the opposite of loyal. Aren’t they? As ever, sometimes the facts are clear to Cathy when set out this way, but she can’t seem to really see them.

Cathy draws up the duvet over her as she begins to fall asleep, even though her stomach is rumbling. She and Tom are completely naked, their bodies giving off a special kind of warmth under the covers.

‘They are loyal to me,’ she says.

He draws her to him and it is exquisite. The feeling of his bare, hot, smooth skin against hers. It has been worth the wait, she thinks to herself as she goes under. It has been worth all the bad dates, it has been worth wearing pyjamas for all these years.

52.

Now

First Day of Trial R. v. Plant

‘And what, exactly, Ms Plant, if you don’t mind telling the jury, happened after the remains were uncovered?’

‘There was a port-mortem,’ I say. The courtroom smells of Pledge furniture polish today. The jury is silent, not even shifting in their seats, just looking at me. There is something papal about the court. The dark wood. The various signs and symbols – the justice crest, the wigs and gowns. They merge with the statues of Jesus in Verona in my mind.