She is keeping their crimes a secret. The beginning of the crime doesn’t matter, because of the ones they have committed along the way, like a train that just goes all night, on a loop, with no end or beginning, so nobody remembers where it came from.

‘It’s about Paul,’ Cathy says quickly. ‘For Frannie.’

‘I know,’ Joe says, smiling a sad half-smile as he thinks of how Paul is terrified of his own reflection in the mirror. Joe can’t wait for him to realize it is himself, for that wide-open toothy smile to break. ‘And it’s about Rosie. Isn’t it?’ he asks, wanting to talk about it, even though it’s a place they hardly ever go to.

‘It’s absolutely about Rosie,’ Cathy says, surprising him.

26.

Now

Jason’s Office, early March, 5.00 p.m.

‘Ms Plant,’ Jason says with a nod as I arrive for my session.

I say nothing, sitting down opposite him. I know I’ve avoided it long enough now. I cross my feet at their ankles.

Jason is in jeans and a jumper today, dressed casually with no explanation. He rubs at his left eye with his index finger as he gazes down at some papers. ‘How are you feeling?’ he says, kind of listlessly, it seems to me.

‘You know,’ I say. ‘Up and down.’

Outside, I hear the hiss of a bus pulling away. We’re into March, though the weather isn’t yet warming up. Somehow, the turn of the year from February to March seems to have focused both of our minds.

‘Right, we need to get to it,’ Jason says crisply.

‘I know,’ I say. I sink my face into my hands. ‘I know. I have talked around it for weeks, I know.’

‘Look,’ he says gently. My hands are still covering my eyes, and I feel him begin to move around the room, tidying up; an obvious diversionary tactic but one I’m grateful for nonetheless. ‘Would it help to hear of all of the people I have been through this with? You’re in safe hands, I promise.’

‘Are any of them in prison?’ I say sadly.

He puts the papers on the shelf and gets out a new, blank pad, a deliberate gesture maybe. He sits and leans forward, looking at me, his elbows on his knees. ‘Going over it – it’s a necessary evil, okay? Like – like the dentist. And, yes, some of them are in prison.’

I give a sardonic laugh. ‘God.’

‘Look,’ he says, ‘I have most of the information, and now we just need to … to shape it.’

‘Into a statement,’ I say sadly.

He leans forward and gets file number one. He has four of them now. They seem to multiply each time I visit. Four teal bundles, pink ribbons wrapped around them, tied in careless bows by Jason himself, who seems to have no secretary, no assistant.

‘I think our strategy should be that we just tell your version of events to the court, at the trial,’ he says, pointing to the pad where the statement will rest. ‘Play as straight a bat as possible. Exactly what happened, from start to finish. Okay? No games, no narrative. No lies.’