‘Well, check the surrounding area,’ I say, my frustration at their incompetence growing. ‘There must be other CCTV that would have captured them.’

‘We could do, except we’ve spoken to Shelley Jenkins, a friend of Mrs Chandler’s, and she has confirmed that she was with her at that time.’

It takes all my willpower to stop my eyes from narrowing and my nostrils from flaring. That’s impossible. I saw Naomi go in with my own two eyes – closely followed by her suspicious husband, but there’s no need to bring him into it and complicate matters.

‘So where does that leave us?’ I ask, conscious that my voice is wavering for the first time.

‘Well, we obviously have your statement alleging that Naomi Chandler was keeping your husband captive on the Tattenhall estate, and that when you came across them she assaulted you, causing you to lose consciousness.’

I nod.

‘In which time you presume that she also attacked your husband, inflicting a fatal blow to his chest and leaving him for dead in the swimming pool.’

I allow my shoulders to convulse and squeeze out a tear for extra effect. ‘I’ll just never understand why she had to kill him,’ I sob. ‘She didn’t need to kill him.’

I look up quickly to make sure my amateur dramatics aren’t going to waste.

They both study me as if waiting for a crack to appear, but they’ll be waiting a long time because I’ve plastered over everything.

Robson closes the folder in front of her to signal that we’re getting close to the end of the interview and I slip my arms into my jacket.

‘Mmm,’ she says. ‘It doesn’t seem to make sense.’

If she were me, it would make perfect sense. It was always going to end this way once there was a chance Michael was going to find out what really happened on the night Ben died.

I was waiting for Naomi to take him back, to trawl through his memories, daring to spark a recollection that would be my undoing. But as I watched the videos of their sessions, she only ever got close once; when she asked him when he’d been at his happiest and he’d talked about the last day we spent with Ben. I’d held my breath as she pressed him, watching his eyes as they searched for the truth, all the time knowing what I’d have to do if he found it. Because I haven’t spent the past ten years blocking the reality out and expending all my energy into convincing both Michael and myself that he hadn’t locked the door – the door that Ben had so innocently walked out of – just for someone like Naomi to come along and unlock the proof that he did.