Kate didn’t see Craven leave the courtroom – she couldn’t bear to and so she left as fast as she could, Tim taking her hand as they walked rapidly towards the train station. It was only as she was about to get on the train that she realized she’d left her jacket behind and cried out in dismay.

‘I can’t go back in there, Tim, I just can’t.’

‘It’s OK, I’ll do it,’ said Tim and he walked with her back to the courtroom. Kate stayed outside, not wanting to be anywhere near the place, and she huddled against the wall as Tim went in to retrieve her jacket. Please hurry, she thought.

A man in a black leather biker jacket parked up his motorbike and, taking off his helmet, walked towards a street on the other side of the courtroom. He had a horseshoe moustache and Kate frowned as she saw him approach Craven’s solicitor, who seemed to be expecting him. But then Tim came back out and she quickly turned away. She didn’t see the two men exchange a few words and the solicitor leave. Nor did she see the man in leathers pull out his mobile phone and dial a number.

‘He got off,’ he said briskly, his voice low. ‘It’s done.’

Message imparted, the man hung up, then walked back to his motorbike and drove off.

SEVEN

Tim was still with her at five o’clock that afternoon. He’d rung in to work to cancel his evening shift, claiming he was unwell. They’d gone back to Kate’s house and he’d made lunch, then tea, and all of it had been left uneaten, the sandwiches still curling on the plates. He’d sat and asked if she wanted to talk but she didn’t, she wanted to rage.

‘Accident! How dare they. How dare they hide behind that word. It’s not a bloody accident, accidents are unavoidable. It wasn’t unavoidable, it was preventable. It had to be. There had to be a way of him seeing her. If you drive a lorry, you have to be able to see everything. Otherwise that lorry should not be on the road!’

‘You’re right. Of course you’re right.’

‘So why can’t they see this?’

‘I know it’s awful, it’s shameful, in fact . . . but they are following the rules.’

‘If they are following all the rules and still this happens then the rules are wrong! Someone has to change the bloody rules.’

Tim was quiet and she stopped pacing up and down the living room, realizing how much she’d been shouting. She felt bad, but at the same time was angry at him for not ranting with her.

He stood and took her in his arms and she felt herself crumple.

‘Do you want me to stay tonight?’

‘Yes,’ she said, crying into his shoulder. Then she pulled away and rubbed at the damp patch on his jumper. ‘Sorry.’ She caught his face, a glimpse of exhaustion, of worry. ‘Sorry, Tim. To go on so much . . .’