Anita let the phone fall from her hand onto the sheets.

She imagined the scene of telling Rohan everything. Anita would calmly admit the truth of what Paula had done, remind him of the context and explain the reasoning behind her actions. She imagined Rohan listening in his respectful way.

Finally Anita would say, ‘So in conclusion, Paula did unfortunately kill two people, but please understand she thought she was doing the right thing.’

She imagined Rohan nodding thoughtfully.

‘Well, Anita, let’s face it, they were horrible men. Having said that, do remind your friend that murdering is frowned upon and make sure she never does it again. Otherwise, it’s all sweet,’ Rohan would not reply.

Because that scene was impossible.

There was no way she could tell Rohan Mehta and expect him, as a cop and as an honourable person, not to report these crimes. Paula’s argument for keeping quiet—that it would only cause distress for Rochelle Ferguson and Brooke Lester if this truth were to be told—that argument had merit. Maybe too, underneath the boiling surface of Anita’s anger towards Paula, she wasn’t ready to betray her friend.

She then tried to imagine her way through an evening at Rohan’s place, the two of them having dinner and Anita not saying a word about the things she now knew. She imagined meeting Rohan’s parents, and introducing him to her family, and still not telling him. She imagined him asking her why she didn’t see Paula anymore and heard herself making up a lie. Those scenes were all impossible too.

Anita couldn’t see a way to maintain a relationship with Rohan while this massive secret was sitting there, polluting the air they breathed together, rotting through the floorboards they stood on. She’d been the one to insist they must always keep their relationship candid and open. She could no longer offer that.

Later in the day, she composed a text.

Rohan, I know this seems like it’s coming out of nowhere, but I’m afraid I have to end our relationship. I’m sorry. You’re a wonderful man but I’m so messed up with everything that’s happened, I need to be by myself and work some stuff out. I’m so sorry. Anita xxx

Immediately her phone buzzed as he tried to call her. She didn’t pick up. The phone then dinged with a text.

??? I’m confused. Please can we meet and talk? R

Better not. Easier for me if we don’t. Sorry. A x

I’m going to worry about you. Please. xx

This man was no idiot—he would need more of an explanation. And it was ridiculous and cruel to break up with him by text. So Anita agreed to meet at a cafe around the corner from the Downing Street court building at the end of the day.