Finishing the afternoon’s session at the practice, Paula made some effort to tidy her consulting room and leave things in a decent state. She made sure important emails were sent and patient files were up to date.

Once she’d reported herself to the police this evening, she might not ever come back here. Probably they wouldn’t hold her in custody but she presumed she would no longer be permitted to practise as a doctor. Better not to stew about any of that now. No point speculating about lawyers and trials and the future.

For the two hours since she’d resolved to confess, she had been mentally rehearsing the wording she would use. There was a good chance the police would find her story unlikely. She would have to give them medical details, but she would also have to offer plausible motivation, talk about Stacey, all of it. She wanted to explain her exact thought process before she killed Ian Ferguson. Not to excuse anything, but to clarify.

She was terrified, no question, but still, this was necessary. She didn’t allow herself to think beyond the moment of confession. She needed to focus on the moment itself, the correcting of the universe, so she would be able to breathe properly again.

Anita plonked herself and her laptop bag on the bench seat in the Enmore restaurant where they’d chosen to meet. Paula insisted on buying the first round of drinks and bringing them to the table.

‘I ordered us some share plates too,’ she said.

‘Thanks,’ said Anita. ‘It is fucking good to see you, lady. Sorry I’ve been so busy.’

It was true she’d been preoccupied with the Santino trial, but it was also true that she’d been preoccupied with Rohan Mehta.

Traditionally, she would have shared every detail of the new romance with Paula and Stacey by this point. Stacey would’ve insisted on a blow-by-blow account, mock-swooning at the excitement of it all, enthusiastically analysing the subtext of key moments. Paula would be excited for Anita too, but in a more measured way, running through a checklist of questions to ensure this new guy was good enough for her friend. Nothing important in Anita’s life felt real until she’d shared it with those two.

The way things were now, she didn’t know how to tell Paula about Rohan Mehta. The story of how they got together might be painful. And parading her happiness might be painful too. She should wait for the right time to say something.

The two friends clinked glasses.

‘I’m glad this place isn’t too noisy,’ Anita said. ‘Don’t you reckon restaurant reviews should have an acoustic rating alongside the price guide and however many stars? Do I sound like a curmudgeonly old deaf man?’

Paula smiled. ‘No, no, I agree.’