The share platters they’d ordered finally arrived. Paula used the opportunity to look away and focus on spooning food onto their plates.

It was a relief to hear her friend approved, in theory, of what she’d done. Of course, if Anita knew the truth—that this murder was real, not a joke, not a hypothetical act—she would feel differently. And it wasn’t fair to burden Anita with that knowledge.

Another thought crystallised in Paula’s mind: it wouldn’t be beneficial to do anything that might overturn the new peace Rochelle and her son had found. A confession, a murder investigation and the resulting publicity would bring more distress to that fragile little family.

Paula certainly felt the weight of what she’d done. She felt the wrongness of it inside like a large tumour pressing on vital organs. She would never do something like this again, but at least some good had come from her criminal act. And no good could come from admitting it. If that meant she had to carry the weight of it inside her alone, then that was how it had to be.

She realised that Anita was gazing at her, watching her eat. Paula was suddenly aware that she’d been shovelling food in ravenously.

‘Oh honey,’ said Anita, smiling with deep affection, ‘it’s good to see you looking happier. And eating. I’ve been worried about you.’

‘Don’t worry. I’m okay.’

‘Yeah, well, seeing the way you’re ploughing through this meal, my theory is that for the last few weeks you were just really fucking hungry.’

Paula laughed and made a show of wolfing down the food like a person who hadn’t eaten for weeks.

Anita cleared her throat pointedly. ‘There’s something I need to tell you.’

‘Sure—as long as I can keep gorging myself as I listen,’ Paula joked.

Anita made a ‘please continue’ gesture and said, ‘I’ve got involved with a man. It’s become serious pretty quickly.’

‘Oh! Oh, Anita, that’s brilliant! I’m so, so glad.’

‘It’s Rohan Mehta.’ Anita looked hesitant, clearly anxious about how Paula would react.

Paula took a moment to absorb this. ‘Oh.’

‘Rohan’s the detective who—’

‘Yes. I know who he—he seems like a really lovely—’

‘He is. He’s lovely,’ said Anita. ‘But I know it’s weird, because of the connection to Stacey. So I understand if you feel … I don’t know … weird about it.’

‘No. No,’ Paula said firmly, then smiled. She did feel a little weird about it, but mostly she felt delighted. ‘I’m really happy. And to the extent there’s a connection to Stace, it’s kind of wonderful to think that something good has come out of something horrible.’

Anita grinned, obviously relieved.

‘Do you understand what I mean?’ Paula asked. ‘This is a good outcome—like organ donation after someone’s died in a car accident.’