For a while they sat there, the chomp, chomp of the horses as they lowered their heads to the grass the only sound. Finch breathed in the stillness, the silence. This grand wilderness seemed not to allow for petty concerns – which was probably why he loved it.

‘I’m sad you’re leaving,’ Marty began, as they tightened their reins and turned their mounts back the way they’d come. ‘Next time you want to take off, you should visit Wisconsin. Spend some time at the ranch. Daddy would love you and there’s always a ton of work with the horses.’

‘Thanks, I’ll remember that,’ Finch said. He smiled across at his friend. ‘It’s your fault I’m going.’

‘How so?’

‘Oh, you just reminded me of stuff I was trying to forget.’

‘How thoughtless of me,’ Marty joked. Then his expression became serious. ‘But, trust me, it’ll be a relief to stop running.’

47

When she returned to the flat after the trial weekend, Michael made his position quite clear.

‘You see?’ He waved his good hand, like an actor taking a bow. ‘Still in one piece.’ Looking triumphant he added, rather formally, ‘So you can leave me with a clear conscience, Romy, and knowing you’ve done a spectacular job, getting me thus far. I can’t thank you enough.’

Romy had heard from Leo, however, what a state Michael and the kitchen had been in that Sunday morning, how worried he and Lucy were.

‘Honestly, Mum, the kitchen looked like the police had got a search warrant and popped by for a dawn raid. There was mess everywhere,’ Leo said, when he phoned her on her journey back to London. ‘Lucy wanted to clear it up, but I stopped her because you said not to do stuff for him this weekend.’

Romy had groaned silently. ‘How did your father seem?’

‘Oh, he was cheerful enough. He looked a wreck – hadn’t shaved and had food down his T-shirt – but he seemed perfectly happy on his own.’

By the time Romy arrived at the flat, though – steeling herself to deal with the chaos – the place was relatively tidy. Michael had shaved and dressed in clean clothes. A ready-meal supper of fish pie for them both stood poised for nuking.

‘It’s great you feel you can manage,’ she said now, watching as Michael balanced on the crutch and slung the pie confidently into the microwave, adjusting his reading glasses to peer down at the settings.

Romy was oddly discombobulated as she sat down at the table. The trial had worked. I really can leave, she thought. It was what she’d longed for, but she felt almost dithery, now the moment had finally come and she was no longer needed.