‘And I appreciate that,’ Gabby said. ‘I’m not demeaning your mental health issues. But shit, Sarah … a whole year? You could have freed up your position in CID. We’re a family …’ She cast an eye through the window over the bunch of officers who were getting on with their work. ‘A fucked-up, dysfunctional family, but we work together as a team. All I’m saying is, you could have spared them a thought.’

Sarah felt sick listening to Gabby. She was the one who had forced this conversation, and now she was hearing everything she had been avoiding. All those late nights on the sofa, mindlessly eating crap. She’d been so focused on just getting through each day – hating her husband as if it were a sport, and holding onto the hope of going back to work – that she hadn’t thought about the team being an officer down. Truth be told, she hadn’t let herself go there.

‘Look, it’s your first day. Things will get easier. Just keep your head down and get on with your work.’

‘Sarge, how can I do that if you’re making me go home?’

‘You’re on restricted duties. Those are the rules. You’re limited to an eight-hour shift.’

‘Then why have you kept me out of the office all day?’

‘So you could pull your weight.’ She took a measured breath. ‘And yes, maybe it was to spare you some of the comments floating around. I’m not a primary school teacher. I don’t have time for all that shit.’

Taking in a long, slow breath, Sarah nodded. ‘Alright, Sarge. I’ll go.’

‘And Sarah?’

‘Yes?’

‘Stop calling me Sarge. Only probationers do that. Call me Gabby. Or Ball Breaker behind my back. But Sarge is reserved for when the top brass is sniffing about.’

A soft smile touched Sarah’s lips. ‘Will do.’

As she slung her coat over the banister, Sarah reflected on the day she’d had. She liked Gabby more than she feared her now that she could see where she was coming from.

‘Bad day?’ her husband’s voice rose from the living room.

‘Are you still here?’ she snapped. The conversation with Gabby had given her a clarity she hadn’t had for months. Home was meant to be a place of comfort, not unease. ‘I want you to leave,’ she said, stalking into the living room. ‘I know you have this twisted idea that you’re looking out for me, but you’re not welcome here anymore. Just go.’ She turned and walked out of the room before he could say anything more. She knew he wouldn’t follow her. He had no place here now.