She could walk those streets blindfolded. She knows the people, the light and the jacaranda trees, the slums and the traffic, the noise, the fights, the dancing in the streets, the whole beautiful city. She can close her eyes and conjure her grandparents’ village in a heartbeat; that smell of dry earth, of eucalyptus trees and roasting maize. She can see the sky. Her heart could open under that endless sky.

“You go, obviously.”

“We could find good schools for the kids. They’d love it.”

“They’re at good schools already.”

His grip on her wrist tightens. “I want to fix us, Grace. We met in Africa. What better than a year out there, together?”

She pulls her wrist away. “A year apart.”

Melissa

“I forbid it. Don’t involve Izzy in the trial. It won’t be for months yet.” Paul’s chin is peppered with gingery stubble, there’s dirt under his fingernails. He looks small, sitting on the other side of the table, defeated. It’s been four weeks but he looks a year older at least. Pentonville is another world, one he can’t dominate. “Tell her I don’t need her help.”

Melissa hadn’t wanted to come today, but she’d promised Izzy.

“She’s planning the statement already. She’s desperate for the chance to read it out, it’s keeping her awake at night. Your permission is mandatory.”

“I don’t want her exposed to the media.” He bangs his fist softly on the table. It isn’t loud enough to attract the guard but she has to stop herself from flinching. “I don’t trust them; they’ll wreak havoc if they scent blood. It could rebound on her.”

He’s uneasy about this. Melissa hadn’t wanted Izzy to be involved either but Izzy had insisted she ask, and she agreed in the end; when Paul’s convicted, which he almost certainly will be, it will be important for Izzy to know she’d tried her best to help her father.

“It’s an unusual request, but the lawyer’s prepared to make an exception and she thinks the judge will grant permission; she just needs yours.”

He’s lost weight, his Adam’s apple visibly jerks up and down when he swallows. “Will she be questioned?”

Melissa shakes her head. “She won’t even be in court. She’ll read it out by a video link then leave straightaway. She’s happy with that.”

He frowns, weighing it, working out the risks and benefits.

“I’ll be released anyway, they won’t find concrete evidence, because I didn’t do it.”

Melissa stares back silently; let him believe what he wants, it makes no difference.

Paul’s stubbly face leans closer to hers across the prison table. “What actual evidence do they have, apart from Sorrel being found in our freezer and the tiara in my car?”

That’s surely enough in itself, Melissa thinks but doesn’t say. Sorrel might tell the police more given time, but Grace told her the little girl is hardly speaking yet and that she might not remember anyway. The prison warden checks his watch and glances at them; the bell is about to sound.