Holly’s been trying to think of a time when her dad decided she shouldn’t do something and she ended up doing it anyway, or the other way around. Boarding is the only one she could come up with. Sometimes he says no flat out; more often, it just ends up not happening. Sometimes Holly even winds up, she’s not sure how, thinking he’s right. She wasn’t actually planning to tell him about the law thing, but unless you concentrate you end up telling Dad stuff.

‘Looks good to me,’ Dad says. ‘In here.’ Holly goes over to him and scrapes the garlic into the casserole dish. ‘And chop that leek for me. Why defence?’

Holly takes the leek back to her stool. ‘Because. There’s like hundreds of people on the prosecution side.’

Dad waits for more, eyebrow up, inquiring, until she shrugs. ‘Just . . . I don’t know. Detectives, and uniforms, and the Technical Bureau, and the prosecutors. The defence just has the person whose actual life it is, and his lawyer.’

‘Hm,’ says Dad, examining the potato chunks. Holly can feel him being careful, looking over his answer from every angle. ‘You know, sweetheart, it’s not actually as unfair as it looks. If anything, the system’s weighted towards the defence. The prosecution has to build a whole case that stands up beyond a reasonable doubt; the defence only has to build that one doubt. I can swear to you, hand on heart, there’s a lot more guilty people acquitted than innocent ones in jail.’

Which isn’t what Holly means, at all. She’s not sure whether Dad not getting it is irritating or a relief. ‘Yeah,’ she says. ‘Probably.’

Dad throws the potatoes into the casserole dish. He says, ‘It’s a good impulse. Just take your time; don’t get fixed on a plan till you’re a hundred per cent definite. Yeah?’

Holly says, ‘How come you don’t want me to do defence?’

‘I’d be only delighted. That’s where the money is; you can keep me in the style to which I wish to become accustomed.’

He’s slipping away, the nonstick glint coming into his eyes. ‘Dad. I’m asking.’

‘Defence lawyers hate me. I thought you were going to do your hating me around about now, get it out of your system, and by the time you were twenty or so we’d get on great again. I didn’t think you’d be just getting started.’ Dad heads for the fridge and starts rummaging. ‘Your mother said to put in carrots. How many do you figure we need?’

‘Dad.’