‘You mean, to make the point that she had options?’ Lucy shakes her head. ‘No. I thought of that, too. I specifically asked Aislinn – warned her, more like – and she said no way. But I wondered if . . . I told you Joe wanted to be able to look through her phone. I wondered if maybe Ash was leaving a couple of texts from Rory on there. Just so, if Joe went looking . . .’

Which she was. Jesus Christ. I think about banging my head off the coffee table a few times. Naïve didn’t begin to describe this girl.

‘That was what worried me,’ Lucy says, ‘when Ash told me she had invited Rory over for dinner. They could’ve met anywhere, you know? If they wanted a shag, they could’ve gone back to Rory’s. Why go where Aislinn knew Joe might show up?’

I say, ‘Unless she was actually hoping for that.’

‘Yeah. Maybe not even consciously, but she had to know it could happen. And she was getting desperate for this whole thing to be over. Every time she saw Rory, or even talked to him, she got more smitten. Deep down, all she really wanted to do was forget the whole Joe mess had ever happened, and go off and spend twenty-four hours a day snuggling and giggling with Rory. She just couldn’t quite make herself let go of the Joe plan. Maybe part of her was hoping that Joe would call round, see Rory, throw a wobbler and stamp off into the sunset. Make the decision for her.’ Lucy catches the look on my face. We’ve been watching each other for so long, we’re getting good at each other. ‘I know. You think I don’t know? Like I said, she was miles out of her depth. She could’ve genuinely thought it would go down that way. Just that simple.’

Jesus Christ. ‘If only,’ I say.

Lucy says, ‘He did it. Didn’t he? Joe killed Aislinn.’

I say, ‘You need to keep quiet about this whole conversation. No dropping hints to your mates, nothing. Is that clear?’

‘Yeah, it is. I’ve kept quiet about this for months; I’m not going to start yapping now. I just need to know.’

I’m not gonna be McCann, doling out info in prissy little drips only when my all-knowing enlightened self has determined that it’s for someone’s own good. ‘Yeah,’ I say. ‘I’m pretty sure he did.’

Lucy puts a knuckle to her mouth and nods for a long time. This wasn’t a surprise, but hearing it out of my mouth changes it. It takes her a while to get used to.

She asks, ‘Was it on purpose? Was he actually trying to kill her, or was it something where he just snapped and didn’t realise . . . ?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Has he ever done anything like this before? I mean, not exactly like this, obviously, but—’