Margot doesn’t think of the millions of questions swirling around in her brain, or that she’s just left Jess sitting outside the ICU as though she’s no more than a chauffeur. All she can concentrate on, as she runs down the corridor, only half aware that Adam is following, and brushes past the policewoman still standing guard and into Heather’s room, is that she’s awake. Her daughter is awake.

The doctors warned Margot when it first happened that Heather might not be herself if she came around. That the longer she spent in a coma the higher the chance that she could be in a permanent vegetative state. No, all Margot cares about is having her baby back in her arms. Her warm-blooded, breathing, conscious daughter.

Heather is propped up by pillows when she comes in, although her face is pale and she’s still attached to a drip. Margot rushes over to her and tentatively gathers her into her arms, careful of the wires. ‘Oh, my darling,’ she says, into Heather’s hair. And then she sits beside her on the chair and takes her hand.

Heather stares at her, and just as Margot begins to wonder if her daughter recognizes her, her face breaks into a watery smile. ‘Hi, Mum,’ she says, and it’s like music to Margot’s ears. The sweetest, most wonderful sound she’s ever heard. She wants to bury her head in her daughter’s lap and sob, with relief and fear. But she doesn’t. She needs to be stoic. She knows there’s still a long way to go.

Instead she blinks away the tears. ‘Oh, sweetheart.’ She brings Heather’s hand to her lips. ‘We’ve been so worried about you.’

‘My mouth is dry.’ Her lips are sore and cracked. Margot takes the cup of water from Heather’s side table and places it to her lips. Heather leans forwards to take a few sips, then leans back against the pillows. Margot can see through the glass panel in the door that Adam is outside talking to the doctor. Why hasn’t he rushed in here to see his wife?

‘How are you feeling, sweetheart?’ she asks, aware of what a silly question it is.

‘I feel like I’ve had a fight with a bus. Was I in some kind of accident?’

Margot’s stomach tightens. She doesn’t know. ‘Um. What exactly has the doctor said?’

Heather looks around the room, bewilderment in her eyes. ‘That I’ve had an accident.’

Margot brings the cup back to Heather’s lips. ‘Well, let’s wait to speak to them, shall we? Can you remember anything?’ What were you doing in Bristol? Why did you kill Clive and Deirdre Wilson? She has to bite her lip to stop her questions spilling out of her mouth.

‘They said I was in a coma.’