‘So, you’re a journalist now?’ she asks instead, folding her arms across her chest in a way she hopes displays her disapproval. It’s not surprising, she thinks, as she surveys the woman standing in front of her. Jessica had been fourteen the last time she saw her, hanging around the clock tower with a new group of friends, drinking and generally behaving like a little tart, draped over some boy. Margot had felt so angry that she’d called Jessica at home and reprimanded her about how she’d treated Heather. She wasn’t proud of her behaviour, looking back. Jessica was only a teenager.

Jessica hesitates. ‘Yes, I am … but that’s not the only reason I’m here.’

Margot rolls her eyes. Of course it is! Why else would she come?

Jessica obviously notices because she adds, ‘I also wanted to say how sorry I am. For the way …’ She swallows and, for a brief moment, Margot thinks she notices tears film Jessica’s eyes. But, no, she must be mistaken, for Jessica Fox has no heart. ‘… for the way I treated Heather, back then.’

‘For abandoning her,’ Margot states. After all, let’s call a spade a spade, she thinks. ‘After she lost her father. Her sister.’

Jessica nods, her shaggy fringe falling in her face. The gesture gives her vulnerability and unexpectedly reminds Margot of Heather. ‘Yes,’ Jessica says, in a small voice. ‘I treated her badly, I know that. I was a kid, and I was stupid and selfish. I didn’t think about Heather’s feelings. I just …’

Jessica doesn’t have to finish her sentence. Margot knows exactly what she must have been thinking all those years ago. She’d wanted to get away from Heather and all her bad luck. Maybe she’d thought it was contagious.

‘Why now?’ demands Margot. ‘Because Heather’s in hospital, accused of killing two people? It’s a juicy story, I’ll give you that.’

Jessica shuffles, clearly uncomfortable. ‘I moved away. I’ve only been living back in the West Country for a year.’

‘And you didn’t think to look us up before? You didn’t feel like apologizing then?’

Jessica opens her mouth but no words come out. What can she say? thinks Margot. Where’s her defence? Then, eventually, she says, ‘It’s been years, Margot.’

Margot’s suddenly had enough of this conversation. She doesn’t want to look into Jessica’s big brown eyes, doesn’t want to feel anything for the girl standing before her.

She pulls herself up to her full height and can almost feel her heart hardening. ‘I have nothing more to say to you.’ Before Jessica can utter another word Margot closes the door firmly in her face. Then she leans against it, her heart pounding. She places a hand on her chest and takes a deep breath.