Heather turns to face her, fire suddenly blazing behind her wet eyes. ‘Soon it will be even worse. Soon I’ll only be allowed to see him once a week. He’ll grow up not knowing me. Not really. A prison is no place for a child.’ She’s crying so much now that her shoulders are heaving.

Margot pulls her into her arms. ‘Please don’t cry. I’ve got a brilliant lawyer for you. We’ll do what we can to fight it, okay?’

Heather rests her head on Margot’s shoulder and cries as if she’s still a child. Margot rubs her back, feeling powerless. It’s inbuilt in her, the desire to make everything okay for her daughter, but how can she prevent this? Eventually Heather pulls away, her eyes red and puffy, and Margot sits on the chair. She glances at the clock on the wall. It’s nearly seven thirty. Soon visiting time will be over and she’ll have to go. She doesn’t want to leave her in this state.

‘Mum,’ says Heather. She pulls her knees up to her chest. She looks impossibly young and vulnerable, thinks Margot, assessing her daughter in her oversized pyjamas. She’s lost weight since the … incident. She swings her legs out of bed and Margot jumps up from her chair. Heather is still a little unsteady on her feet. The head injury has caused a lack of balance, although they’ve been assured this is only temporary.

‘What is it, sweetheart? Do you need the loo?’

She shakes her head, then winces, touching her bandage gingerly. ‘No. I need … I need to tell you something.’ She pats the bed next to her, and Margot sits. The bed is high off the floor and Margot’s legs dangle like a child’s.

‘What is it?’ They’re sitting so close that their thighs are touching. Margot realizes, with a jolt, that Heather has suggested she sit so close so that the police at the door can’t hear what she’s about to say. Straight away Margot’s heart begins to beat faster.

‘Jess is going to write a piece about me. With my blessing. I’m hoping it will make the public understand a bit more, that they know I’d never be capable of killing the Wilsons. Not when I have Ethan to think about. It might help if … when … this all goes to trial.’

Margot’s holding her breath. ‘Right?’