‘Listen,’ I say, trying to keep my voice steady and firm. ‘If you don’t tell your side of the story then someone somewhere will print what they want. They’ll dig and they’ll find stuff. They always do. But if you talk to me …’ I ignore the grunts ‘… if you talk to me then it will be your side of the story. I’ll print exactly what you want me to print. An exclusive.’

He laughs cruelly. ‘You’ve got to be kidding me. Are you listening to this, Marg? Don’t tell me you’re taken in by her.’

‘I won’t print anything about Heather or the family without you reading it first,’ I promise, desperate to say, to do anything to make him trust me, even though it goes against my normal practice.

‘You don’t understand,’ he says carefully. ‘I don’t want anything in the papers about us. Full stop.’

I slap my hand against the wooden surface of the table. ‘And you don’t understand. It will get in the papers whether you want it to or not. For crying out loud, it’s already in them!’

We stare at each other. My heart feels like it’s going to leap out of my chest. He breaks eye contact first, slumping back in his chair. Margot assesses us silently, rocking Ethan backwards and forwards in her arms. I wonder what she’s thinking. But I’ve already noticed a thaw in her since I sent the rest of the reporters packing.

Adam places his head in his hands and groans. ‘I just can’t believe we’re in this situation,’ he says, his deep voice muffled between his fingers.

‘I’m so sorry,’ I say gently, relieved that he’s calmer. ‘I haven’t seen Heather for years, but this seems unbelievable to me. Completely out of character. Have you …’ I dart a look at Margot ‘… have you wondered if there could be some mistake? Was it definitely Heather who did this?’

Margot’s face hardens again. ‘That’s what the police believe. There were eye witnesses … and they’re more or less sure that her own gunshot wound was self-inflicted.’

‘More or less sure?’ I ask. ‘Is there any doubt?’

Adam interrupts. ‘There is no doubt,’ he snaps. Why do I get the impression he’s hiding something?

Ethan starts to whimper, fidgeting and trying to get down from Margot’s lap. Adam stands up. ‘He needs to go to bed,’ he says, taking him from Margot. ‘But we can carry on this conversation later, Marg. Alone.’ He shoots me a look before turning back to Margot. ‘Don’t make any decisions yet.’

He stalks off, Ethan in his arms, without saying goodbye to me, the back door banging behind him.