I push the ring back into its padded box and hide it under Rory’s socks, so that I can no longer see it, as though the sight of it would burn my retinas. I turn off the light and I’m about to leave the room when my eyes catch something across the road through the bedroom window. I step forwards, half hidden by Aoife’s retro-print curtains. In one of the upstairs windows on the third floor of the derelict building I can see the faint silhouette of a person. I can’t make out whether it’s male or female but they’re holding a torch and directing it right at me. Can they see me? They probably could earlier when I was sitting on the bed with the curtains open and the lights on. I shudder at the thought. The building used to be an old granary and flour warehouse. Are squatters living there? Or is someone hanging out there to spy on me? I step forward and draw the curtains tightly.

As I head back into the living room I hear my mobile ringing. I grab it from where I’d slung it on the sofa, hoping it’s Rory, but I’m surprised when Margot’s name flashes up.

‘Jess?’

I’ve noticed she calls me Jess now, like she did when I was a kid.

‘Speaking. Are you okay?’ She sounds upset.

‘I – I know I’m interrupting your evening and you’re probably busy …’

‘I’m not busy.’ I give a fake laugh. ‘I’m actually home alone.’

There’s a pause. ‘Oh. Right. I thought you’d be out. You always were such a social butterfly.’

Was I? I suppose I was once. Now the only thing I seem to do is work or come home and slump in front of the TV with Rory, watching box sets, broken up by the occasional drink at the pub with Jack. ‘I don’t go out much.’ When did that happen? Since we left London? Or before?

‘Anyway,’ she continues, ‘I had a call from the police. They’ve found another set of fingerprints on the gun Heather used.’

I stand up straighter. Now this is interesting. ‘Really? Whose?’

She sighs. ‘They don’t know.’

‘But,’ I begin pacing the room, ‘this is good, right? It means Heather might not have pulled the trigger. Someone else was there.’ I realize, with a jolt, that I’m desperate for Heather to be innocent. How can I be objective in my reporting now?

‘I – I’m not sure …’ She sounds lost and my heart aches for her.

‘Margot? Is Adam with you? Have you told him?’