Tom, Tatchwell’s clinical director, had left a message on Emma’s phone asking that she come straight to his office before she visited Connie that day. He’d sounded preoccupied, worried about something, inordinately formal. When she got to his door she sensed his secretary was being cagey with her, and she worried that it was bad news about the girls.

‘Ah, come in, come in, Emma!’ Tom said, holding his office door open for her and shutting it gently behind her. His office was a mess but he seemed unaware of it. He bowed his head and was rubbing his beard thoughtfully.

‘Are the girls all right? Annie and Polly?’ she asked.

‘I haven’t heard otherwise . . .’ he said, making a perfunctory effort to tidy up his desk.

‘Right,’ she said, waiting for him to elaborate, but he didn’t.

‘Do sit down,’ he said, gesturing to an uncomfortable-looking plastic chair.

‘Is something wrong?’ she asked.

He smiled using only his bottom lip and neck muscles before taking his place behind his desk. ‘How are you, Emma?’

‘Well,’ she said, taking the proffered seat and putting her bag down. ‘I think we’re getting somewhere. Both her verbal and non-verbal behaviour indicate no positive malingering. I’m undecided about her fitness to stand trial at the moment. The amnesia seems to have had a sudden onset and is blurry around the edges, which is to be expected, according to what I’ve read, in these rare cases of family annihilation. The psychotic episode seems to have been triggered by a number of events. In fact, there are serious questions to be raised concerning the benzodiazepine prescriptions from her GP and particularly the Clonazepam at Milton House—’

‘Um,’ he interrupted. ‘That’s not really what I meant.’

‘Oh?’

He looked like he’d rather be anywhere else on earth. ‘Emma, I was never made aware of your situation before assigning you to this case.’

‘My situation?’

‘This was always going to be a very sensitive case. I wasn’t aware of your . . . personal bereavement.’

Emma felt herself harden up inside; it wasn’t appropriate to hear him talk of Abigail. It wasn’t in his remit. She smoothed her skirt and looked him straight in the face. He shifted his glance.

‘My personal situation has nothing to do with this case,’ she said.

‘Right, no,’ he said, backtracking. ‘Except I don’t know if that is entirely true. Had I known—’

‘Had you known I had lost a child you wouldn’t have given me the case?’

‘Emma, there have been formal complaints made about you,’ he said, changing tack.

She looked puzzled. ‘I’m sorry? From who?’

‘Two members of staff have complained about you.’

‘Complained about me? In what way?’

‘There is going to have to be a formal review.’

‘What are you talking about?’