Fiona, Gus and Stuart were huddled at the kitchen table. She wanted more than anything to put her arms around them all and never let go. But the exchange she’d just had with the PM filled her shoes with lead. She dumped her handbag and went to turn on the kettle. ‘Anyone for night-time tea?’

‘Are you really going to do this, Mum?’ Fiona had her palms pressed together, her arms outstretched towards her mother. ‘Tell us what happened.’

‘Nothing happened.’

‘That’s fucking bollocks.’

‘Fiona! Seriously, please. There’s no need for that kind of language.’

‘You know, you’re the worst liar in history. I have no idea how you became a spy in the first place.’

‘It’s only you I’m no good at lying to,’ Kate said. ‘For which you should probably be grateful.’

‘Then tell us what that was all about!’

Kate popped a herbal teabag into a mug while she waited for the kettle to boil. She perched on a stool at the other side of the table from her family. It felt like an interrogation. Perhaps it was.

‘What did he want with you?’ Fiona asked.

‘It doesn’t really matter, because I said no.’

‘Tell us!’

‘I can’t. It’s a sensitive security mat—’

‘Oh, my God, I cannot believe you!’ Fiona stood, her gaunt cheeks red with rage.

‘Calm down.’

‘Do not tell me to calm down!’

Stuart clasped their daughter’s shoulders and guided her gently back into her seat. ‘It’s all right. Let’s just hear Mum out.’

‘There honestly isn’t much to say. He wanted me to head up another inquiry to clear his name. I said I’d already done that and hell would freeze over before I returned to any kind of government service. He insisted on coming here in the morning for my final answer. I said that was my final answer and left.’

There was a long silence. Fiona glared at her. Gus examined the table. Stuart had his hand on his daughter’s arm, shaking it gently to and fro in quiet reassurance.

‘What is it you’re not telling us?’ Fiona asked eventually.

The kettle boiled. Kate splashed the water on to her teabag. She glanced at the bottle of whisky Stuart had bought from duty free and forced herself to resist the urge to pour a slug into her mug. ‘I’ve told you everything.’

‘Bullshit.’

Kate breathed in deeply. If there was one thing Dr Wiseman, the psychiatrist who had been helping her navigate family breakdown, the implosion of her career and near total mental breakdown, had always been clear about, it was the need to avoid being drawn into the mental torment and drama that her daughter lived through daily. Be calm, be consistent, be clear. ‘That was all he had to say. He asked me for a favour. I told him no. I left.’

‘Bullshit.’

‘It’s not bullshit.’

‘There was something else. You’re holding it back.’

Kate moved to sit at the table. She looked her daughter in the eye. Stuart often said she was a chip off the old block and at times like this he wasn’t wrong: Fiona could be a fearsome interrogator. ‘No,’ she said. ‘That was it. Now, what are we going to do tomorrow?’