He didn’t answer. ‘Tell me in your own words what happened, Mrs Morris.’ How old was he? In his twenties, I was sure. When he blushed, his neck turned red. I couldn’t remember his name, though he’d told me.

‘Well, I went to bed, and then I woke up and came down for water, and then she – Karen – she came in and said . . . what she said. That he . . . But, God, he really couldn’t have. He’s not like that, not at all.’

He made a note on his little pad and for a moment I felt like tearing it away, seeing what he’d written about me. ‘How long have you known Ms Rampling?’

‘Oh, God, it’s twenty-five years. We were just talking about it. Earlier. We’re friends, you see. All of us.’

‘And you were all at university, is that right?’

‘Yes, the . . . the six of us.’

‘And your children are also here.’ He made it sound wrong somehow.

‘Yes, Cassie, she’s fifteen, Benji’s ten. And Jake, he’s Karen’s son. He’s eighteen. Almost.’ I was trying to be as helpful as I could, in the hope of persuading him to believe me, that we were decent people. That Mike would never do anything like this.

He was still writing. ‘And Jake’s father . . . ?’

‘We don’t know who he is. She wouldn’t ever say. I’m not sure she knows, you know. She was a bit wild back then, but . . .’ I realised what I’d said. About my friend. Who had accused someone of rape.

Who had accused my husband of rape. ‘Where is he?’ I said, sounding wild myself. ‘Where’s Mike?’

‘We’ve taken your husband to the station – he’s been arrested.’

They’d be doing tests on him too. Scraping under his nails, combing his pubic hair, swabbing his cheek for DNA.

‘You said you woke up.’

‘I’m sorry?’ I blinked.

‘You’d gone to bed, but you woke up. Do you know why?’

‘Oh . . . no. I just did. So I went for water. I usually take some to bed, but I forgot. Maybe it was Jodi who woke me.’

‘That’s . . . Mrs Mackintosh?’

‘Yes. Well, she prefers her own name. Seiffert. She was making coffee. She’s pregnant, you see, so she wakes up easily. She said Callum – her husband – was passed out on the sofa.’

‘And your children were in bed?’

No, Cassie was out in the garden, her bare legs flashing, dirt from the woods on her feet. What was she doing there? ‘Mine were. Jake – he was in my husband’s office, I think. Over the garage.’ Had Karen really left him there until after three? My head hurt, trying to process all this, keep track of who had been where.

‘So when you went up to bed, your husband, Ms Rampling and Mr Mackintosh were in the garden still?’