The lawyer Jodi had found was a young and perky solicitor called Anna McCrum. Northern Ireland, I thought, her voice forthright and loud. She wore a trench coat and black trousers cropped at the ankle, neat and composed on this Sunday afternoon. We should have been cleaning up the dinner party now. Settling down with the Sunday lunch Mike had promised to cook. Drinking red wine. Laughing ruefully at how hungover we were. Then waving our guests off, getting back to our lives, ready for work and school tomorrow. Now I didn’t know what would happen. The mere act of ushering Anna into the living room, trying to find a cup and coffee and milk, almost finished me off, and I stood in front of the fridge for a full two minutes, staring blankly at the contents. Someone had put the leftovers away, neatly covered in cling film. Jodi, probably. Funny how I’d never seen the value of her before, her careful ways, her attention to detail, but she was the only one doing anything practical to help. It was the details that mattered when the entire world had fallen apart. Like was there any milk or clean cups and had someone loaded the dishwasher. I felt a wave of guilt that I’d never made more effort with her.

‘It’s Ali, yes?’

‘That’s right.’ Everyone else had called me Mrs Morris, as if I was Mike’s mother, someone old and fragile. Oh God – someone would have to tell his parents, ring them at their villa in France. I knew that I absolutely couldn’t face it just now. ‘Can you tell me what’s happening?’

Anna folded her foot, neat in a ballet pump, over her leg. ‘Right so. As you might know, they did find semen in Ms Rampling, consistent with sexual intercourse. They’re trying to rush through the DNA testing on that I believe.’

‘But he . . . he told me they’d had sex earlier that day. Consensual. So they might . . . find something from that.’ My mind shied away from it. Was he saying they hadn’t used a condom? That small extra betrayal sent a flare of rage through me, burning my oesophagus like acid. How could he. How could she?

I watched Anna’s face to see if she was judging us, the mess of our lives, but she gave nothing away. ‘Hmm. That does make it a bit complicated.’

‘What about the bruising? They can match it to his hands or something? I mean it wouldn’t match, of course.’

‘They can try, but that’s not always conclusive. Now, Ali, we need to make sure we have all Mike’s clothes from last night. He mentioned a jumper?’