I manage to force out a laugh. “So, wait, let’s see if I’ve got this right: Dad and Lee have decided to bring me to justice, appointed you as the messenger, and the message is that you’ve all snitched on me to the police? And you’re going to share your inventive theory with Adam too?”

“There’s no point lying any longer, Nicki. Melissa’s told us everything.”

“Everything and more, by the sound of it, since me killing Damon Blundy isn’t part of everything. Nor is me having an affair with him. And feel free to tell Adam whatever you want, but there’s nothing about me he doesn’t know, as of yesterday. After my interview with the police . . . I assume Melissa told you all about that?”

“She did, yes. She’s worried about you. We all are.”

“Thanks. I’m touched.”

“Melissa, as your best friend—”

“Best friend?” I laugh. “Yes, a best friend containing a Trojan horse containing a worst enemy—that kind of best friend. It was talking to her yesterday that made me decide to tell Adam everything. I had a feeling that some unwarranted suspicion of murder and a huge betrayal might be just round the corner. I didn’t want anyone holding me to ransom, so I told him all my secrets. Which, I’m afraid, means I’ve spoiled your fun. You can always tell him anyway if you want? I can ask him to pretend he doesn’t already know.”

I’m going to have to tell Adam, now that I’ve called Mum’s bluff. Confess all my sins. I will worry about that once I get her off the phone.

Some of my sins. I don’t have to tell Adam everything.

Thankfully, Melissa knows nothing about King Edward and the Chancery Hotel.

“I even told Adam whether I did or didn’t kill Damon Blundy,” I say childishly.

“You just told me you didn’t kill him,” says Mum. “Are you admitting you did now?”

“No. I’m saying I told Adam the truth about whether I did or didn’t.”

“And you told me a lie?”

“No. I told you the truth too.”

“This isn’t a game, Nicki.”

But everything must be a game, mustn’t it? Or else it’s all too much to bear. Everything is a game and I have to win.

“Have you and Dad hired a man with streaked hair to follow me?” I ask. “Or has Lee?”

“What man with streaked hair?”

“I’ve no idea. That’s why I’m asking you. A man’s been following me.”

“You’ll probably end up in bed with him,” says Mum. It’s the first flare-up of anger I’ve heard in her voice since the beginning of the conversation.

“No, he runs away when I turn around,” I say. “Perhaps it’s a weird kind of sexual ‘What’s-the-Time-Mister-Wolf?’ role-play game?”