Fuck you, best friend. I haven’t killed anyone. I haven’t even driven without a side mirror—not recently, anyway. And nothing bad happened to any living thing—human, plant or animal—when I did. I’m not going to feel guilty about a so-called sin I committed that harmed no one.

“Scheming all the time, covering up, calculating . . . How can you bear it?”

“It’s called life on the planet earth,” I snap. “For those of us who aren’t perfect, that is.”

I shouldn’t let her rile me. I ought to be savoring my success. Plan B worked. She hasn’t said, “But, Nicki, your side mirror wasn’t missing when we went to the auction in Grantham. What are you talking about?”

What Melissa isn’t saying is ideal. Couldn’t be better. It’s what she is saying that’s hard to take.

“I’m worried about you, Nicki. You’re going to come a cropper one of these days.”

“You hope. You’ll have been painstakingly good all these years for nothing, won’t you, if I get away with the heinous crime of being me?”

She’s taken a mug from the cupboard to the left of the window and is shaking decaffeinated instant-coffee granules into it straight from the jar. “My answer’s no,” she says quietly. “I’m not prepared to lie to the police for you. People can end up in prison for that kind of thing.” She brings her mug of coffee over to the table and sits down opposite me. “And when I tell Lee about this conversation, he’ll probably call the police.” She sighs.

Nice of him.

“You know how he feels about honesty.”

I nod. “So . . . you’re not going to tell him?”

“I don’t know.” Melissa’s mouth twists. “I’d rather not be put in the position of having to make these horrible choices!”

“Again . . . life on the planet earth. Sorry.” I don’t sound it, because I don’t feel it. “You don’t like the idea of Lee landing me in it, but you’re not prepared to lie for me if the police contact you? Interesting ethical distinction. Might there be some cowardice and hypocrisy involved?”

“Nicki, stop.” A tear rolls down Melissa’s cheek. The sight of it makes me stiffen. The last time I cried in front of her—three weeks and five days ago, after my first encounter with the sand-haired policeman—she told me that whatever I was upset about was bound to be my own fault, and declared herself unwilling to hear any of the details.

I’m equally incapable of comforting her now. I like to think I’m open-minded, but it’s hard to sympathize when I’m me, and having me as a friend is the cause of all her pain. Even I don’t think I’m that bad.

“Are you trying to arrange it so that I won’t be able to speak to you at all, Nicki?” Melissa blurts out. “Is that what you want? Maybe you’d like me to be so frightened of what you might say that I don’t open the door to you anymore, or take your calls.”