‘Hi, Mum.’ The words were even less enthusiastic than they’d been in Macdowall’s bathroom earlier. Macdowall’s bathroom, Jesus. She was so tempted to scream at her little boy, who used to chuckle so hard when she tickled him.

‘Where are you?’

‘Train.’

‘Where to?’

‘Edinburgh, with Holly.’

Holly? Edinburgh. Jesus Christ. ‘I’m heading to Liam’s event too. Can we talk later? Meet in the foyer after three? Are you okay?’

‘Sure, bye.’ He hung up.

The temperature in the car suddenly increased by about fifteen degrees. Mary put the air-conditioning on high and opened all the windows. When she was in her twenties, Mary didn’t think childbirth’d be a big deal, not till she shat ten pounds out of her fanny at twenty-eight. Her pain threshold, much to her surprise, turned out to be low. Until one year ago, Mary didn’t believe the tales old women told about the menopause. What was the problem with getting hot? Mary often got hot, sometimes very. Turns out a hot flush was like an orgasm. If you’re not sure you’ve had one, you haven’t.

She decided to call her boss, Catherine. ‘Hi, it’s Mary. Can you ring me? I’m not quite coping.’

She felt better having left the message, better enough to listen to umpteen voicemails from, then return calls to:

Roddie:

‘Roddie?’

Roddie:

‘Where are you?’

Dr Shearer’s Terrifying Receptionist:

‘Hi, this is Mary Shields from Renfield Social Work. Can I please speak with Dr Shearer? It’s about Liam Macdowall, whose life licence I supervise … I’m driving, so I can’t fax you a consent form now. Criminal Justice Social Work, Renfield. Yes, he has. But I can’t. I’m on the M8. Mary Shields. Social Worker, Yes, but … But Dr Shearer called me. He actually wants to speak to me – much more than I do to him. Okay, fine, can you please get him to call me, then? He can call me at 2.07? Until what time, 2.09? Fine, 2.07. Okay thanks. I’ll be at an event, so I might need to call him back. What if it takes me more than two minutes to call back? Okay, I’ll keep my phone on.’

Detective Sergeant Minnie Johnstone:

‘What do you mean there was no doll at McKinley’s? It was on the armchair, in an embroidered dress. Her name’s Emily. Well, can you check again? Look in the bins. Can you get a warrant?’

The Bored Sheriff’s Clerk and four other court-report-related people:

‘I’ll get the reports in for court tomorrow morning. Sorry, work emergency.’

Roddie (by text):

You’re being a cunt. Is it over? I’m driving on a motorway at high speed and it feels like it’s fucking over.

Roddie:

‘Where are you?’ (Crying) ‘Please call me.’