He turns to face me.

‘Tiffy Moore,’ he says, ‘look at me.’

He’s right – I’m not looking at him. As though he is holding me on strings, my head snaps around and my eyes meet his. There he is. Square jaw, perfectly trimmed beard, strong shoulders beneath a tuxedo jacket. Eyes soft and trained on my face as if I’m the only girl in the room. You can’t see a trace of the man I have been talking about in counselling, the one who hurt me. This man is a dream come true.

‘Tiffy Moore,’ he begins again. Everything feels wrong, as if I’ve stepped into my Sliding Doors alternative world, and suddenly all trace of my other life, the one where I didn’t need or want Justin, is threatening to desert me. ‘I have been lost without you.’

There’s a pause. A lurching, sickening, echoing silence, like the long raw note in your ears when the music stops.

Then Justin drops down on one knee.

All at once I am aware of the crowd’s reaction – they coo and ahh – and I can see the faces onstage around me, Rachel’s twisted in shock, Katherin’s mouth open. I desperately want to run away, though I suspect that even if I could muster the strength, my legs would be too frozen to do everything required of them. It’s as if the whole lot of us onstage are performing some sort of tableau.

‘Please,’ I begin. Why have I started by pleading? I try the sentence again, but he doesn’t let me.

‘You’re the woman I am meant to be with,’ he says. His voice is gentle but carries well with the microphone. ‘I know that now. I can’t believe I ever lost faith in us. You’re everything I could possibly want and more.’ He tilts his head, a gesture I used to find irresistible. ‘I know I don’t deserve you, I know you’re far too good for me, but . . .’

Something twangs inside me as if it’s pulled close to snapping. I remember how Gerty said Justin knows exactly how to play me, and there it is: the Justin who got me in the first place.

‘Tiffany Moore,’ he says, ‘will you marry me?’

There’s something about his eyes – it was always his eyes that got me. As the silence stretches taut it seems to tighten around my throat. The feeling that I am in two places at once, that I’m two people at once, is so acute it’s almost like being half asleep and tugged between waking and dreaming. Here is Justin, begging for me. The Justin I always wanted. The Justin I had right at the start, who I went through countless rows and break-ups for, the one who I always believed was worth fighting for to get back.

I open my mouth and speak, but without the microphone my voice is lost behind the lilies. Even I can’t hear my answer.

‘She said yes!’ Justin yells, standing up, stretching his arms out wide. ‘She said yes!’

The crowd erupts. The noise is too much. The light sears stripes under my eyelids, and Justin is bundling me in, hugging me close, his mouth on my hair, and it doesn’t even feel strange, it feels like it always used to – his firm body against mine, the warmth of him, all horribly, perfectly familiar.

60

   Leon

Ms Constantine: Mrs Wilson, as our first expert witness, please could you begin by telling the judges what your expertise entails?

Mrs Wilson: I’m a CCTV analyst and enhancer. Have been for fifteen years. I work for the UK’s leading CCTV forensics business – it was my team that pulled that enhanced footage together [gestures to screen].

Ms Constantine: Thank you very much, Mrs Wilson. And in your experience of examining CCTV footage, what can you tell us about these two short clips that we have seen today?

Mrs Wilson: Plenty. They’re not the same bloke, to start with.

Ms Constantine: Really? You sound absolutely sure of that.

Mrs Wilson: Oh, sure as anything. For starters, look at the colour of the hoodie in the enhanced footage. Only one hoodie is black. You can tell by the shade that it comes out as, see? The black is a denser colour.

Ms Constantine: Can we have images from both up on screen, please? Thank you.

Mrs Wilson: And then look at how they walk! It’s a fair imitation, all right, but the first bloke is clearly fu— is clearly drunk, My Lords. Look at how he’s zigzagging. Almost walks into the display. Then the next guy walks much straighter and doesn’t fumble or anything when he reaches for the knife. Our first bloke nearly dropped the beers!

Ms Constantine: And with the new CCTV footage from outside Aldi, we can see the distinctively . . . zigzagged walk more clearly.

Mrs Wilson: Oh, yeah.

Ms Constantine: And of the group that we see walking by a few moments after the first figure, who we have identified as Mr Twomey . . . would you be able to identify any of those figures as the man with the knife in the off-licence?

Mr Turner, to the judges: My Lords, this is nothing but speculation.

Judge Whaite: No, we’ll allow it. Ms Constantine is calling on her witness’s expertise.

Ms Constantine: Mrs Wilson, could any of those men have been the man in the off-licence, looking at this footage?

Mrs Wilson: Oh, yeah. Bloke on the far right. His hood is down, and he’s not putting on the walk there, but look at how his shoulder drops with each step of his left foot. Look how he rubs his shoulder – the same gesture as the bloke in the off-licence makes before he pulls out the knife.

Mr Turner: We are here to examine an appeal against Mr Twomey’s conviction. What is the relevance of implicating an unidentifiable bystander?

Judge Whaite: I see your point, Mr Turner. All right, Ms Constantine – do you have any further questions which are pertinent to the case at hand?

Ms Constantine: None, My Lord. I hope perhaps we can return to this discussion at a later date, should this case be reopened.

Prosecution lawyer, Mr Turner, scoffs into his hand. Gerty turns a freezing cold glare on him. I remember how Mr Turner intimidated Richie at the last trial. Called him a thug, a violent-minded criminal, a child who took whatever he wanted. I watch Mr Turner pale under Gerty’s gaze. To my delight, even robed and wigged, Mr Turner is not immune to the power of Gerty’s dirty looks.

I meet Richie’s eye, and, for the first time all day, crack a genuine smile.

*

Step outside in the break and switch on my phone. My heart’s not exactly beating faster than usual, just beating . . . louder. Bigger. Everything feels exaggerated: when I buy a coffee, it tastes stronger; when the sky clears, the sun is stark and bright. Can’t believe how well it’s going in there. Gerty just doesn’t stop – every single thing she says is so . . . conclusive. The judges keep nodding. The judge never nodded first-time around.

I’ve imagined this too many times, and now I’m living it. Feels as if I’m inside a daydream.