“I’m not—I’m not—”

One of the strange things about grief is the way it ambushes you when you least expect it. Suddenly I’m back in the maternity unit, holding Isabel, frantically tucking her swaddling cloth around her head like a shawl to keep the last precious remnants of body warmth—my body warmth—from escaping, trying to postpone the moment when her little limbs go cold. I’m looking at her eyes, her tiny closed eyes with their sweet pouchy eyelids, wondering what color they are, whether they’re blue like mine or dark like her father’s.

I blink, and the memory’s gone, but the dull leaden weight of failure and despair has coshed me once again and I sob suddenly into my wrist.

“Oh my God.” Edward smacks his forehead. “The shirouo. How could I be so stupid?” He speaks to the waitress in an urgent stream of Japanese, pointing at me and ordering more food. But there’s no time for that now, no time for anything at all. Already I’m bolting for the door.

THEN: EMMA

Thank you for coming, Emma, DI Clarke says. One sugar, yes?

The detective inspector’s office is a tiny cubbyhole filled with paperwork and files. There’s a framed photograph, quite an old one, showing him in the front row of a rugby team, holding a ridiculously large trophy. The mug of instant coffee he hands me has a picture of Garfield on it, which seems too cheerful for a police station.

That’s all right, I say nervously. What’s it about?

DI Clarke takes a mouthful of his own coffee and sets the mug down on the desk. Next to it is a plate of biscuits, which he pushes toward me.

The two men charged in connection with your case have both pleaded not guilty and made bail applications. Regarding the accomplice, Grant Lewis, there’s not a lot we can do about that. But the one who raped you, Deon Nelson, may be a different matter.

Right, I say, although I don’t really see why he’s called me in to explain this. It’s bad news they’re pleading not guilty, of course, but couldn’t he have told me over the phone?

As the victim, DI Clarke continues, you’re entitled to make a Victim Personal Statement—what the press sometimes calls an impact statement. You can tell the bail hearing how the crime affected you, how you feel about the prospect of Nelson being free until his trial begins.

I nod. How do I feel? I don’t really feel anything. So long as he goes to prison in the end, that’s all that matters.

Seeing my lack of enthusiasm, DI Clarke says gently, The thing is, Emma, Nelson is a clever and violent man. I personally would feel much more comfortable if he were to stay behind bars right now.

He wouldn’t risk doing it again while he was out on bail, though, would he? I say. Then I see what the DI’s getting at.

You think I could be in danger, I say, staring at him. That he might try to stop me giving evidence.

I don’t want you getting alarmed, Emma. Thankfully, instances of witness intimidation are very rare. But in cases like this, where the whole thing basically hangs on one person’s evidence, it’s better to be safe than sorry.

What do you want me to do?

Write a VPS for the bail hearing. We can give you some pointers, but the more personal it is, the better.

He pauses. I should remind you, though, that once your statement’s been read to the court it becomes a legal document. The defense will be entitled to cross-examine you on it when it comes to the trial.

Who would read it?

Well, it could be the prosecution lawyer, or a police officer for that matter. But these things are always more powerful if they come directly from the victim. Even judges are only human. And I think you’ll make a very strong impression.

Just for a moment, DI Clarke’s face softens and he almost seems to go a little misty-eyed. Then he clears his throat. We’ll make an application for Special Measures. That means you can be screened from Nelson during the hearing. You won’t have to look at him when you read your statement and he won’t be able to see you.

But he’ll be there, I say. Listening.

DI Clarke nods.

And what will happen if the judge disagrees, and he does get bail? Isn’t there a chance I’ll have made things worse?

We’ll make sure you’re safe, DI Clarke says reassuringly. It’s fortunate, after all, that you’ve moved. He doesn’t know where you live.

He fixes me with his kindly, careful gaze. So, Emma. Will you write a VPS and read it to the court?

This is why I’m here, I realize. He knew that if he’d just called me, I might have said no.

Well, if you think it’ll help, I hear myself say.

Good girl, he says.

Coming from anyone else that would sound patronizing, but his relief is so obvious I don’t mind.

The hearing’ll be on Thursday, he adds.

So soon?

He has a very persistent lawyer, unfortunately. All at the taxpayers’ expense, of course.

DI Clarke stands up. I’ll get someone to find you an empty interview room. You can start drafting it now.

NOW: JANE