‘It’s not your fault.’

‘I’m a bloody doctor, Nora.’ Her voice at the other end of the phone is anguished. ‘OK, it’s a while since I’ve done anything in mental health, but we’re supposed to remember our basic training. Shit. I should have seen this coming.’

‘But she’ll be OK?’

‘I don’t know. She took a bunch of sleeping pills, combined with some Valium and a hell of a lot of paracetamol, washed down with whiskey. It’s the paracetamol that’s worrying me – it’s pretty nasty stuff. You can wake up feeling just fine in hospital and then your liver packs up just when you’ve decided suicide really isn’t going to fit in with your spring calendar.’

‘Oh my God. Poor Flo. Did she say … did she give a reason?’

‘She just left a note saying she couldn’t cope any longer.’

‘Do you think—’ I stop, I can’t think how to ask this.

‘What? That she’s got a guilty conscience?’ I almost hear Nina’s shrug down the phone. ‘I don’t know. But whatever you think happened, she was holding the gun. I don’t think Lamarr and Roberts went particularly easy on her.’

‘How did she get the pills?’

‘She got prescribed the diazepam and the sleeping pills. She – we’ve all been under a lot of stress, Nora. She saw a man get shot. That’s PTSD kind of stuff.’

I shut my eyes. I’ve been safe here, wrapped in my cocoon of ignorance, while Flo has been falling apart.

‘She was so obsessed,’ I say slowly. ‘Do you remember, the way she kept going on about giving Clare the perfect hen.’

‘I know,’ Nina says. ‘Believe me, we heard a lot about that the last couple of days. She’s not done much except for cry and blame herself for what happened.’

‘But what did happen, Nina?’ I realise suddenly that I’m gripping the white plastic receiver so hard that my fingers hurt. ‘Lamarr thinks it’s murder. I know she does. They’re asking weird questions about my phone. They’ve given me a formal caution. I’m a suspect.’

‘We’re all suspects,’ Nina says wearily. ‘We were in a house when a man got shot and died. It’s not just you. Fuck, I wish this were over. I’m missing Jess so much I can barely think. Why the fuck did we agree to this, Nora?’

She sounds tired. Tired not just of this, but of everything. And I can see her, suddenly, her and Tom alone in their B&B rooms, waiting to be questioned, waiting for answers, waiting for news on Flo and Clare and everything else.

They’ve asked her not to leave. She’s just as trapped as me. Trapped by what happened in that house.

‘Look, I’ve got to go,’ Nina says at last. ‘This is a crappy pay-as-you-go mobile and I don’t think there’s much credit on it. But I’ll phone back and leave the number at the desk, yeah? Tell them to call me if you get kicked out.’

‘OK,’ I say at last. There’s a catch in my throat and I cough, trying to hide it. ‘Take care of yourself, you hear me? And don’t beat yourself up over Flo. She’ll be OK.’

‘I really don’t know if she will,’ Nina says. Her voice is bleak. ‘I saw a few paracetamol overdoses when I was a med student and I know how it goes. But thanks for trying. And Nora—’ She stops.

‘Yes?’ I say.

‘I … oh fuck, look, it’s pointless me saying this. Forget it.’

‘What?’

‘I was just going to say – try to remember what happened after you left the house, yeah? There’s a lot riding on this. No pressure,’ she says with a slightly shaky laugh.

‘Yeah, I know,’ I say. ‘Bye, Nina.’

‘Bye.’

She hangs up and I rub my face. ‘No pressure’, Nina said. I assume it was her idea of a joke. She knows as well as I do the pressure that we’re under. All of us.

I must remember. I must remember.

I shut my eyes and try to remember.

‘Nora.’ A hand on my shoulder, shaking me awake. ‘Nora.’

I blink and try to sit up, try to process where I am and what’s going on.

It’s Lamarr. I’ve been asleep.

‘What time is it?’ I say blearily.

‘It’s nearly noon,’ she says. Her voice is crisp. There’s no hint of a smile now. In fact she looks very grave. DC Roberts is behind her, his glower fixed and unmoving. He looks like he was born with a pencil and a sour expression. It’s impossible to imagine him cuddling a baby or kissing a lover.

‘We’d like to ask you some more questions,’ Lamarr says. ‘Do you want a minute?’

‘No, no I’m OK,’ I say. I shake my head, trying to wake myself. Lamarr watches. ‘Go ahead,’ I say.

Lamarr nods, clicks on the tape recorder and repeats the caution. Then she gets out a piece of paper. ‘Nora, I’d like you to read this. It’s a transcript of emails and text messages taken from your and James’s phones over the last few days.’

She hands the paper to me and I sit up straighter and rub the sleep from my eyes, trying to focus on the closely typed sheets of paper. They’re a list of texts, each annotated with the number they were sent from and a date, time and some other information I can’t interpret – GPS location maybe?

The first one is marked with my number, and ‘Friday, 4.52 p.m.’

LEONORA SHAW: James, it’s me, Leo. Leo Shaw.
JAMES COOPER: Leo?? Christ is that really you?
LEONORA SHAW: Yes, it’s me. I really need to see you. I’m at Clare’s hen weekend. Please can you come up? It’s urgent.
JAMES COOPER: What, seriously?
JAMES COOPER: Has C told you?
LEONORA SHAW: Yes. Please come up. I can’t say what this is about over the phone but I really need to speak to you.
JAMES COOPER: You really need me to come? Can’t it wait until you’re back in London?
LEONORA SHAW: No. It’s really urgent. Please. I’ve not asked you for anything but you owe me this. Tomorrow? Sunday’s too late.
The next reply from James is not until 11.44 p.m:

JAMES COOPER: I’ve got a matinee & an evening tomorrow I won’t be finished at the theatre till 10/11. I cd drive up but it’ll take me 5+ hours. I’ll be there in the middle of the night. You really want me to do this?
Saturday, 7.21 a.m.
LEONORA SHAW: Yes
Saturday, 2.32 p.m.
JAMES COOPER: OK.
LEONORA SHAW: THANK YOU. Leave your car in the lane. When you get to the house go round the back. I’ll leave the kitchen door unlocked. My room is at the top of the stairs, second door on the right. I’ll explain everything when you get here.
There is another long pause. James’s reply is marked 5.54 p.m., and it almost breaks my heart.

JAMES COOPER: OK. I’m so sorry Leo – for everything. Jx
And then, at 11.18 p.m.,

JAMES COOPER: I’m on my way.
And then that’s it.

When I look up at Lamarr I know that my eyes are swimming, and my voice is cracked and mute.

‘The interviewee has finished reading the transcript,’ she says quietly for the benefit of the tape. And then, ‘Well, Nora? Any explanation? Did you think we wouldn’t find these? Deleting them was pretty pointless you know, we recovered them off the server.’

‘I … I—’ I try. I take a deep breath, force myself to speak. ‘I d-didn’t send these.’

‘Really.’ It’s not a question, just a flat, slightly tired acknowledgement.

‘Really. You have to believe me.’ I know, even as I begin to gabble, that it’s hopeless. ‘Someone else could have sent them. Someone could have cloned my sim card.’

‘Believe me, we’re used to that, Nora. These were sent from your phone, and the date-stamps on your replies correspond to your runs in the forest, and the trip to the clay-pigeon range.’

‘But I didn’t take my phone on my runs!’

‘The GPS evidence is pretty conclusive. We know that you went out of the house and up the hill until you got a signal.’

‘I didn’t send them,’ I repeat, hopelessly. I want to crawl back into bed and pull the covers over my head. Lamarr is looking down at me from her full height, no cosy sitting on the bed now. Her face is set, like carved ebony. There’s compassion in her face but also a kind of rigour that I never noticed until now. Her face has the sort of unsparing detachment I imagine an angel might show – not an angel of mercy, but an angel of judgement.