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Cis had sent me an email. I did a quick skim, but lacked the mental fortitude to read any more.

She had clearly spent some solid time on it, probably with the trial about to begin she knew I’d be struggling with it all.

Something along the lines that she was very sorry about what I was going through, and she’d always be my friend, but her job – and justice – had to take precedence.

I knew it was all artifice, and I pressed the delete button as soon as I saw the words ‘You know deep down what she did’ flash up on one of the paragraphs, sending the message vanishing into cyberspace.

I was now feeling more and more of a slow-digesting rage.

Cis and I had only just scratched the surface of how many lives the Heart of Hope Foundation had indirectly ruined in our initial investigation.

Heart of Hope was meant to be a crucial lifeline to so many people, offering key services that the government had outsourced to them.

Yet help never arrived to the people who needed it.

Furthermore, the closest I had come to a concrete motive for Fran was that they had been the ones to invest in the same children’s home she had lived at.

But it still didn’t explain how that had propelled her to kill them.

I had tried to investigate as much as I could under Vivian’s radar, but nothing really explained why Fran had killed O’Neill.

I knew Cis and Isla were sure as hell ready to recruit Clark to position him against Fran, but weren’t even thinking about rummaging through the mountains of dirty laundry of decades-long police cover-ups they had been told to ignore by the mysterious people above Vivian.

How had an organisation like that existed for so long without anyone knowing about it?

Well, a high-ranking policeman, the Leader of the Opposition and a successful businessman/fraudster made for quite a team, all with the sick facade of actually working on giving back to the community while they installed home hot tubs and went on all-expenses-paid holidays.

Mep and I were right in the middle of Cash in the Attic when I heard the doorbell go.

I wondered if maybe a reporter had finally found out where I lived.

I walked towards the door, ready to slam it shut just as quickly as I opened it.

But as the door pulled back, I saw a man there, hair slicked back, and well dressed in an expensive designer suit.

He looked as if he was about to ask me about the kingdom of Jehovah.

‘Mr Donoghue? Andrew Shorestone, from Bark perhaps he thought I was having a psychotic episode.

He seemed to move past it. ‘Well, I just want to give you an update on the trial, with court proceedings starting in two weeks.’

I groaned, feeling my intestinal knot tighten.

‘How is she doing though, Fran?’

‘Urgh…’ he said, considering his answer, trying to hide the grinding of his teeth together. ‘CPS and the police are really pushing this case as hard as they can. They’re dead set on declaring it cold-blooded murder on your wife’s part.’

‘And… you’re certain I won’t be called up to testify?’ I asked nervously – a question that had been lingering in my mind ever since Fran was arrested.

‘No. As I said, we thought about it, but it doesn’t help our defence in any meaningful way. The prosecution will simply claim that you’re biased.’

Andrew took another look at Mep, who must have felt his stare, the cat gradually rotating his head to glare blankly right back at him. Andrew quickly averted his gaze, pushing his hands through his greasy hair again. I wasn’t sure, but I thought he felt intimidated by the cat.

‘Okay, and how’s the case looking overall?’

‘Well,’ said Andrew, stretching back onto the sofa, ‘I can’t lie, we’re up against the wall.

All the evidence points to Fran, and there’s not a whole lot we can outwardly refute or deny.

Fran is still denying killing him, point blank, telling the story that she went in, helped him with his shopping bags, cleared up some milk from his carpet and walked out again, but she’s also the only one with any evidence that puts her there at the time of death?—’

‘But if she says she didn’t do it, then maybe she didn’t do it,’ I said, perhaps deluding myself a little.

No, you’re right, I was deluding myself a lot.

‘Yeah, that would be the logical thing to think. But the evidence paints a clear picture,’ Andrew stated, matter-of-factly.

‘An elderly man vanishes suddenly, leaving no trace, yet they discover evidence of fresh blood loss and bone cartilage and organs in his shower drain. And the last person to see him is a woman who was also suspected of the murder of a close friend of his.’ He grimaced, pushing back his hair again.

‘You can see how that sounds, can’t you? ’

‘So, what we’re looking for is a miracle?’ I asked.

‘If someone came forward and confessed to killing O’Neill, that would be…’

Andrew paused, and his eyes widened. ‘Fantastic,’ he muttered.

He looked slightly deranged as he said that, which made me realise that Fran was giving him a run for our money.

‘Without that, there’s no chance she gets away with this without prison, Gareth.

I told her this this morning, but she didn’t seem to get it. I’m sorry.’

‘So, why are you telling me this?’ I said coldly, pushing my head back against the cold surface of the wall behind me. I had somehow hoped he was here for good news.

‘Because I’ve seen this all before and just want to prepare you for the worst face to face.

The spouse doesn’t think their loved one did it, but they did.

Fran’s going to go to prison for a while and even when she gets out, things won’t snap back to the way they were.

You know the statistics on divorce after one party gets out of prison, I presume? ’

‘I would like for you to leave, please,’ I said as politely as I could.

Andrew saw that he had struck a very tender nerve and rose sharply from his seat.

‘Before I go, though, I’m quite sorry, but I’m afraid I’m going to need some smart clothes for your wife.’

‘Of course,’ I said with a groan, contemplating the strongly worded email I would send to Andrew’s employer as I fished my best guess out of Fran’s wardrobe.

In the two weeks leading up to the trial, no matter how hard I tried to push it out of my mind, to convince myself I’d done the right thing, I knew I couldn’t take back what I had done.

I was the one who had turned my wife in; there was nobody else I could blame for my wife being in prison.

I wished I’d just destroyed the evidence, stashed it away under some papers in my desk, or, better yet, never investigated Mr O’Neill’s disappearance at all.

Slowly, I skulked over to the last box left from our move.

I knew that what I was about to do would only make everything worse, but I couldn’t stop myself.

I just wanted to feel something, anything, that was painful and sharp enough to break through the numbness.

The one box left unpacked held our photo albums. Carefully, I opened up the flaps, peeled back the layers of padding Fran had so meticulously placed around our wedding album, and pulled it free.

I hadn’t looked at them since they were printed.

Somehow, they felt too special for just a casual glance.

I flicked open the cover and there we were: five years younger in the church – my one condition for getting married: a proper church wedding, where we’d say our vows in front of God.

I hadn’t minded about anything else, that was just the one thing I’d asked for.

For better, for worse, in sickness and in health. I’d meant every word at the time, but now I couldn’t help feeling that I’d gone back on those vows. I was supposed to protect Fran. But here I was. Alone in the house we’d bought to raise a family in.

Suddenly, I felt my phone buzz violently against my thigh.

Snatching it out of my pocket, I glanced at the screen.

It was a number I didn’t recognise, but that had been a common occurrence lately.

Every time I’d ignored a call when I’d thought it was just a scammer, it had always turned out to be an important party.

Maybe it was someone from Andrew’s office before the trial started on Monday. ‘Hello?’ I said, answering quickly.

‘This call is from a person currently in a prison in England or Wales,’ the automated voice spoke. ‘All calls are logged and recorded and may be listened to by a member of prison staff. If you do not wish to accept this call, please hang up now.’