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The hands gently released me, as the two officers behind began to ferociously haul me towards the van.

Through the kicking and shouting, I saw it was Andrew who had caught me. He stayed close to me as I was towed, still flailing my limbs around and screaming, into the van, the officers’ firm grip cutting off any circulation to my arms.

‘Fran,’ Andrew hissed. ‘Stop, stop, stop, stop.’

‘Get away from the woman please, mate,’ the officer said to Andrew.

‘Just a second, I’m her lawyer!’ Andrew snapped back as the officers, ignoring him, opened the door and began to shove me inside.

I tried to crane my neck back as Andrew leaned his face as near to mine as possible.

‘Fran, please, play nice for twenty-four hours. That’s all I need, twenty-four hours. ’

Andrew was still trying to say something as the officers pushed me onto the bench, closed the cage door, and slammed it shut.

Through the grills, I could see Clark looking my way, still firmly planted on his feet, Isla reassuringly stroking his back.

I watched his face shift into one of smug satisfaction as we drove away.

God, I wanted to kill him so badly.

I stayed awake almost all night, furious that Andrew had robbed me of my one last chance to kill Clark.

I only briefly spoke to Lucy when I got in, as everyone was heading to bed for lights out, but didn’t really get to expand on my trainwreck of a day.

I considered letting the prison guards know that I hadn’t actually had dinner, due to all the commotion, but I thought of Andrew’s words about playing nice.

I had heard that prison officers could be a fickle bunch.

Considering I would be getting quite familiar with them, it was probably best to play on the side of compliant for now.

Play nice for twenty-four hours.

To Andrew, I’m sure it was a chance to try and even the odds and actually simmer up a little hope, maybe by talking to Isla or the judge, or even trying to find another witness who may turn out to be my deus ex machina.

Best-case scenario, I imagined, was some kind of plea bargain.

He’d mentioned he had those leaked documents– maybe that was a part of it?

I guessed if I went for guilty, I would get a few years knocked off my sentence, but I’d still probably be in my fifties or sixties by the time I got out.

Gareth’s children, with his new wife, would be adults themselves by then.

The next morning, they got me up early, just like the day before.

I followed the routine, got into the same nice smart clothes, and prepared myself to be led out to the van.

This time I was certain they would handcuff me.

I imagined my arm would be bruised black by the time I got to the courthouse, through all the manhandling about to occur.

But they didn’t. Instead, rather than taking me to the exit, they yanked me to the other side of the prison.

‘Ummm, where are we going?’ I asked.

They didn’t answer.

I winced prematurely. I knew I was probably only seconds away from the beating of my life. I imagined some of the police would be waiting for me in one of the meeting rooms, ready to show me what happened to people who embarrassed them publicly like I had yesterday.

The guard led me to Meeting Room A, hauled open the door and indelicately shoved me inside. I quickly scanned my surroundings, but there was no gang of thugs waiting to punch the crap out of me. Instead, it was Andrew, leaning against the wall, his fingers wrapped tightly around a cup of coffee.

‘Andrew? What?! Why are you here? We have the trial…’

Andrew inhaled sharply.

‘Well, Fran, this is the thing: no, we don’t.’

‘What?’ I was guessing they must have moved it or shifted it after my attempted murder of Clark.

‘After the trial yesterday, there were a few occurrences that took place. I didn’t have my phone on me, so I only found out about it all after we were dismissed,’ said Andrew, strolling around the small perimeter of the room.

‘Someone went into the police station at around seven p.m. last night, and took all the blame for Macleod and O’Neill’s death, with evidence that implicated himself and also – rather miraculously – seemed to somewhat exonerate you.

Somewhat, that is. I’ve been speaking to Isla and the judge, and we have decided not to continue with the trial at this time – until we have a bit more information on next steps. ’

‘What?!’ I said again, my mind failing to think of any witty quip in response. Was this some incredibly lucid dream? This hadn’t happened, right? And if it had, how the hell had it happened, and why did Andrew look so uneasy telling me about it? ‘So, who was it?’

Andrew took a big gulp of coffee before speaking, bracing himself. I could tell he wished it was something stronger.

‘You idiot,’ I was going to say to him. That was the sentence that had been circling around my brain as soon as Andrew had told me what happened.

After they’d organised my release, I’d got a taxi and then a train and then a taxi again and then arrived at the station, waited impatiently for visiting hours, and then finally went into the custody suite.

I said a quick hello to Paul – it was genuinely nice to see him again – who led me into the meeting room, to see him sitting there, having somehow found a way to get his newspaper crossword.

‘You big fucking idiot.’ I ripped the paper from underneath him.

‘You’re welcome,’ Angus grunted.

‘Just…explain this to me? What? Why? When? How?’

‘Does it even really matter, Fran? What matters is you’re out, I’m in. You can now go on with your life and play all little happy families with Gareth. Just what you always wanted.’

‘You actually think I’m just going to let you take the fall for this? It’s my word against yours, buddy, and I can go right back into that courtroom and confess. It ain’t over until I say it’s over.’

‘I told them everything, Fran,’ Angus said, with a strange amount of calm. ‘I told them about how I murdered Macleod and O’Neill, and how I was manipulating and blackmailing you into doing some of my dirty work, but I was still the one who delivered the killing blows.’

‘They won’t believe that.’

‘Hmmm – the Crown Prosecution Service, who are they going to gun for? The woman who they’re not one hundred per cent sure they can convince the jury is a murderer, or the guy with a criminal record who’s literally confessing that he did it with a motive and evidence?’

‘But surely, they won’t just drop everything? Someone saw me throwing limbs in the river. They were going to put him on the stand later on in the trial. That still must make me an accessory, at the very least.’

‘Well…’ Angus started his sentence, but didn’t finish. ‘I think you should really talk to your husband.’

‘What do you mean?’ A quick flash of anger made me lurch forward. ‘He made you do this? Gareth?’

‘No,’ Angus scoffed, almost with an air of incredulity. ‘He didn’t make me do this, this is all of my decision, but I mean, I hadn’t realised what sort of man Gareth was at all.’

‘What do you mean?’ I questioned, trying to find some sense in all the new information that was being thrown at me. ‘Angus, this is prison we’re talking about here. You’re not going to be able to collect papers and watch old films, you know? This is some real shit.’

‘Yeah, but my meals will be made for me, I can do a lot of reading, I guess, and I’ve always wanted to try making toilet wine.’

I knew he was putting on a brave face. I knew deep down that he was petrified of what he had just committed himself to.

‘I…I can’t let you do this, Angus. I’m sorry, I just can’t,’ I said, massaging my neck where decades-worth of tension had wrapped thick, tight knots under my skin. ‘ I look after you . This is how it works. This is how it’s worked since you, me and Edith.’

‘Okay. So, you don’t let me do this, and then we both go to prison, and who’s that going to help?’ Angus said, slowing his words to try and drive the point home about how idiotic he thought I was being.

I had been on my feet since barging into the custody suite, stomping around the cell, but I felt like my legs could barely take it anymore. I slouched down against a corner of the room, not exactly sure what this cocktail of emotions was inside of me. Guilt? Shock? Relief?

‘So, the police and the CPS, they just…withdrew their whole case against me?’ I said, holding my head in my hands. ‘Just like that?’

‘Well, I’m sure you’ll be called as a witness in my trial, you’re probably guilty of something, but I guess we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it,’ Angus stated, unsuccessfully trying to hide the quiver of fear in his voice.

‘But I want everything they did to come to light. I know you killed two of them already, but I want the world to know what they did to us, to Edith.’

I gave a quick glance around the cell to just make sure there were no clandestine CCTV cameras fitted in shadowy corners.

‘Do you not see why I had to do this?’ Angus asked.

I gave a grunt. That was all my body had left as a response now.

I couldn’t argue or fight any more, I couldn’t debate or shout or get mad.

All I had the emotional and physical capacity to do was to sit with Angus in silence – me stooped on the floor, Angus sitting at the desk in the cold, lonely, steel vacuum of the custody suite.

‘Clark,’ I uttered, the word I knew Angus wouldn’t want to hear.

I waited for him to shush me, to tell me to shut up and not throw my life away again, to tell me he had just sacrificed his life to keep me out of prison and here I was thinking about leaping back into the murdering pensioners business.

But instead, he just kept staring blankly at the desk in front of him, his hands interlocked, and did one of his trademark deep sighs, inflating his diaphragm fully before sinking back into his chair with the exhale.

‘I’m not going to tell you what you can do with your life. I guess some people dream of being astronauts or scientists or models. Some people dream about murdering people.’

My ikiagi , I thought to myself silently.

‘You just…you have to understand what you’re giving up, is all.’

‘But…but…just how?’ I stammered. ‘How has all this happened?’

‘Like I said, I think you really need to talk to your husband.’