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‘Can’t you drive any faster?’ I say to a startled-looking Daisy. I hate myself for involving her in this, but who else could I trust to give me a lift to Zelda’s? Linda, whom I texted and arranged to meet at Zelda’s, downed enough booze to knock out a hippopotamus.

Daisy glances at her rear-view, hands wrapped tightly around the steering wheel, skin tight over her knuckles and sinews. ‘I’m doing thirty. I don’t want to get pulled over by the cops.’ I shake my head, apologise. The last thing we want is the police on our tail.

‘Did she say how it happened?’ Daisy asks nervously. ‘The accident?’

How much should I tell her? Surely, the less she knows the better. ‘They had a fight and it got out of hand, and he…he hit her. Slapped her and she fell over, hurt her elbow. She’ll be fine. I’ll look after her.’

‘I knew something wasn’t right.’ Daisy shakes her head, letting out a long sigh through her nose. ‘They both had a lot to drink. My ma got violent when she got drunk.’

I nod as a roaring motorbike overtakes us at top speed, slanting as it takes a bend before being sucked into the night. Only God knows what we’re going to do once we get to Zelda’s – that’s if Frank is still alive.

‘Did Zelda say what it was about? Why he hit her?’

I wish Daisy would stop asking me so many leading questions. We’re not in a courtroom. Yet. ‘An old boyfriend texted Zelda, and Frank read it. He knows her password.’

This is true. After Zelda had calmed down, she gave me a summary of what happened – she’d posted a photograph of her and Frank on Instagram, showing off that stupid kitchen foil ring, with the caption ‘He’s put a ring on it and I said yes.’ Chris, her married lover, saw it, bombarded her with texts, pleading with her to break off her engagement, promising to get a divorce and marry her. Trouble is, she was taking a shower at the time and her phone was on the bedside table. Frank read them all. They had a big fight. He grabbed her throat, she couldn’t breathe, thought he was going to kill her – she fished around on the worktop for protection, picked up a silver letter knife, a souvenir from their trip to Monte Carlo, and dug it into his flesh – he staggered into the garden and collapsed on the lawn.

‘Oh, that was a bummer,’ Daisy says. ‘My ex knew my passcode, too. I kept changing it, but he kept finding it out.’ My tension mounts with every kilometre. Please let him be alive. ‘Don’t worry, Bella, it’ll be okay,’ Daisy says, clearly sensing my tension. ‘We’re almost there.’ Reaching over, she gives my hand a good old shake, and I nod, eyes on the oncoming traffic, their headlights like fireballs. If only she knew that my sister may have just murdered her fiancé. Zelda will go to prison if he’s dead and it’ll all be down to me.