As I walk past the chapel, alongside the little green where visiting kids are encouraged to play, I hear seagulls. And you know what? Until this encounter, until that parting exchange with Melia, until those seagulls, I haven’t given our hours on the river a single thought. Not the happy ones. But now I’m picturing it, I’m picturing it so clearly.

Down the jetty and over the gangway we go, through the open cabin doors. You and me in our cream leather seats, with our coffees and our phones, our beers and banter and folded-up copies of the Standard. Our entourage, our crew.

Oh, Kit. If someone had told us then that within a year one of us would be dead and the other set to be convicted for his murder, we’d have laughed him out of town. We’d have leaned back in those seats, watched our majestic, heartless city glide by, and we’d have said, ‘This is the life, right?’

Get us.

Epilogue

It’s his voice she notices first. Amid the mundane chatter of the other passengers, it is patient and affectionate. He’s on the phone, reassuring someone who’s rather anxious, by the sounds of it. ‘No, I’ll be all right, I promise. I’ll find somewhere more central as soon as the divorce is final. I’m fine, Mum, I don’t need any help. What? No, on the boat into town to meet someone from work. It’s actually quite relaxing.’

Instinctively, her fingers go to the knot at the nape of her neck to release her hair. She can see from the ghost of her in the window that she has a pretty blush to her cheeks.

He’s right, travelling by river is relaxing. She wasn’t really in the mood after that awful experience at the prison, but the staff went beyond the call of duty to return her to the pier and she didn’t want to appear churlish. She was there, after all, as a victim, and it was important to stay in character right to the end. Call it her professional training. Besides, she already had the all-day ticket and it had been a serious extravagance to buy it.

At least Jamie believed her about the money. Okay, so maybe he’ll find out another way, from his solicitor or whatever grapevine he has in that terrible place, but she certainly wasn’t going to be the one to tell him that the insurance claim was rejected. A technicality to do with the number of sick days Kit took, a requirement to consult the company doctor that he’d failed to meet. Small print, but basically the work-shy fucker had invalidated the policy.

Invalidated everything.

She has two more weeks in Elodie’s spare room before Elodie’s cousin comes back from working overseas. It’s the cousin’s flat, not Elodie’s, so there are no negotiations to be had there. Then she is homeless. Which means she has two weeks to find a job, because you can’t get a job without an address, even if you can’t get an address with the kind of debts she has – Kit’s, too, of course. What was his is now hers.

She’d thought seeing Jamie would remind her how lucky she was, how free. That was why she took part in that stupid support initiative, he’d never have agreed to see her otherwise. But what’s the point of freedom if you can’t afford to experience it in style? Jamie probably eats better in that hellhole than she does out here.

She didn’t mean what she said about reconnecting when he’s out. Jesus, he’ll be in his mid-sixties by then, a broken man. A poor man. It was just a momentary craving to have an impact, to kick up a bit of lust and trouble, to remind him he once worshipped her. She was his Cleopatra, unfurling before his eyes.

Except the bastard rejected her. What was his problem, holding a grudge like that? She giggles at her own audacity – she is not entirely without self-awareness – and the man on the phone who’s about to get divorced glances over his shoulder to locate the source of merriment. Leaning forward, she has a clearer view of him between the headrests. He’s in his mid-to late-forties. Stylishly dressed, an expensive tan, obviously has money. He’s nice to his mother.

‘No, I’m feeling good. Really, it’s the right thing. Great, I’ll call you again at the weekend. Bye, Mum.’

Off the phone, seeing her clearly now, he colours very faintly.

She rises from her seat, a hand passing across her face in mock horror. ‘Oh, God, I hope you didn’t think I was laughing at you?’

He grins. ‘Of course not.’

‘It was just a private joke, I was laughing to myself.’ She groans. ‘Okay, so now you think I’m a crazy person.’

‘I don’t think that at all,’ he says, his grin stretching. As she stands in front of him in the aisle, she can tell he is doing his best not to lower his gaze, give her a proper up-and-down appraisal the way older men always want to but know is not acceptable, not any more. Time’s well and truly up, they know that. But they can still dream.

She perches on the edge of the aisle seat just across from him and smiles. A sweet, sinless smile, especially for him.

The next bit comes quite naturally. No need to prepare.