Jessica hadn’t been notified of any court dates, but the reason soon became apparent as she entered the foyer and showed her identification. The usher led Jessica along a corridor.

He seemed particularly giddy: ‘To be honest, none of us thought you were a real person.’

‘Sorry?’

‘We all thought it was a ploy to keep herself out of protective custody. You see it all the time.’

‘I’m sorry; I have no idea what you’re talking about.’

‘Didn’t anyone tell you?’

‘Tell me what?’

‘Oh, right, well I suppose we’re here now anyway.’

The usher indicated a wood-panelled door in front of them, knocking twice before opening it for Jessica. As he retreated, she stood in the doorway looking at the two people sitting at a table. One was clearly a duty solicitor: smartish suit that wasn’t as expensive as anything the defence lawyers wore, slightly crooked tie, gently scuffed shoes.

The other was Bex.

She was hugging her knees into herself, backpack on the floor next to her, dark hair scraped away from her face into a ponytail. ‘Hello,’ Bex said quietly, not quite meeting Jessica’s eye.

The previous evening, Bex had been arrested in the city centre after trying to pick the wrong pocket. The former head of inner-city policing for London’s Met police was in town to visit his daughter at university and Bex had been caught trying to lift his wallet on the street outside Victoria Station. He frogmarched her to a nearby police officer on duty at the Manchester Arena, gave his statement, and then carried on his business.

Miraculously, Bex had no criminal record. The youth court magistrates were happy to release her with little more than a slap on the wrist – except that she was unable to provide an address of where she could stay. After speculating that they would send her to what amounted to a children’s home for her own good, Bex had coughed up Jessica’s details.

And so it was that Jessica was called into the court to say that she would be only too happy to give Bex a roof to sleep under. Given her position within the force, they hadn’t thought twice before releasing the teenager.

The journey back to Jessica’s house was a quiet affair. The only thing Jessica said was that she wouldn’t allow the knife into her house. Bex said she’d ditched it while the policeman who’d arrested her was looking the other way – which was probably sensible given that she would have received a proper sentence had that been discovered in her bag.

Inside the house Jessica took Bex up to the spare bedroom. The girl dropped her bag on the floor and lay on the bed. ‘Thank you,’ she said quietly.

Jessica thought about being angry, asking where she’d been and lecturing her on how close she’d come to being locked up – but it wasn’t the time. ‘It’s fine,’ she replied. ‘I’m sorry for bringing up the missing candlesticks.’

‘I didn’t take them.’

‘I know. I knew that then – we found them.’

‘Where?’

‘In the bins outside.’

‘Why were they there?’

‘We don’t know.’

Bex pushed herself up on the bed until she was sitting. She was wearing three or four layers of clothing but still seemed tiny. ‘I don’t understand.’

‘Neither do I – there’s been something going on. Someone went through our rubbish and graffitied my car. We think they might have broken in and gone through our things. We don’t know.’

‘What did they write on your car?’

It might not have been most people’s first question, but it would have been Jessica’s and she quite liked the fact it was Bex’s too.

‘It said that I was a bitch. Don’t worry, Adam’s already said it – at least it proves it was someone who knows me.’

Jessica forced a smile but it felt rawer now.

‘I don’t think you’re a bitch.’

Jessica shrugged and smiled wearily – what else could she do? ‘Thanks.’

‘Do you know who did it?’

‘No – sometimes when you do this job, you piss off certain people.’

Bex took off the outermost top and dropped it on the bed. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘You don’t have to apologise – it wasn’t you.’

‘Not for that. I didn’t want to steal from that guy but it’s been so cold – there was all that fog last night and I thought it’d be safer in the hostel, only I didn’t have eight quid.’

‘You don’t have to explain.’

‘You’d been so nice to me and I know you were only asking about your things because you had to. I shouldn’t have gone, I was just—’

‘I get it – people don’t like being accused of things they haven’t done. I see it every day.’

‘You don’t have to let me stay, I just didn’t want—’

Jessica stretched across to the dressing table and opened the top drawer, taking out the front-door key Bex had thrown at her and lobbing it – gently – in the girl’s direction. ‘I’ve got to go back to work but we’ll talk later. I need you to promise me something.’

‘What?’

‘Don’t leave the house – I don’t want you running away and—‘

‘I won’t.’

Jessica hadn’t planned it but there was suddenly an urge she hadn’t felt before. She sat on the bed and opened her arms, motioning Bex towards her. The teenager bit her bottom lip for a moment but then made her decision, leaning forward and hugging her back.

Before Jessica knew what was happening, it was too late: the weeks of mistrust, suspicion and paranoia came pouring out in a flood of tears. Bex pressed her bony arms into Jessica’s back, clinging tight and perhaps understanding that Jessica needed her as much as she needed Jessica.

43

Jessica didn’t have long to pull herself together before she had to head back to the station. Quite what had come over her in the bedroom with Bex, she didn’t know – but then there was a lot she hadn’t understood about the past couple of weeks.

To show how far her status had slipped, it turned out that apparently no one had noticed she’d even left. Jessica checked in with the CPS and then went to wait in reception for Kylie, ready to give her the bad news that her fork of doom was going to see her heading to court on a section thirty-nine assault charge. The only consolation was that she’d likely get off with a minor fine or a supervision order – but she was still going to be in the papers as the girl who shoved a fork up her boyfriend’s arse.

Kylie seemed to take the news well, although her main defence seemed to be that she hated it when Michael didn’t support her interests. How that translated into falling out over Boyzone, Jessica didn’t know – but who was she to judge?

Jessica was about to head back to her office when Pat waved her to one side. She thought it was going to be for a crack about anything ranging from her driving to the state of her office to the fact they were still running her television appearance on the twenty-four-hour stations. Instead he had a Post-it note for her.

‘Your cousin called. I don’t know why he’s phoning here – but if you could tell him to try your own phone in future, then it would save me having to act as everyone’s personal answering service.’

Jessica had been a fraction of a second away from blurting out that she didn’t have a cousin, before catching herself. ‘What was the message?’

He thrust the note under her nose. ‘Why don’t you have a look at the note before asking? Not. Your. Answering. Service.’ He wagged a finger so close to her face that she had visions of biting it off. He might even lose a third of a pound.

Jessica snatched the note away and read the words, knowing exactly what it meant: ‘Usual place. ASAP.’

The late-afternoon crowd in the supermarket cafe was slightly different from the morning lot. Gone were the single mums nursing quiet cappuccinos; now there was a scattering of parents stopping off with their children on the way home from school for a cheap tea. There was also a curious number of teenagers, who must not have realised that popping in for a can of Coke and a chocolate bar on the way home from school wasn’t exactly cool. In the far corner an emo-looking girl with a lifetime’s worth of makeup crammed onto her face sipped at a strawberry milkshake while listening to something through her headphones, as her emaciated boyfriend stared at his shoes. Not far from them three lads still in their PE kits, mud streaks and all, were each on their phones, giggling conspiratorially.