Another little police tactic I recognised from books and TV — light the blue touch paper and retire; hope that everything comes out without them having to do a full day’s work. I don’t know if it’s just the stress of the situation, but I’m getting more and more cynical with every passing hour. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ Tasha says, eventually. ‘I didn’t hide it from you,’ I reply. ‘Don’t dodge the question,’ she says. I’m surprised by how calm and level-headed she seems. In a way, that makes it all so much more disturbing. I can only think of two other occasions in the whole time I’ve known Tasha that she’s gone beyond the fury and despair of a situation and settled in this weird trance-like state. ‘I didn’t not tell you. I mean, when would be the right time? Over dinner one night? During the adverts in Coronation Street? At the altar just before we got married, perhaps?’ ‘I had a right to know, Nick. I gave my life to you,’ she says through gritted teeth.
