I’d been so busy that I had missed every rehearsal. Nor had I learnt any of the lines. However, now that I had disposed of the corpse, I had plenty of time to join my theatre group again.

It was the first night of the performance of A red rose for X. I took a place in the crowd scene and copied everyone else’s moves. This was easy-peasy! Then the narrator held up the red rose. On her instruction the star of the show would emerge from the crowd. He would take the single stem from her, then lead the rest of the performance.

What I hadn’t appreciated is that any member of the crowd might be chosen. When I heard the words “A red rose for Rousse” I knew I was in deep trouble. There was no way I could wing this. Worse still, if I confessed the reason why, I’d end up paving my own path to a prison cell where I would surely await trial for the murder of my husband.