When Ant got his sobbing under control, his face a great swollen loaf, he told me where he’d hidden the photo of me in my bra. In the end, that’s why he’d called me in. He’d been out of his mind to be forgiven for something, anything. I’d known that, and I’d still come. I didn’t hate him, but neither would I comfort him. He deserved to be locked up. He’d made his choices, and they’d taken away Brenda’s. I might soften to that, but for now, it’s how I felt.
