Every time my brother-in-law drove me home, I would black out and wake up sore. My husband just laughed and said I was out of shape. After the fourth trip, I hid a voice recorder in my purse — and that night I heard a phone call that made me realize the blackouts had never been accidents.

The fourth document was never filed.

My forty per cent is frozen and it will come back to me. The holding vehicle is being unwound.

That is about two years of work by people I am paying — and it is going to cost a great deal of my father’s money to undo four signatures.

Carmen found out on the Tuesday evening.

From me, at her own kitchen table, in about four minutes, while her children were upstairs.

She did not say I told you.

She has never said it once, in eleven weeks, and she would have been entitled to say it about four hundred times.

Because my sister rang me in the September of last year about something she had seen on the register — and I told that woman she was being difficult.

My sister rang me about it.

I had completely forgotten that until the sixth week — and then I went looking through a voicemail folder for something else, and there it was. Still on the phone. Thirty-one seconds long.