Freddie laughs. ‘I don’t know why you’re more offended by that than her killings, madam, but I guess the amount of rage Rhiannon carried around with her could help to explain it.’

A chorus of giggles follows, like he’s offered a wittier bon mot than Oscar Wilde. He hasn’t, the malodorous cockswerve. Getting my laughs. But I might rescind that insult if he defends me again to one of these nobs.

Old man hand goes up. He’s bought a stack of books about the Civil War and hasn’t bought Freddie’s yet. This is clearly a subject too beneath him to spend good money on but he was in the bookshop anyway and it’s a free event so he thought, Why not? ‘That last murder in the dairy – why was it so disproportionately brutal, do you think?’

It was a farm shop but thanks for listening.

‘Well, she had just given birth,’ says Freddie. ‘I think it may have been a hormonal surge. She’d been tracking Sandra Huggins for some time.’

My chest clenches with the mention of the birth but I sweep it away quickly, thankful that one of the Frow blondes, who’s had so much facial surgery she looks like she’s been set on fire and stamped out, finally gets her time to shine.

‘Hey, Freddie.’ Cue inexplicable giggle. ‘It’s so great to meet you.’ Another giggle. ‘We met when you were doing a signing in Austin last week—’

‘Oh yeah, I remember you, thanks for coming along.’ He clearly doesn’t remember her at all. I’m better at reading people’s real meanings now. His tongue paints the lie while his eyes shield the truth.

‘Could you tell us what you working on now?’ Another inexplicable giggle.

‘Uh, I have a few ideas in the pipeline that I’m working on but to be honest with you, this one has taken over my life somewhat.’ He scratches his eyebrow. ‘There’s so many people who want to hear Rhiannon’s story and in lieu of Rhiannon herself, it has befallen me to tell it.’

Hmmm, chin rub. Sounds disturbingly like he’s run out of ideas. Hardly surprising since I was the one who gave him this one.

I want to ask him a question, but refrain from doing so because that’s who I am now: reticent. Quiet. Calm. As invisible as mist. There but not there.

Pretty soon the Q&A comes to an end and Bryan announces where Freddie will be sitting to sign books. Everyone rushes off. A tall Trump pout-alike with tits to her knees pushes me out of the way to get in front, her too-fat-for-rings fingers clutching my story like a portable life support machine.