Jo’s face glowed red. ‘No! No, God, no. It’s nothing like that,’ she stuttered. ‘He wants to tell me something about Ewan McLachlan.’

A middle-aged man who stood waiting to pay for some books, sniffed. ‘Is this about his big fallout with his agent?’

Both Jo and Libby looked directly at the man, who was scrolling through his phone.

‘What?’ Libby asked.

‘It’s been all over social media this morning. Do you not have Twitter?’ he asked them, aghast at the notion they weren’t plugged into social media like all other people of their age.

‘I’ve been busy,’ Libby mumbled, while Jo just stood there open-mouthed. The big meeting with Graham Westbury and his editor in London clearly hadn’t gone well.

‘You need to check it out,’ the man said, flashing his phone screen in their direction. ‘There’s all sorts of chat. All sorts of rumours.’

Libby coloured. ‘Oh God, and he was just here… and Jo….’

Jo looked to where Lorcan was standing by the door. He too was scrolling through his phone, and she watched as his eyes widened and he looked directly at her. She grabbed the key from Libby and bolted for the door. As she left the bookshop, she heard Libby swear, loudly.

Upstairs, Jo sat on the sofa in Libby’s flat and tried to make sense of the Twitter storm that filled her timeline. The Westbury Agency had tweeted a press release to say that Ewan McLachlan would, with immediate effect, no longer be represented by them.

The screen blurred in front of Jo’s eyes as she searched for his name, and found two trending hashtags #McLachlanCopiedMyHomework and #CheaterMcLachlan.

A series of accounts, some anonymous and some from respected people within the industry, detailed allegations that Ewan McLachlan had plagiarised some of the McCreadie books. Not only that, he had ‘borrowed’ some of the plots he had become most famous for from other, unpublished, writers.

Writers he had mentored.

‘I’m guessing all this relates to what you were going to tell me?’ Jo said, looking at Lorcan, her stomach churning.

He nodded. ‘But I promise you, I have nothing to do with those tweets or any of this. I haven’t set him up or anything.’

‘I didn’t think you had,’ Jo said. ‘But you know stuff? Yes?’

‘It was a few years ago, maybe three or four, there seemed to be some sort of ruckus online. Some veiled suggestions that his latest book wasn’t entirely his own work. It was hard to wade through. It was nowhere near this level,’ he admitted, looking uncomfortable.

‘But…’ Jo said, her heart now firmly in her boots.