Don’t play games. I know it’s you.

I mean you got the wrong person.

The message is sent with a smiley face that makes me feel sick with anxiety.

You mean Joe?

Wrong person.

A chill washes over me and I bite my cheeks hard, still watching the tail-lights of his car.

Enough of this. What are you doing with July? Why are you doing this at all?

I’m sorry I can’t answer that.

Was it you? The stalking, the fires?

Sorry, wrong person.

A glass slips from my hand and detonates on the kitchen tiles.

‘Shit, careful Margot,’ Gabe says, rushing into the room, annoyed rather than concerned. ‘I’ll do these dishes. Go sit down.’

‘No, it’s fine,’ I say.

‘What’s gotten into you? You’ve been off all night.’

The images on Cormac’s phone would be enough for me to lose my licence to practise. Would Gabe understand if I explained it all? One thing I must do is stop July from seeing him.

‘Sorry, darling,’ I say, forcing a smile. ‘I was just stressed about being late and it put me in a mood.’ I think about a line from the lecture Cormac sat in on. Evil is as random as genetic coding, that is to say it’s not random at all. We inherit behavioural traits the same way we inherit hair colour. The only difference is that certain traits come out a lot more when nurtured. Nothing is as random as it seems.

‘There’s no need to beat yourself up about it. You were only five minutes late.’

‘Maybe I will sit down,’ I say, digging a thumb into my temple.

‘Good idea,’ he says, taking up a dish cloth.

I go to the lounge, dizzy and paranoid. July is sitting on the couch, her lips turned up at the corners. I know what this will do to her, how boys can ruin girls for years. I need to talk to her, begin deprogramming her the way I would a cult member. I stand in the doorway and watch as July pouts at the phone. She’s sending him a selfie.

‘July, honey, can I talk to you for a moment?’

The smile slips from her face but her cheeks are still flushed.

‘What’s up?’ she says.

I sit down beside her on the couch. She is tucked into herself with her legs bent beneath her.

‘I just want to know more about your relationship. I feel like I don’t know much about how you met Hudson.’

She turns to me, daggers in her eyes. ‘Mum, please don’t analyse him or try to counsel our relationship.’ Our relationship.

I swallow hard. I need to be careful. Cormac might already be subtly turning her against me. I know most of his story is a lie, but one thing is true: he is exceedingly intelligent.