‘I used to think you were right. Every time Aidan stayed away overnight, I wondered if he was with her, if the two of them were plotting to drive me mad, or something. I knew where she lived. I could have gone round, but I never did. I was too scared of finding Aidan there. He wouldn’t tell me to go to her house, would he, if that’s where he was going?’

Charlie closed her eyes, then opened them, remembering she was driving. How hard would it be to get some uniforms camped outside 15 Megson Crescent? Even if she succeeded, that level of protection would need to be justified on an hour-by-hour basis. Charlie reckoned she’d be granted a day, maximum. She wasn’t sure it was worth the hassle. What if Aidan Seed chose the next day to make good his promise, prediction, whatever?

Beside her, Ruth was crying. ‘I’m still scared,’ she said. ‘Scared something’s going to happen but I don’t know what. It’s nothing concrete—it’s not that I’m scared Aidan really has killed someone, or that he will, or that he’ll go to prison. I could live with those things.’

‘You’re telling me what you’re not scared of,’ Charlie pointed out. ‘What would be helpful is if I knew what you are scared of.’

Ruth picked at the skin around her fingernails. ‘Something so bad I’m not capable of imagining it. Not death. There are plenty of worse things.’

Charlie thought ‘plenty’ was an overstatement.

‘All I know is, there’s a danger and it’s . . . it’s closing in.’

‘Listen to me, Ruth. Don’t go to Mary’s. Is there anywhere you could go that’s . . .?’

‘Aidan told me something else, when he was talking about having visions of things that hadn’t happened yet. The picture Mary gave me, the one he said he gave to a charity shop—it’s called Abberton. That’s its title. Aidan said it was the first in a series. There were going to be nine, he said, but Mary hadn’t done them yet. He told me the names of the others: Blandford, Darville, Elstow, Goundry, Heathcote, Margerison, Rodwell, Winduss. He said it to prove to me that he was seeing the future. ’

Charlie had no idea how to respond to this. Hearing Ruth say the names like that—an alphabetical list—had made her feel uneasy. Eight titles of paintings yet to be painted? What could it mean? It complicated things, took them beyond the level of a simple threat: Tell her I’m going to kill her.

‘The man you’re engaged to,’ said Ruth. ‘Do you love him unconditionally? Would you forgive him no matter what he did?’

Charlie felt hounded. Why was everybody so keen to interrogate her about Simon today? First Mary, now Ruth.