‘Move on,’ Charlie warned him. ‘My self-esteem issues are my business—not yours and not Ruth Bussey’s.’ A sudden surge of emotion made it difficult for her to breathe. She looked down at her hands, picking at her fingernails. ‘Did the book say to cover an entire wall with character assassinations of your chosen celebrity?’ she asked. But there had been other articles stuck up alongside the hatchet jobs, she remembered—harmless ones about her community work, and pictures of her in uniform, smiling. Yes, there definitely had. Somewhere along the way Charlie had allowed herself to forget that because it didn’t tally with her worst case scenario: that Ruth Bussey was revelling in her suffering, that the bedroom wall display was there for no other reason than to humiliate her all over again.

‘Talk to Sellers or Gibbs if you want the details,’ said Simon wearily. ‘At first, yes, you put up everything you can find on whoever you choose, positive and negative write-ups, pictures of them looking their best and pictures of them looking like shit, all together. You look at it every day, if you haven’t got anything else to occupy your time, and you . . .’ Seeing Charlie’s stunned expression, Simon snapped, ‘Look, don’t blame me if it sounds way-out. I’m only telling you what Gibbs told me.’

‘Go on,’ said Charlie. She wondered if Ruth had drawn up a shortlist. Which other disgraced celebrities had made headlines in September 2006? Not that Charlie was a celebrity. Still, she was curious to know if she’d had competition. ‘You look at it every day, and?’

‘You focus on how whoever you’ve chosen hasn’t allowed their mistakes to defeat them, how they’ve bounced back, that sort of thing. The rest’s predictable: you realise no one’s perfect, everyone has their ups and downs, including you. Once you’ve got that straight in your head, you’re allowed to take down anything that shows the person you admire in a bad light. In place of what you’ve taken down, you put up some of your favourite photographs of yourself, and there’s your finished product: a wall-mounted display of you and the person you admire, both looking your best, having triumphed over all things nasty. I might have got a couple of details wrong, but that’s the essence of it. The book even specifies that it ought to be a bedroom wall, so you can see it first thing in the morning and last thing at night.’

‘Outrageous,’ said Charlie. Still, she felt a little better. The idea of somebody thinking her admirable . . . Now she knew beyond doubt that Ruth Bussey was nuts.

‘Bussey had scribbled your name on the relevant page and put a big fat tick next to it,’ said Simon. ‘You should be flattered. ’