‘Crowther’s written about George Fox on at least four Quaker websites, quoting his words of spiritual wisdom like she thinks the sun shines out of his arse. On one of the sites, someone’s posted a comment with the heading “Cobblers”, taking her to task, someone with a not-so-high opinion of Fox. Guess who?’

‘Aidan . . . oh. Len Smith?’

Simon shook his head. ‘Seed used the name Len Smith for the Quaker meetings, when he was pretending to be Crowther’s friend, but online he used a different alias to pour scorn on her views: Adam Sands.’

Charlie’s eyes widened. ‘He called himself after the character in Martha Wyers’ novel, the one based on him?’ As if, after all these years, he wanted to endorse her version of him. Was it guilt, Charlie wondered, because she loved him enough to take her own life and he didn’t love her at all?

‘George Fox was an arrogant twat who wouldn’t be told anything by anyone,’ said Simon. ‘He was a tyrant—smug, rude, tactless, intolerant, unforgiving—remember that, it’s important. Worst of all, Fox dismissed the inevitability of sin.’

‘That sounds complicated,’ said Charlie, wondering what any of it had to do with Aidan Seed.

‘The idea that human beings regularly fuck up and need to ask God’s forgiveness when they do,’ Simon explained. ‘I grew up with the idea of sin. It was as much a part of my childhood as illicitly watching Grange Hill. That’s a Catholic upbringing for you—saying your Hail Marys every time you think a bad thought or lie to your mother.’

‘So saying Hail Marys is like writing lines, is it? Ten, fifty, a hundred, depending on how bad the sin?’

‘Pretty much,’ said Simon. ‘I hated it—still hate the idea of it—but I can see now that it had one thing in its favour: the emphasis on the difference between right and wrong, the idea that wrongs need to be put right. You have to say sorry, make amends. Basically the set-up is that God’s the boss, the Pope’s next after him, your parish priest’s next, then your parents, and you’re a piece of kindling waiting to be dropped into the flames of Hell.’

‘Sounds great,’ said Charlie. ‘What a carefree childhood you must have had.’