The only other copy he could remember was the old Cooper family Bible, presented to his great- grandfather and great-grandmother when they married in 1921. It had all the family’s subsequent births, marriages and deaths recorded on the first few pages, just ahead of Genesis. But that one lived in the sideboard at Bridge End, wrapped in tissue paper and preserved like a sacred relic.

Cooper left his flat, went out on to Welbeck Street and knocked at the door of number six, where his landlady lived. Yes, Mrs Shelley had a Bible she could let him borrow. It was the King James version, of course. No Good News nonsense for her.

She invited Cooper in while she fetched the book, and he stood in her hallway, trying not to make too much noise. He could hear his landlady’s Jack Russell terrier whining and yapping at the back of the house. If the dog realized someone was on the premises, it was likely to explode into full-blown hysteria. Best not to make any careless movements. Also, he couldn’t afford to get involved in conversation with Mrs Shelley. Discussions with her were likely to get complicated and bewildering, and he didn’t have time for it tonight. He was finally going on his date – a table for two was booked for seven forty-five at the Raj Mahal. Just one of the reasons he hadn’t been keen to eat there with Gavin Murfin.

But Mrs Shelley wasn’t gone for long. She came back wiping a layer of dust off a heavy black volume before offering it to him.

‘I hope it helps, Ben,’ she said.

To Cooper’s embarrassment, she seemed to be about to burst into tears, despite the smile she gave him. She even patted his arm. OK. So Mrs Shelley thought she’d just been instrumental in saving his soul. What had given her that impression?

‘How is your mother, by the way, Ben?’ she said.

Ah, so that was it. He should have known that his landlady would have her ear to the grapevine. Mrs Shelley wasn’t saving his soul, but bringing him comfort in a time of need.

‘I phoned the hospital this evening, and they say she’s stable. Thank you for asking.’

‘If there’s anything I can do …’

‘No, everything’s fine. Thank you, Mrs Shelley.’

Cooper held the book up in front of him, not sure whether he was using it to ward off his landlady, or acknowledging that he already had what he needed.

Back in his flat, he got himself a beer and sprawled on the old sofa with the Bible. Then it struck him that drinking beer might not be appropriate while reading the Old Testament. He hesitated for a moment. Nobody would ever know, surely? But he had a clear vision of himself spilling Corona in the middle of Ecclesiastes. With his luck, the stain would form an image of a horned goat leaping across the pages, and Mrs Shelley would evict him from the flat as a disciple of Satan.