‘You think my fear that I’ll disappoint my husband if I don’t serve him like a good wife invalidates my feminism? Where do you think that fear comes from? How do you think it worms its way inside all women, even the ones like me who know it’s poison?’

Too many words fired at him too quickly; it took Sellers a while to untangle them. Once he had, he said, ‘Yeah, but a principled feminist would … you know, feel the fear and do it anyway, wouldn’t she?’

Halliday stood up. ‘I’m going. You’re an ignorant twat who thinks “femicide” means “feminist-language-for-homicide”. It means the murder of women by men, you prick. It means Linzi Birrell, Rhian Douglas, Angela McCabe. Guess how many more names we’ve added to the list since those three? Go on, guess.’

‘Hang on: you’ve put Linzi, Rhian and Angela on which list?’ Sellers asked.

‘UK victims of femicide.’

‘But if that means killed by a man—’

‘If you’re about to tell me Billy might be a woman, don’t bother. He isn’t. Every woman in the country with a best friend, scared to set foot outside in case she’s next, knows Billy’s a man. You only don’t know because you’re a man – you have the luxury of being not afraid.’

‘So you were scared to come here today, were you? Because here you are – in the five-star surroundings of the Langham Hotel. And you look as if you’re about to head out onto those mean streets again, so …’

Halliday was gone: marching away at speed, her bag flying out behind her. Today’s slogan was, ‘If I had a hammer, I’d smash the patriarchy.’

Sellers left a twenty-pound note on a saucer, grabbed his jacket and ran to catch her up.

‘Are you following me?’

‘Yeah. What about Josh Norbury?’

‘What about him?’

‘Did you add his name to your list of femicide victims?’

‘No. He was a man. Once again: femicide is the murder of women by men.’

‘If you can include three women who might not have been murdered by a man, surely you can stretch the definition even further to include a male victim.’ Sellers didn’t know why he was provoking her. He knew she wasn’t Billy; she couldn’t be. The mother-in-law’s present thing hadn’t been a lie; Halliday’s anger when he’d called her a hypocrite had been too real.

‘Fuck off, Conkers. Leave me alone, or I’ll cancel my appointment with your lackey who’s been chasing me for a DNA sample.’

‘You didn’t give me what I came for: Billy’s latest letter and book, the story about the two sisters …’