Charlie couldn’t help looking at her sister’s cleavage, which was on display today as always. It was an all-outfits, all-weather cleavage.

‘What are you grinning about?’

‘Your tits.’

‘Oh.’ Liv looked resigned. ‘In case you’re wondering: yes, I regret asking.’

‘You know Sellers has joined Weight Watchers?’

‘Yes! Hysterical!’

‘I reckon he was jealous and that’s why he signed up. His best mate had a busty girlfriend – you – and he thought, “I want one of those”. Weight Watchers is the perfect trawling zone for him: women with big boobs and negative body images, so he can easily talk them into bed with a few calculated compliments.’

‘That’s so gross.’ Liv wrinkled her nose. ‘He’s so … ugh. How can he prey on people like that?’

‘You, of course, would never stoop so low.’ Charlie smiled and felt powerful. She was enjoying her meeting with Liv and, although she wasn’t there, she was enjoying Sellers’ with Sondra Halliday simultaneously. What might be happening, right now this very second? Was Halliday taking notes for her next Lifeworld article? Was Sellers telling her his double-rejection-at-the-women’s-refuge story? That was a classic.

If Charlie had met Sondra Halliday as per Simon’s instructions, it wouldn’t have been nearly as jolly. Harsh words would undoubtedly have passed between them, and perhaps even a cup of coffee in the face if Charlie hadn’t been able to restrain herself. She’d had a grudge against Halliday ever since the journalist had written a string of vicious and unfair think-pieces about a Spilling man called Godfrey Cornish: an arterial surgeon at the Rawndesley General Infirmary who’d killed his thirteen-year-old daughter Holly in 2006, when Charlie was still working as a detective.

It was a tragic case. Godfrey and his wife had been devoted parents, adored their daughter, did everything they could for her. Then Holly had started to get ill. Doctors examined her and could find nothing wrong. Meanwhile, Holly continued to deteriorate. Her parents, desperate to comfort her, kept telling her not to worry, they’d find out what was wrong and cure it. After a few agonising months spent visiting specialists, the diagnosis came: Holly had a rare terminal illness, a non-hereditary genetic condition that afflicted 1 in four million people. She would be dead within six months, her parents were told; nothing could be done. Godfrey Cornish decided he couldn’t bear for Holly – a girl who loved life so much – to know she was dying. So he killed her: gave her an anaesthetic that ensured she wouldn’t wake up.