‘“We are all human, frail and flawed,” the Sage expands on her wisdom. “We all find it impossible, sometimes, to resist our own strong desires. When we do harm to ourselves or to others, it is often because our better judgement has been paralysed by what feels like an urgent need. But the important thing is this: when our hearts are fully engaged in our actions, even the harmful ones, we are not beyond redemption. All hope is lost, however, when we are not infatuated, not helpless with desire, and yet still, from a position of clear-eyed objectivity, choose to behave in ways that promote evil.”’

‘A dress can’t be evil,’ I blurt out, unable to sit in silence and listen to this rubbish any longer. How can crap like this be the explanation for anything, let alone five murders? ‘What was so wrong with the dress – did it have Nazi propaganda all over it or something?’

Simon shakes his head. ‘Remember, all the other women in the story apart from Perdita and Dolores love the dress. To most people, it looks like a beautiful dress – highly desirable. But the most important thing to remember about the dress is that it isn’t a dress, not really. It’s a metaphor for something else – something Isobel believes to be evil. It’s a metaphor for this.’ Simon approaches Charlie from the side, pulls her bag off her shoulder, sticks his hand in and pulls out what looks like an e-reader. Yes, it’s a Kobo – I see the name as Simon brings it closer. It’s the same as the one Marion gave me on my fortieth birthday, the one I didn’t want but accepted anyway. Like Dolores, who accepted the dress she didn’t want.

Hang on. That can’t be the answer, or anything to do with the answer. Can it?

Simon walks over to Isobel and lays the Kobo down on the table in front of her. ‘You blame this machine – this and all the others like it – for Rudolphy’s closing down: your family’s bookshop. Many, many bookshops have closed since people stopped buying as many paper books and started to read electronically.’

‘Proper books, not paper books,’ Isobel corrects him. ‘Proper books are made of paper.’

Jesus Christ. Jesus fucking Christ. I can’t think anything else apart from those words, over and over. The e-reader I never wanted …

‘Your mother died three months after Rudolphy’s closed, didn’t she?’ Simon asks Isobel. ‘Of a heart attack – but I think you believe the closure of the shop was what killed her.’

‘This.’ Isobel wraps her hand around Charlie’s Kobo. ‘This killed my mother – this and all the others of its kind. They killed Linzi Birrell, and Rhian Douglas, and all of them.’ In a sudden violent movement, she swings her arm up and back, then hurls the machine at the wall.