“Not anymore,” she said. “It was my nickname at school. Why?”

“The password for Damon Blundy’s laptop was ‘Riddy111111.’”

“Was it? Doesn’t particularly surprise me. The man was obsessed with me.”

“Funny thing is, now Toby has the same nickname at his new school,” said Fergus. “Riddy! Complete coincidence, too—no one at Ashfold knows that Paula used to be known as Riddy.”

“Ashfold?” said Simon.

“Oh, here we go!” Anger flashed in Paula’s eyes. “Yes, Ashfold—the independent fee-paying prep school. Why did I move my son there from a state school? That’s my business and none of yours. Toby couldn’t stay at his old school after we moved in with Fergus. If you must know, I decided Damon was right about that one thing—nothing else. But . . . if I can afford the very best education for my son, it’s my duty to provide that, isn’t it?”

“Your son’s surname is Riddiough, then?” Simon asked. “Not Crumlish like his father?”

“You’ve done your homework. I’m flattered.” Paula smiled. “My son’s name is Toby Crumlish-Riddiough,” said Paula.

And you sent him to a state school in Combingham, and expected him to survive his first day?

Riddy111111. Was it possible the Riddy in Damon Blundy’s password was Toby? “How did Damon Blundy know your school nickname?”

“Good question,” said Paula. “One of his hobbies was digging around looking for any dirt on me he could find. He probably unearthed one of my old classmates and got it from her.”

“Or he had your son in mind,” said Simon. “Did you have Toby with you on November 11, 2011, when you met Damon?”

“No. Of course not. Why would I take my son to what was likely to be a deeply unpleasant meeting?”

“Did you ever refer to Toby as Riddy in Blundy’s presence?”

“No. And . . . Damon wouldn’t have been interested enough in Toby to make a password out of him,” said Paula. “Damon’s one of those childless men for whom children barely exist. When I tried to explain to him how much his attacks on me were hurting Toby, he laughed and said, ‘Buy him a packet of Maltesers and he’ll be fine.’ And he had the nerve to call me a bad mother and say I only cared about my career and my sex life! If you added up all the times I’ve had sex since Toby was born and set that total against the number of times I’ve read Tiddler and The Gruffalo and The Gruffalo’s Child—my favorite books in the world!—I promise you sex would be the loser!”

“Paula’s a brilliant mother,” Fergus announced loudly.

“Thank you, darling.” She ruffled his hair again.

A brilliant mother to whom, Simon wondered, Toby or Fergus? There was something maternal about the way she was gazing fondly at her husband.