The sales assistant behind me is waiting patiently, a dress in her arms. She must be in her late fifties. Her hair is greying and she has crows feet and laughter lines that give her a friendly appearance.

I pull my hand away and smile through the mirror at her. It's a bit silly but that white dress is scarier than any of the criminals I've put away.

She steps forward to help me into the dress. I follow her instructions almost mechanically, my mind drifting. She's not ...