Heather nodded, trying to catch up with the conversation.

“It’s very kind of you to think of me, uh, Lillian. You knew my mum well? Colleen, I mean. You said you live round here? You must have moved here in the last few years?” She was trying to remember Lillian from her own childhood, or her infrequent visits as an adult, but she couldn’t place the woman.

“Just round the corner,” Lillian was looking around the kitchen, as if she could spot every bit of dust Colleen would have been mortified about. Although Mr. Ramsey had instantly inspired Heather’s contempt, the idea of disappointing Lillian was oddly alarming. “Colleen and I used to spend afternoons together sometimes, drinking tea and talking about old lady things.”

Heather nodded, although it was strange to think of her mother as an “old lady”.

“How did she seem to you? Over the last month or so?” The question seemed to bring Lillian up short, so Heather uncrossed her arms and tried to look more relaxed. “I didn’t see her as often as I should have, you see. All this has come as a bit of a shock.”

“She was a strong woman, your mother. Surprisingly so. But it’s a generational thing, you see. People my age, well, we don’t talk about our feelings.” Lillian smiled thinly. “It’s not the done thing, and I’m afraid if Colleen was struggling, I had no idea.”

Heather thought about the screwed-up page on the dressing table, the pained face of the police officer as he passed her her mother’s wedding ring.

“So, nothing she said struck you as strange? No odd behavior?”

“Goodness,” Lillian looked down at the countertop as if Heather had just said a rude word in front of the vicar. “Colleen mentioned you were a journalist, but …”

“I’m sorry, I …” Heather looked away, half smiling. I can’t even do small talk properly. Mum would have found that funny, probably. “Look, can I get you a cup of tea?”

“No, thank you dear,” Lillian flapped a hand at her. “I wouldn’t dream of intruding, not now. I just wanted to drop that off and get a look at you. Colleen used to talk about you all the time, you know.”

“Really?” Heather smiled again, but it felt forced this time. We didn’t always get on so well. I was a pain in the ass when I was a kid, as I’m sure she told you.”

“Oh not at all,” Lillian brushed a piece of fluff from her sleeve. “Nothing but praise for her golden girl.”

Heather had the sudden impression that Lillian was lying, but she nodded anyway. The woman made to leave, squeezing her arm briefly as she came past.

“If there’s anything you need, dear, just tell me. Like I said, I’m very close, always happy to bake or cook or even do laundry if you’re feeling overwhelmed …” Heather followed her down the corridor like an errant schoolchild; she suspected people were often following Lillian about like this, dragged in her wake.