‘You look great, by the way.’ The runner put out a hand to help her. ‘This scene will be very funny.’

‘Where’s Eggy?’

The runner hesitated before replying. ‘We’re getting hold of him. But we need you to run through the rehearsal for the lights and camera. After all, you’ll be the one driving the boat.’

Sally sensed that the man was keeping something from her. Had something happened to Eggy? What did ‘getting hold of him’ mean? Eggy was clearly not at the location yet, otherwise the runner would have said, ‘He’s in Make-up’ or ‘He’s grabbing a quick bite at the chuck wagon.’ ‘Getting hold of him’ meant he was not here.

She fiddled around with her handbag and realised that she had inadvertently dropped her mobile inside. Phones were banned on set, so she’d have to hand it to someone later, but for now it could prove useful.

As the car pulled out of the car park, the film-set base today, on to the main road, she dialled Eggy’s mobile number. No reply. Just voicemail. She tried again. No luck.

What if he had done something stupid? Sometimes confessions led to deep depressions.

She remembered her own horrible marriage situation all those years ago, but it came nowhere near poor Eggy’s.

Sally sat back in the car seat and wondered what she could do next.

She didn’t have a number for Phoo or she would have called her.

Then she remembered that Phoo and Eggy were staying in the flat above Theresa, so she hastily dialled her number. She’d ask Theresa to run upstairs and find out from Phoo when she had last heard from Eggy.

That was the answer.

‘Grandma!’

Theresa went to the back door, where Chloe was still standing, gazing upwards.

‘There’s a man up there, making strange faces at me.’

‘Not Neil?’

‘No.’

Theresa looked up. It was starting to get dark, and the setting sun caught the hotel windows, turning them into red mirrors.

‘I don’t see? Where?’

Theresa feared that it could be Cyril looking down. Certainly someone had been up there that night a few days ago, whispering her name into the well. Could it be him again, alerted by the two kids larking about with their Romeo and Juliet routine?

‘Has he been there a long time?’ Theresa squinted up and still could not make out any faces framed in the red glow of the setting sun’s reflection.

‘There was some other creep earlier, but he disappeared when I came out and started up the Shakespeare rap.’

‘Some other creep?’

‘That creepy man who came up to you at breakfast, Gran. You remember?’

So it was Cyril up there.

‘Which window?’