She rubbed her hands together and cupped them around her nose and chin, blowing into them to warm them. It was a good job she’d spotted that thick duvet on the bed and a hot water bottle on the table beside it. She might be needing both of those downstairs during the evenings, and her dressing gown to snuggle into, if her fire lighting skills failed her. And as for the range cooker, all she could say was that the microwave would probably be getting a lot more use than it was accustomed to. Hopefully the village pub she had spotted on her drive in might do meals, or there might be some sort of café or coffee shop somewhere, if she could just build up enough enthusiasm to go out and face people. Cooking had never really been her thing.

It didn’t take long to settle in. Carefully she carried her bags upstairs, one at a time, and squeezed her few clothes into the wardrobe alongside Prue’s, pleased to see that the full-length mirror was attached to the inside of the door and not the outside, so she wouldn’t have to keep seeing herself walk past, or even use it at all if she didn’t want to. She put her sponge bag of basic toiletries aside, and the dreaded box of pills, ready to take downstairs with her, and stowed her empty bags under the bed.

She took a look out of the bedroom window, catching her first glimpse of the back garden, which was neat and surprisingly green, its rounded lawn dotted with crocuses, deep flowerbeds packed with shrubs, and a pair of matching leafless trees, all encased within a low stone wall. Down at the end stood some kind of outhouse, like a tool shed, but with its windows all blacked out, and next to it a round garden table with a couple of all-weather chairs. There was a washing line too, reminiscent of one her mother used to have, stretching the length of the garden and propped up in the middle with a long wooden pole, a few plastic pegs clipped closely together at the end nearest the house. It had been many years since Madi had pegged anything out to dry, happy enough to let her tumble dryer do the work, but if there wasn’t one here, well, she was prepared to give it a go, assuming the weather picked up. Right now, it was cold. Madi walked round closing all the curtains in an attempt to trap whatever little warmth there was, and to isolate herself from the silent, rapidly darkening evening outside.

There were lots of photographs hanging on the uneven white walls. More than she had ever seen in one place, barring a gallery. They were in the living room, in both bedrooms, even in the kitchen and on the stairs. Many were what she assumed to be local scenes, showing farmers at work in misty fields, reeds poking their heads out from shimmering water, sunset over a deserted beach, and a group of three, hanging close together, of a small tabby cat with huge green eyes that she assumed must be the elusive Flo.