The rest of the mail was junk which she ripped up and threw in the bin, before picking up her tea and opening the back door to the garden, stepping over Flo, who had taken up temporary residence on the step, and going outside. It was a nice day, quite sunny considering it was only mid-March, but still a bit chilly as she wandered down the narrow path, ducking under the swaying washing line, and towards the small glass-topped table and tucked-under chairs. It didn’t look as if they had been used much over the winter as she had to take a tissue from her cardigan pocket and give one of the chairs a wipe to take off some of the grime before she could sit down, her hands clasping the mug for warmth as she turned her face up towards the watery sun and suppressed a shiver.

It was a rare luxury to have a garden to sit in, and this one was neat and looked well maintained. The grass, a bit patchy but generally recovering well after the winter, was leaf-free, having obviously been swept or raked recently, but there was a mound of dry brown leaves, probably blown together by the wind, under the table, and it was only as her feet found them that Madi realised she was still wearing her slippers.

She looked at the small shed, curious to know what it might contain. Garden tools and lawnmowers didn’t usually warrant darkened windows, and she had an inkling it could be some kind of darkroom for young Prue’s photography. She’d never seen inside one before. She really shouldn’t be so inquisitive, but perhaps that little third key on her keyring might open the padlock she could see hooked round the door. One tiny peek surely couldn’t do any harm.

‘Hello there!’ A voice from behind her made her jump. She turned to see a man of about her own age smiling at her over the low stone wall that divided the cottage garden from the much bigger one next door. ‘Sorry if I’m disturbing you. Just wanted to introduce myself. Tom Bishop, your neighbour. Well, for as long as you’re here anyway. Won’t get in your way, I promise, but it’s always handy to have someone you can ask if you need anything, isn’t it? Happy to oblige, that’s all.’

Madi stood up and walked towards him. ‘Thank you. I’m Madalyn Cardew.’

He looked at her for a moment, tilting his head as if deep in thought. ‘The actress?’

‘Well, yes, actually, but how did you …?’

‘Oh, I’m a great theatre lover, me. Not that I get to go much these days but when I was younger … Anyway, I still like to keep up, read all the interviews and the reviews. Never forget a name, me. Faces I’m not always so good at, but I’m sure I saw you once. Now, what was it in again? Ah, yes, I remember. It was Hamlet, and you were Ophelia!’