The gate was low, partially rotten, and creaked on its hinges as she walked through and tried to snap the catch shut behind her, finally managing it on the third attempt. The winding cobbled path led through a small square patch of garden to a pillar-box-red front door, with a tiny net-curtained window in its centre. Terracotta pots containing a few fading daffodils stood, not quite as straight as they might, to each side. Snowdrop Cottage. The name was carved into an oval wooden sign above the knocker. Yes, this was it. Not that there was even a single snowdrop to be seen, but it was March already and, if they had been there at all, then they were probably long gone by now. Madi would be the first to admit that, having no proper garden to call her own, she was far from an expert when it came to flowers. Still, she’d bought a bunch of tulips by way of a welcome, and left them at home in the bedroom. She knew virtually nothing about Prue or her tastes but hoped she would like them.

Madi felt in her coat pocket. The keys! Of course, she still didn’t have them. ‘Turn left out of the gate,’ Prue’s email had instructed, ‘and take the lane up to the left when you see the church. You’ll find the new vets’ surgery up ahead of you. Just ask for Sian.’

She retraced her steps down the path and turned left, as instructed, taking in the large stone-built house next door with its frilly net curtains and sturdy oak door, and the smaller, more modern pair of semi-detached houses beyond it. Every building different. As luck would have it, the little church was built at the top of an incline and the lane beside it seemed to have stayed relatively dry, all the rain and hence the mud having run straight down and accumulated in a giant squelchy mess at the bottom. Presumably the church services were over for the day as there was nobody about, but it sounded as if someone was still inside, practising their bell ringing, as a mix of disconnected chimes rang out haphazardly from the tower, not quite making anything resembling a tune. Madi picked her way around the mud, staying close to the hedge at the side, and slowly made her way to the surgery.

An old dog gazed up at her as she entered, its front paw bandaged, its elderly owner sitting with his knees wide apart, hunched forward and flicking through a magazine with a photo of a tractor on its cover. There were no other animals, or people, waiting, but it was a Sunday, so it was quite surprising to find the place open at all.

‘Hello. Can I help you?’ The girl behind the reception desk looked up from her computer screen, put down the biscuit she had been nibbling and wiped her fingers on the front of her green tabard.

‘Yes, I’m looking for Sian.’