Graeme had told her that no one knew about this place. If that was the case, then no one in the small village would recognise her. She’d promised him over and over again that she wouldn’t stray outdoors, but this afternoon she’d broken that promise and gone out of the back door, over the stone wall and into the adjoining field. She’d found a beck at the edge of the field and had taken her shoes off and paddled in the water, sucking deeply on a cigarette and watching the clouds change shape. It was blissful.

Cumbria smelled different to London. The air was thin and sweet, not heavy and murky. It smelled as though it was doing her good just by surrounding her. Her skin felt fresher and her head clearer. After her paddle, she’d lain on the lush green grass for a while, staring up at the sky and smoking two more cigarettes. She thought she must have dozed off, because she woke with a start. She got up quickly, slipping her shoes on, and scurried back to the house, where she realised that in her excitement she’d left the back door open.

She pulled it closed and locked it behind her, swearing under her breath.

The cottage boasted a large, well-stocked wine cellar, and she perused the contents and selected a bottle to open with her early dinner. Graeme had said he’d be back, but if he didn’t answer his phone then she couldn’t exactly go after him. She’d already called Kelly Porter, who’d said she’d check in with him and get back to her.

Tilly was used to cooking for one, and though she didn’t do it all the time, occasionally she would prepare an intricate meal from scratch. She looked in the fridge and found lamb chops and salad bits and bobs. She searched for some mint sauce and some yoghurt to make a quick sauce. The smell of the chops cooking filled the small cottage with the promise of comfort, love and satisfaction. There was nothing quite like the smell of grilling meat. She poured herself a large glass of red wine and went to get the fire prepared. She’d only been here two days, but it felt like a week.

The other difference between north and south, she’d noticed, was the temperature. In June, London sweltered and commuters melted, but here, where the air was crystal clear and the mountains cast shadows, the evenings were cool and a fire was welcome. Graeme had made one every night. She remembered how to do it from watching her dad. Mum had wanted to close the chimney and buy a fancy flame-effect gas fire, but Dad wouldn’t hear of it. Now Tilly lit the newspaper and it caught the kindling with a satisfying sizzle. She placed the guard in front of it and went to check the lamb.