Tilly nodded, beaming. The woman had red cheeks and bright eyes and told her where and when breakfast was served. Her voice was reminiscent of Coronation Street, though much gentler. She gave Tilly advice on how to get to the lake, where was good to eat and the location of the nearest shop. She also showed her to her room. It was clean and overlooked the lake.

‘Which lake is that?’

The woman smiled patiently. ‘It’s Derwent Water.’

‘Derwent Lake? It’s beautiful.’

‘No, it’s called Derwent Water. There’s only one that’s called a lake and that’s Bassenthwaite; the others are all meres, tarns or waters.’

‘Right, thank you! I’ll remember that. Derwent Water.’

‘Enjoy your stay. I lock the office at ten; after that, there’s an emergency number to call on the door. I only live three doors down, so I’m always here.’

Once the woman had left, Tilly went to her car to get her bags. She dumped them in her room, then decided to explore rather than unpack properly. She followed the directions given to her, and within a matter of minutes she found herself at the edge of the lake, on a pebbly shingle beach, watching the water lap the shore. There was no one else about and she looked both ways, uncertain of which way to go. She decided to follow the shore back towards a town that she presumed was Keswick, which she saw not far in the distance. A wooden steamer crowded with people was pulling away from a jetty. A pathway left the shoreline and skirted around a campsite, leading to a park. Soon the way was fairly crowded with people, and she figured she must be in Keswick itself.

She was now at the jetty that she’d seen the boat leave from, and she watched as children fed ducks, people hired rowing boats and families bought ice creams. She remembered that it was half-term week for schools. She fancied an ice cream herself and queued with the others. As she waited, she looked across the lake to see where the steamer had gone, but she couldn’t spot it. There were plenty of people in boats and kayaks and on paddle boards, and she suddenly understood how shocking the events of earlier in the week must have been for such a small community. The place was idyllic.

‘Lovely day!’ a woman in front of her commented in a local accent. That was another thing she’d forgotten about the north: people talked to one another.

‘It’s gorgeous,’ she replied. The woman was elderly but appeared sprightly. ‘Do you live around here?’ Tilly asked.

‘I do, I’ve been here all my life.’

‘You’re so lucky,’ Tilly said, and she meant it. ‘Although did I read in the newspaper that there was a man killed near here this week?’