I knew him a little bit. Tito was his name. Used to see him round a bit, and one day after he’d been living here for a year or so, he calls me, out of the blue, and says he needs a big favour. He told me he wanted to become ‘more a part of our community’, and asked could I help him. He wanted to be a local, and not an outsider or the ‘artsy, city guy up the road’. So he came and had a beer at my place. Elaine was away somewhere. We chatted about things, and I liked him. He asked me about the community, and maybe I talked it up a bit too much. I told him about my friends, and one friend of James’s in particular. I said they were people who cared about other people. I think it was the beer talking. Anyway, I ‘took’ him to a community meeting, a field day, and to the pub where I tried to introduce him to locals. He was a nice enough bloke, a bit wound-up, but friendly. After that I wasn’t much help to him, because I had my own issues. And then he was dead before the locals got to know him.

I guess we’re always suspicious of newcomers. What are they up to? Are they going to hang around? Are they going to refuse to pay their bills like other city people? And someone like me needs to hang on to the belief that money won’t buy you farming cred. You have to have lived it for a lifetime, or at least a good long while. No matter how much money you’ve got, you’ll never be a real farmer like me. Bullshit, of course.

‘It’s never anything special,’ I say to her. ‘Just machinery parts, and small pumps. I’m afraid I can only afford the sweatshop versions.’ There’s a nasty half-joke there, but she does not laugh or express understanding. She steps up close to me, her skin perfect, her teeth white and untampered with. ‘If my parcel turns up, you’ll let me know, won’t you?’ It’s not quite menace, but it’s a very close cousin. Or is that her version of a come-on? Either the money is hers, or she really likes crockery.

I am unreasonably calm.

When her car is gone, I sit with my head in my hands on the front step. If she’s missing a box of crockery, then I’ve really done no wrong. It would have been wrong to involve her in the knowledge of the cash. That would be incrimination. But if the money is hers, I have stolen it from her. Which means she’ll be back, or someone will be back in her stead.