‘I don’t really know what to say,’ he replies, calm and dignified.

‘You don’t need to say anything,’ I tell him. ‘It’s ridiculous. You’ve never even been in Nan’s house. I told them that.’

Tom sighs. ‘So do they think it’s you?’

‘I’ve no idea. Probably. I don’t really care. They’ll find it eventually and look like a pair of idiots, then they’ll have to come running back to apologise to me with their tail between their legs. Then something else will happen and that’ll be my fault too. The cycle continues.’

Grace? x

I tap out a reply.

Give me five minutes.

‘Maybe they’ve found it,’ Tom says. ‘Maybe that’s why they’ve come round. To apologise.’

‘In that case, you’ve got a higher opinion of them than I have,’ I reply.

I go upstairs and get changed, then come back down and wait for the doorbell to ring. When it does, I get up and open the door. I don’t say a word.

‘Can we come in?’ Mum says.

I stand back and let them in, then Tom comes out of the living room, friendly and courteous as ever.

‘Coffee?’ he says.

‘No,’ I reply, before they can. ‘They won’t be here long enough for that.’

Tom walks back into the living room looking like a scolded child, and I stand in the hallway, waiting to hear what Mum and Dad have to say.

We stand in silence for a few moments, almost as if they’re expecting me to speak first — as if I have anything I want to say to them after the way they’ve treated me and Tom. Eventually, I walk through into the living room and sit down. My parents follow me.

As is so often the case, it’s Dad who breaks the silence.

‘Grace, we’re well aware that things haven’t really been getting off on the right foot lately.’

I make a noise that’s halfway between a snort and a huff and cross my arms.

Dad continues. ‘And we’re also well aware that we might have jumped the gun a couple of times and not got our points across in the right way.’

‘Let me stop you there,’ I say, interrupting him. ‘This isn’t about you being misunderstood or not getting things across in the right way. You came over here while Tom was at work and you out-and-out accused him of being a liar and a thief.’

‘That’s not quite what we said,’ Mum replies, shuffling awkwardly in her seat.

Tom, dignified as ever, says nothing and does his best not to look offended.

‘Look at it from our point of view,’ Dad says. ‘The bloody sun’s position is less predictable than that necklace’s was. Then the second Mum’s dead, it disappears. The only people who’ve been in there or who’ve got keys is us and you.’

‘And the carers.’

‘Come on, Grace. If the carers were going to nick her jewellery, they’d have done it on one of the thousand other times they were in the house. Why wait until she’s dead?’