I shrug. ‘So there’d be no witnesses and she couldn’t say it was missing?’

‘I’m not being funny, love, but a fortnight before she died she claimed Alfred the Great was living in her wardrobe. They could’ve nicked the roof from over her head and she wouldn’t have noticed.’

‘The paramedics and the doctor were in the house,’ I say. ‘And the police.’

‘Police?’ Tom asks.

‘Standard procedure,’ Mum says. ‘It’s because she died at home. They have to come out as a matter of course to rule out foul play. And a doctor has to pronounce her dead.’

‘Unless you’re trying to tell me it was the police who nicked her necklace,’ Dad adds.

I look at him, a blank expression on my face. ‘I don’t know what you want me to tell you,’ I reply. ‘I haven’t been up there since she died, and Tom’s never been in his life. I don’t know how you imagine we pulled off the Great Heist. An elaborate set of magnets, perhaps? A series of homing pigeons with lock picks?’

‘There’s no need to get sarcastic, Grace.’

‘Trust me, Dad. Sarcasm is the least of your worries right now.’

‘Look,’ Dad says, leaning forward. ‘We’re just concerned. Maybe we didn’t get it right. That’s fine. I’m sure there’s a perfectly innocent explanation.’

‘Like the care workers on minimum wage who are practically strangers and had unfettered access to her place while she was lying there dead, you mean?’

Mum and Dad share a look.

‘Perhaps,’ Dad says. ‘I’ll have a look at the CCTV from the front door around that time, but I doubt very much it’ll be any use unless the thief skipped down the front drive twirling the fucking thing around in the air.’

‘Looks like it’s the best hope you’ve got,’ I say. ‘Because it wasn’t anything to do with me or Tom. I told you. Tom’s never set foot in that house.’

‘In that case, Thomas, we’re sorry,’ Dad says. I genuinely think it’s the first time I’ve ever heard him use those words.

‘Thank you,’ I say.

‘Thanks,’ Tom adds. ‘If it’s alright with you guys, I’m going to go upstairs for a bit and give you all some space.’

Mum and Dad say nothing as Tom leaves the room and jogs up the stairs to the bedroom.

‘Look, maybe we were overreacting, but it does come from the best possible place, we assure you,’ Mum says.

Dad seems to be either pacified by the clearing of the air or feeling awkward at the way things have played out. It’s impossible to tell which. ‘How are things going at work?’ he says.

I swallow hard. ‘Fine. Absolutely fine.’

Dad nods. ‘Any interesting projects on at the moment?’

I shake my head. ‘No, not really.’ It’s not a lie.

‘And money? Are you okay for money?’

‘Yes, fine thanks,’ I say.

‘No worries on that front at all?’

‘No. None. All fine, thanks.’

Mum and Dad look at each other, then back at me.