Clenching my fists, I stand rooted for a moment, undecided what I can possibly do next. Freya was right. I’ve been here twenty-four hours with no answers, only more questions.

‘Stella!’

I turn at the sound of Ruth calling me, quietly but urgently. She scurries up the lane, glancing back at the pub, which means Bob likely has no idea she’s taken the risk of coming after me. ‘Thank you.’

‘For what?’

‘For talking about Jill. It’s been years since I’ve heard her name spoken aloud.’

‘Oh Ruth, I’m so sorry.’ I reach for her hand but she pulls back. ‘We can talk about her again if you like? I’ve got so many stories from our childhood I can share with you.’ The chance to meet her somewhere else would be good. Where Bob won’t walk in.

Ruth bites her lip as she glances back again. ‘Bob can’t mind you talking about her,’ I say, though I doubt this is the issue. ‘Why doesn’t he want me here? I don’t understand.’

‘I shouldn’t have come out,’ Ruth says as she turns to the pub, but before she walks off she pauses, looking over her shoulder. ‘It wasn’t my fault,’ she says, shaking her head. ‘I didn’t – I didn’t know.’ Her eyes are filled with tears.

‘Of course you couldn’t have known,’ I say, but as I watch the way she searches my eyes, I can see she believes she should have. ‘You can’t blame yourself for her illness,’ I go on, gently. ‘It wasn’t in your control.’

Ruth shakes her head again, her mouth parting, and I can tell there is something she needs to get off her chest, something she needs to rid herself of. But in the end all she says is, ‘You can’t understand.’

Chapter Thirteen

It’s a relief when I throw open the door to the café and see Meg’s friendly face smiling at me. I order another hot chocolate, this time with whipped cream and a comforting amount of marshmallows on top.

‘You look frozen. I didn’t think it was as cold today,’ she says, eyeing my thick coat.

‘I am a bit cold,’ I smile, though it’s not the weather that’s causing goose bumps to sweep across my skin. My encounter with the Taylors has left me shivering.

‘There are a few more people in, at least,’ she says, and I look around at the customers, murmuring quietly in small huddles. A sense of apprehension still lingers in the air.

When she places my hot chocolate on the counter Meg adds a plate with a large slice of Victoria sponge. ‘On the house. You look like you could do with it.’

‘It looks amazing. And thank you,’ I say, immediately warmed by her thoughtfulness. ‘So how do you cope with no mobile signal round here?’