Cooper recalled Palfreyman’s description of the two brothers sitting silently in their kitchen, failing to exchange a word all evening. He wondered when exactly Raymond had tried talking sense to his brother. It would have been much easier just to let him get on with his odd ways, wouldn’t it? That was usually the way in families. Familiarity bred acceptance, and all kinds of bizarre and strange behaviour would be treated as normal within the family, no matter how likely it was to attract the men in white coats if it was seen on the outside.

‘Did he have any particular superstitions that bothered you, sir?’

‘Bothered me? Nowt bothers me,’ said Sutton. ‘Nowt.’

Wrong word. Try again. ‘There were some things he believed in that you disagreed with?’

‘Damn well all of them. Oh, he went to chapel, but he never followed the way. He was tainted, corrupted. Right from a child, he was. Our dad showed us the right way to do things, but Derek had to be different. He took after our mother, I reckon. Folk always said she was fey.’

Fey. It was many years since Cooper had heard that word. His mother had used it of one of their neighbours at one time. It had been meant in a disparaging way, he was sure. Disapproving, certainly. But he’d always felt there was a degree of admiration in the word, too. A sense of the awe and respect that had traditionally been accorded to the wise woman, the healer, the widow people surreptitiously visited at dusk to ask for advice, or a special herbal preparation. She’s a bit fey. Attuned to the supernatural world – he supposed that would be the nearest translation. In touch with the fairies, perhaps. Blessed with visionary or clairvoyant ability, if you really wanted to be kind. But Cooper had an inkling there was another meaning, too.

‘And what about Alan?’

Sutton was suddenly silent. The tears that had been threatening to appear since he arrived at the farm started to trickle down his cheeks. Cooper immediately regretted being so blunt. And he prayed he never reached the stage in his own life where he could be made to weep so easily.

‘Alan is long gone, too,’ said Sutton.

‘What happened to him, Mr Sutton?’

‘He left. He couldn’t stand living here any more.’

‘Where is he now?’

Sutton gave a long, unsteady sigh. ‘I don’t know. Alan’s gone, Derek’s gone, the farm is gone. What else matters?’

Fry stood over his wheelchair. ‘Is Alan still alive?’ she asked.

Sutton turned away, refusing to look at her.

‘We haven’t heard from him for years. Eight years or more, it must be.’

Fry glanced across at Cooper, and he knew what she was thinking. An evasive answer.

But they let Sutton go with his carers, and he was helped back into the minibus for the return journey to The Oaks.