As she is picking up her mug a large bird crashes into the French window with a deadening thud making her spill tea all down her front. Out on the path, a young crow lies on its back, head on one side, twitching. Maddy opens the patio door and slides her hands underneath it, gently lifting it onto her lap. She sits on a sun-bleached railway sleeper stroking the inky feathers. It blinks its beady black eye at her. The rapid heartbeat soon slows to nothing and the warmth of its body seeps through her fingers like sand. Poppy sniffs it and slopes off into the house. A ghostly imprint of its wings is left on the window.

She takes the bird inside and lays it on a scrap of old newspaper. Poor thing deserves a proper burial, but Max would tell her it is a bad omen, a sign of death or ill fortune. His gran knew all about these things. They shouldn’t be ignored. Alison needs to know that she won’t get away with what she’s done. She leaves her mug in the sink and places the dead bird on Alison’s doormat on her way out.

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Alison: October 2019

Alison arrives back from Jamie’s swimming lesson just after 5 p.m. It starts to rain as they get out of the car. Jamie laughs as he’s getting wet, turning in circles. Poppy is barking on the other side of the front door.

‘Argh, what’s that?’ Alison jumps back from the dark glistening mound on the mat. Jamie stops laughing and peers closer, poking it with the side of his trainer.

‘It’s dead,’ he says.

‘I can see that. What’s it doing here?’

‘Probably killed by next door’s cat.’

‘A crow? Isn’t it too big for a cat to catch?’ She picks up the sides of the mat. ‘Open the bin, will you?’

Jamie splashes through the puddles along the drive and flips open the lid. Alison curls the mat up either end, scoops the whole lot up and drops it in the bin.

‘What about the mat?’ asks Jamie.

‘It might have fleas or something. We can get a new one.’

‘When’s Dad coming home?’

‘Don’t start. Hurry up now and get in. I’m soaked to the bloody skin.’

Poppy sniffs them, but Alison pushes him away. She opens Jamie’s schoolbag and takes out his reading book and an object wrapped in tissue.

‘What’s this?’

‘We made it in pottery. It’s a footballer.’

‘Can I have a look then?’

‘Yeah.’ He runs into the living room and switches on the television.

‘You’ve painted it nicely. Where shall we put it?’

‘I don’t want to unwrap it yet.’

‘Why not?’

‘It’s for Dad.’

‘Oh. I’ll leave it on the side then, shall I?’ He’d better bloody turn up now. ‘Go and have a shower.’