The second letter arrives that morning and takes Lily quite by surprise, even though this is exactly what she’s been waiting for. The post arrives as normal, just after eleven, and there is nothing but a statement from the building society and a catalog from some company called Rest Easy that sells beds for the incapacitated and infirm. Lily has no idea where they got her details from, but got them they have. Mrs. Lillian Bainbridge. Close enough, she supposes. After that she somehow manages to put the whole thing out of her mind for an hour or so and then, all at once, it is there. Another plain white envelope. Staring at her from the mat. No sound of the letter box flapping, nothing. Just one minute it isn’t there, and then it is. It makes the hair stand up all over her body.

Edna is already in the garden but still, Lily can’t help but snatch the envelope up and scrunch it to her middle. She creeps back through the kitchen and hurries up the stairs and into the bedroom. Only when she is looking down on Edna from above, certain she can’t be seen, does she unfold the paper from her clenched fist and smooth it out.

She opens the envelope carefully, though it isn’t sealed, just has the flap tucked in at the back. She pulls out another sheet of paper folded in three and reads the printed words.

If you don’t tell, I will.

Below her, through the cracked-open window, she can hear the gentle groaning of the sun lounger as Edna swings.

How would Edna deal with this? Lily tries to apply her mind to the problem in the same way she has seen Edna do so many times over so many years. Two letters. The first—now folded into the mechanism of the grandmother clock by the fireplace—I know what you did. A statement, nothing more. Designed to unsettle, yes, but not inherently threatening. Lily shakes her head. No, that’s not right. Of course it is threatening! Why else would someone send it? She looks down again at the paper in her hand. The second. If you don’t tell, I will. A statement, but also a demand. But not a demand for money or any sort of recompense. A demand for . . . what? Justice, she supposes. Perhaps a deserving one, if only she could remember.

Oh, it’s all too difficult. Her head is swimming and there are too many gaps. The only thing she’s certain of is that this is not something she can ignore. Not now.