She parked next to a black Volvo and, as soon as she climbed out of the car, the wind seemed to blow right through her jacket. Somewhere a dog was barking. She knocked at the door and it was opened almost immediately by a thin girl, hardly more than a child.

‘Are you the social worker?’ Her words eager, her eyes wide. Her red hair was tied back with a ribbon. She was dressed like a student, but a student with taste and money. Holly would have had her down as a staff member, but she was too thin and too nervy, nibbling now on her nails.

‘I’m afraid not.’

‘Ah.’ The girl backed away from her, disappointed. ‘A social worker’s supposed to be coming to take me home for Christmas. My key worker’s away on holiday. My mother said that she’d give it another go.’

‘Any chance I could speak to the person in charge?’

And at that point a plump woman appeared in the corridor. ‘I told you she wouldn’t be here until five, Emily,’ she said to the girl. She could have been talking to an eight-year-old. ‘Go and wait in the kitchen where it’s warm.’ Then she held out her hand to Holly. ‘I’m Jane Cameron and I run this place. You must be one of Vera Stanhope’s gang. I assume you’re here to talk to the residents about Dee Robson.’

Jane reminded Holly of her former French teacher. She had the same good-natured authority and the same confidence that she would get what she wanted from her charges without any fuss. The same sort of Scottish accent. There was a sound from further inside the house and Peter Gruskin the priest appeared. If he recognized Holly he didn’t acknowledge her. He was frowning. ‘I’ll get off then, shall I? I don’t think there’s anything else we can do at this stage.’ He nodded to both women and made his way outside. The wind tugged at his cloak and his hair. They stood watching until he drove away.

Holly followed Jane into the kitchen, where two women were pulling on gloves and boots. ‘We were just planning a walk,’ Jane said. ‘Everyone seems to have been stuck indoors and the weather forecast is dreadful for the rest of the week. We all need a breath of fresh air. Come on, Em. Coat on. I promise you won’t miss the social worker.’ Jane turned to Holly. ‘That is okay with you? We can talk as we go.’ And Holly had no choice. There were just three residents – the others had apparently been invited to more comfortable or exciting places for Christmas. The skinny child, Em, an athletic young woman called Laurie, who strode ahead throwing sticks for the dog, and Susan, who was older, grey-haired and who scarcely spoke when they were all together.