They walked together to the end of Harbour Street, surprised on the way by the sound of a train pulling into the station. The Metro system was open again. Everything was back to normal.

Vera stood in the street and watched Holly drive off. She was tempted by the light and the warmth of the Coble, could taste the fire of a whisky sliding down her throat. But a woman on her own in a pub in Mardle would attract attention. She might not be dressed like the big lass in the fishnet tights, but folk would stare and wonder all the same.

On impulse she walked back to Kate Dewar’s guest house. Her Land Rover was still parked outside, the windscreen now covered with ice. The lock was frozen and she had to tug on the handle to get the door open. In the back was her bag. A change of underwear and a toothbrush and toothpaste. She always kept it with her, just in case.

She knocked on the door. No reply. She knocked again and this time she heard footsteps. Kate Dewar appeared. Behind her stood a man. He was older than Kate, in his late fifties or early sixties, dressed in a checked shirt and a sweater. A grey beard and a weather-beaten face. Vera looked at her watch. Nine-thirty.

‘Oh, it’s you.’ Kate’s voice was a mixture of irritation and relief.

‘Why, who did you think it might have been?’

‘I’ve had the press on the phone. The Newcastle papers.’

Of course, Vera thought, the death of an elderly woman wouldn’t be sufficiently glamorous for the nationals.

‘I’ve switched off the phone, but that’s not brilliant for business.’ She seemed close to tears, the petty inconveniences pushing her near the edge.

‘Of course,’ Vera said. ‘It’s about business that I’m here. Your business. I wonder if you have a bed for the night? Full rate, of course. I’d need an early breakfast. Only I live halfway up Cheviot and I don’t fancy trying to get home in this. It’s always ten times worse away from the coast. I’d be very grateful.’

And suddenly Kate clicked into professional mode. ‘Of course. Come on in. Room six is free. Can I get you some tea in the lounge?’ Talking just a little too quickly and glancing at Vera every now and again, thinking there might be something more sinister behind the apparently simple request.

Vera didn’t answer immediately. She leaned against the door and stretched out her hand round Kate towards the man. ‘I’m Vera Stanhope. Good to meet you.’

‘This is Stuart Booth, my fiancé.’ The woman’s face lit up with a huge beam. She looked like a teenager in love for the first time. Vera tried to think if she’d ever felt like that.