‘Great. Thanks a million.’ We stop at the turn for Rowanbrook Drive.

‘No problem. Whatever it takes to get you some peace of mind. And I’m sure your husband will be glad to move on.’

‘Sorry?’

‘I mean, to be off the hook – you were saying you couldn’t believe he didn’t know it was the same house?’

‘Oh. Yes.’ That seems like a million years ago.

‘For what it’s worth, when I was showing the house that became my home, to the person who became my husband, I had absolutely no idea that Lily Murphy had lived in Rowanbrook. So, while the story is well known, the address probably isn’t. Does that get him out of the doghouse?’ She grins.

I put on the smile she expects. ‘Just about.’

Oh, how I want to live in a world where Mark’s memory is my only problem.

‘Well, this is me. I’m in work at ten so I’d better get going.’

She goes her way and I go mine; home to rattle around 6 Rowanbrook Drive, just me and Lily’s ghost.

Susie is there when I arrive, waiting on my doorstep, fanning herself against the morning heat.

‘Joanna, darling! You know, you really shouldn’t let yourself go now that you’re not working any more,’ she says, eyeing up my leggings. ‘In my day, we never wore sportswear other than when we played sports! Or are you on your way to the gym?’

I’m heartily tempted to tell her I am, but instead, I invite her in.

‘Goodness,’ she says as we walk through to the kitchen. ‘How do you stand the gloom!’

‘We’ll get to painting it – we just haven’t had time yet.’

‘Too busy obsessing over Lily Murphy, I bet. You have to let it go. It’s not good for you.’ She puts her handbag on the table, a tan leather Michael Kors, and scans the kitchen. ‘It’s strange to be here again, all these years later. I remember the birthday parties for Lily, the dinner parties, the card nights. Big into socializing, they were. More so Robbie, to be honest. Mary could be shy. Or aloof, depending on who you talked to. A bit like you, Joanna. “Hostess with the mostess”, but not great at letting people in.’

My mouth drops open.

‘Yes, just like you,’ she continues. ‘Very warm and welcoming and saying all the right things, but not quite letting the guard down. If you ever want to talk, by the way, I’m here. Not a replacement for your own mother, of course, but still.’

If only she knew.

She walks across the kitchen and stands at the window, looking out. ‘Gosh, the garden is huge, isn’t it? Such potential. I suppose that’s what sold it to them, too. The Murphys, I mean. Their old house had a much smaller garden. A “scrubby little yard”, as Mary used to call it.’

‘Susie, would you like coffee?’ She’s not going any time soon; we may as well be caffeinated.