‘How mean of your neighbours to drink wine in each other’s houses and not invite you!’ I say now.

‘Rowanbrook can be a bit closed to outsiders and I’m the blow-in.’ Liz takes a sip from her glass. ‘Only here ten years. I expect by the time the kids are graduating, we’ll be getting the invite for Christmas Day eggnog.’

‘Is it really like that?’ I ask, lowering my voice.

‘Ah, it’s nice here, but I’m delighted to have someone my own age nearby and the kids will be able to play on the green together. Lots of elderly people on our road, so my kids are constantly complaining there’s no one to hang out with. As if we should have known that back when we first viewed the house.’

‘Out of interest – and not that I’m obsessing over houses and macabre histories or anything,’ I say with a grimace, ‘but was it easier to buy the house because you’re an estate agent? I guess you know all the insider secrets?’

‘Hmm. In general, it makes it easier to rule places out – to read between the lines on the brochure. But same as anyone else, when you find the house you love, you just know. In my case, I didn’t buy at all – my husband bought it, and I simply moved in. I liked the house and decided to marry him. There’s worse reasons to marry someone, you know,’ she says with a wink.

Cora looks taken aback. ‘I can’t tell if you’re serious or not. You’re only joking, aren’t you?’

‘Well, let’s just say, it was supposed to be one of my colleagues showing my now-husband the house that day, but I switched things so I could do it. And here I am, ten years on, mistress of said house, in all its single-storey, slightly cramped, mid-century glory. Girls, you never know when a tiny and slightly sneaky manipulation of a work schedule can change your life.’

‘And what happened to your colleague,’ I ask, ‘the one whose place you took?’

‘Oh – he had a wife, a house and three kids already – I’m fairly confident I didn’t do him out of anything. Though my husband is very good-looking, so who knows,’ she says, grinning. ‘It could have been my colleague ensconced with him in Santa Cruz instead of me.’

Cora still looks unsure about how to take all of this.

‘I love the house name,’ I say to Liz. ‘I’d quite like to choose a name for our house. What made you pick “Santa Cruz”?’

‘We didn’t, it was called that by a previous owner – a nod to where she was originally from, I believe. But it’s nice, isn’t it. Makes me think of sun.’

And with that, Cora is off on a very long story about a coach tour holiday she did ten years ago and why she’d never do it again.

I hold up the jug of certainly-lukewarm Aperol Spritz when she reaches the end.