Anna gave a wry shake of her head as she seated herself near the door inside The Plough. All these years later and it was still very much the man’s domain if the current punters were anything to go by. Her presence there had already garnered some curious glances.

Mapledon – the village that time forgot.

Thank God she’d escaped. She couldn’t begin to imagine what living here was like – it set the women’s movement back fifty years. She hadn’t seen many younger people, she noted. Had her age group all taken the opportunity to leave the second they were able to? The population did seem to be mainly above the age of fifty.

With her back to the wall, Anna sipped her Pinot Grigio, the fruity flavour hitting her taste buds. It felt like weeks since she’d had a nice wine. Her mother’s ‘drinks cabinet’ – the ancient one she’d had since the Seventies, which still housed the plastic Babycham Deer bar sign – contained only sherry, and a single bottle of wine that had clearly been opened years ago and was now cloudy and smelt of vinegar.

Her mother hadn’t been enamoured with Anna’s decision to go out – leaving her, if only for a few hours, was risky as far as she was concerned. Anna could understand her fear, but didn’t offer to take her along, not even letting on that it was Pat she’d arranged to meet. She felt she’d be too much of a hindrance to get to the truth. Anna knew she’d be better off without Muriel playing sidekick – Pat would be more willing to talk freely. Or that was the hope. Anna had made sure Sandie was aware Muriel was alone; her kind neighbour would keep an ear out and her mother had been somewhat reassured by that.

Anna was halfway through her glass of wine, and almost ready to knock the rest of it back in one, give up and go home, when Pat finally put in an appearance. In the dull light of the pub, he appeared dishevelled, tired. It seemed Billy Cawley’s release had taken its toll on many of them.

‘Hey, Pat. Thanks for coming, what can I get you?’ Anna stood up, ready to go to the bar.

‘Nothing. We can’t talk here, come on.’ And he was out the door again as quickly as he’d entered. Anna reached for her glass and gulped down her remaining wine – no point wasting good alcohol.

The air outside had cooled, but Anna didn’t need the cotton jacket she’d brought on her mother’s insistence ‘just in case’ – it was still a bearable level for a summer’s evening. She slung it over her arm and hurried to catch up with Pat, who was marching on up the hill towards the church.

‘Slow down,’ she said, her breath coming quickly. ‘What’s the rush?’

‘Don’t want anyone tittle-tattling, that’s all. Tina’s got enough on her plate.’

‘Where are we going?’ Anna said as they took a left. Her heart missed a beat. Was he taking her to Blackstone Close?