A journalist in Mapledon, though. How welcome would that be?

After sitting in her car contemplating for a good ten minutes, Lizzie reversed and instead of driving back down the main road leading out of Mapledon, she turned into the one that Anna had walked her down moments before. She pulled up outside the primary school, her heart fluttering furiously. A stream of disjointed memories had slammed into her brain from nowhere when she and Anna had walked past it. It had shocked her. So much so she’d felt debilitated; unable to move. These were things she knew she had to face if she were to have any chance of shaking off her past once and for all.

Lizzie put the car in gear and moved off again. She had an urge to see the bungalow – it couldn’t be too hard to find in such a small village and she had recognised the school, so maybe other places would be familiar as well. A tiredness swept over her, though, so she decided it would be a task best left to tomorrow. Because if he had come back, then going there would be too much to handle in one day. To face him would take far more strength than she currently had. She’d rather know what she was likely to come up against, be better equipped. Her plan to get information from the villagers was the one she should follow to limit the hurt, the pain she would undoubtedly feel all over again.

As Anna had said, Bulleigh Barton was on the edge of Mapledon, barely half a mile outside, situated down a narrow lane and reached via a long driveway. As soon as Lizzie stepped out of her car she immediately felt calmer, more awake and far less anxious than she’d been in the village. It was as though the air was purer, less toxic. She was greeted warmly by the owner, Gwen – a bubbly woman of around fifty with a soft, Irish lilt. Lizzie was offered tea and biscuits and then shown to her room, which had a luxurious double bed, a homely feel and overlooked the fields. It seemed, at least here, strangers were welcome. But maybe it was because Gwen had been an outsider herself once.

‘This is perfect, thank you, Gwen,’ Lizzie said, smiling.

‘Let me know if there’s anything I can do to make your stay better, won’t you? You’re my only guest at the moment.’

‘Will do,’ Lizzie said, her attention out the window at the cows in a neighbouring field. It was a far cry from built-up Abbingsworth. ‘Oh, actually – do you have Wi-Fi here?’

For a horrible moment, as she caught the blank look on Gwen’s face, she thought she was going to say no. But, with a wink, Gwen said: ‘Yes – we’re out in the sticks and signal isn’t always grand, but we are in touch with the twenty-first century.’

Lizzie laughed. ‘Great, that’s good to know.’