‘Well, hello. I see you’ve brought a guest,’ Gwen said as they walked into the house, her Irish accent washing over Lizzie like warm water. There was something soothing about her voice. Kind, honest. ‘Did you two want some lunch in the sunshine? I could set you up on the picnic table beside the pool if you like?’

‘Thanks, Gwen, that’d be perfect. I’ll pay for the extra lunch, of course.’

‘Ooh, no, not at all. It’s my pleasure. What can I get you – I have baguettes with various fillings, or salads, some sandwiches perhaps?’

‘A ham baguette with some salad would be lovely, thank you,’ Lizzie said.

‘The same, thank you. No onion though.’

Gwen gave a nod. ‘I’ll pop it out the back in ten minutes or so,’ she said, before disappearing into the kitchen. Lizzie led Anna to the back of the house, out through the patio doors and onto the decking area.

‘It really is a beautiful B&B, Anna. Thanks for the heads-up.’

‘That’s okay. It’s not like there was much of a choice though, eh? It is lovely, though, and Gwen seems to be a fab host.’

‘Don’t you know her?’

‘No. This place had different owners when I left Mapledon. It belonged to the Timothy family then. Their son went to my … our … primary school. He was a bit, well, strange.’

‘Even more so than me? I find that hard to believe. By all accounts my head spun and I threw up green vomit and everything.’

Anna laughed, which acted as an ice-breaker. Even though Lizzie had felt a connection to Anna when they’d met at the church gate, since her ‘unmasking’ today, Anna had been very off with her. Understandably.

‘Do you remember anyone from Mapledon school?’ Anna asked as she sat down at the wooden picnic table. Lizzie swung her legs over the opposite bench, so they were facing each other.

‘It’s difficult to explain. I don’t think I remember people per se; I feel certain connections instead – I thought I felt that when we first met, for example. It’s like, I know I knew them, but can’t locate any specific memories concerning them. I didn’t recognise any of the houses as I drove up the main street on my first day here, but when we were walking and I saw the primary school, a jolt, like an electric shock almost, hit me. I knew the place. But I wouldn’t be able to tell you anything about what it looks like inside, or even give you names of other kids or teachers.’

‘I suppose when I left I was eighteen, so my childhood memories had been talked about, reinforced by sharing them with other village kids, my mum, and to a lesser extent my dad. Because you left at eight, didn’t even get to go to comprehensive school with the village kids, too many other significant memories must have come after and replaced them – or overlaid them. Perhaps the more you talk to people in Mapledon, the more things you might recall.’