She turned on the light switch and saw the body of her employer hanging from a rope. But Tilly didn’t scream. She turned the lights off and turned and walked out of the shop. With a shaking hand, she pulled off one of her gloves, removed her phone from her bag, called 999, and asked to be put through to the police.

‘Police, what’s your emergency?’

Tilly froze suddenly, unable to talk. What should she say?

‘Hello?’ The responder asked down the phone.

‘I…’ But the words wouldn’t come.

‘Miss?’

‘Trinity Street.’ She managed finally. ‘Ashton’s Bookshop. Come quick.’ It was all she could say before she felt her legs go from under her and she found herself sitting on the pavement in the snow.

Staring down at the phone she held in her hands, Tilly suddenly wondered if she was having some sort of episode and had imagined the whole thing. Had she? Was Dennis really inside? But she knew it wasn’t her imagination, and that what she had seen was very real, and the moment she let herself accept it tears began to stream down her cheeks.

It had never occurred to her to ask for an ambulance. It was as clear as day that Dennis Wade was dead. No living human had that skin colour.

She’d never seen the body of a dead person before. Her experience was limited to the corpses of animals as part of her course.

Still unable to stand, Tilly sat crying in the snow while the cold wetness soaked through her black trousers. Her whole body began to shake as the shock set in. Her mind was whirling, trying to process what she’d just seen. Her boss was dead. Her boss had killed himself. Her boss had left her to find his body.

In the distance, she could hear the sound of sirens approaching and although she hoped it would help her to feel better, the noise only represented dread.

Trinity Street, which was normally a pedestrian zone, soon emptied as the police car came screeching down the narrow street. Early morning shoppers dashed out of its path, stopping to watch the drama unfold.

The Mercedes hatchback stopped right in front of Ashton’s and two uniformed officers got out, both wearing high-vis jackets. The female officer, who was noticeably short, approached Tilly and bent down on her heels.

‘Are you the woman who called it in?’ she asked, her Peterborough accent recognisable to Tilly.

‘Yes,’ Tilly answered in a daze.

‘In there?’ The officer pointed. Tilly nodded. ‘Help her up…’ The female officer turned to her male colleague. ‘She’ll catch her death.’

The male officer, who was younger than his female counterpart, did as he was told and guided Tilly to the car, where he helped her into the back seat and got out a foil blanket.