“No!” she said, leaning forward, so the big Mickey Mouse on the front of the shirt wrinkled and seemed to be frowning.

“Greg Franks was a drug dealer!” he said. “Did you realise that?” When she was a social worker, Molly had worked with addicts. He had heard her wish a more violent death than drowning on the dealers who supplied them.

“No,” she said, “but that makes no difference. We have to know who killed him. You don’t understand. Whatever you say, we are involved. You involved us by agreeing to come here. You were involved by those blasted seabirds.”

And then there was nothing he could say except that at least the trip to Bristol would give him the opportunity to go to the museum to look at their collection of birds’ skins.

Rose stood quite still in Matilda’s bedroom. It was directly above the living room, and she heard the muffled voices of the people who remained there. The windows were open, and occasionally she caught a full phrase usually spoken by the policewoman, whose voice was clear and shrill.

The baby was asleep on her side, with one hand stretched above her head beyond the bars of the cot. The room was lit by a low light, and in the corners there was shadow and the faint, mysterious movement of a ceramic mobile hung from the ceiling. Rose stroked the extended hand of the baby, then stood at the window staring out towards the sea.

She heard the door open but did not look around. She knew it would be Gerald. He had been following her around all evening offering affection, comfort, love. She found his loyalty touching, but she was not sure she could face him now. She had come to the baby’s room to be alone.

“Rose,” he whispered. He thought she would resent the intrusion, but the sense of her across the room made him feel heady and reckless. All the old dreams of marriage, of settling down with her, becoming a family, returned to him. He had never wanted her so much. “I came to see if there was anything I could do.”

She turned to face him because she had come to believe that unkindness was worse than anything, and she did not want to hurt him. He saw that she was crying.

“Oh, Gerald,” she said. “Dear Gerald. I don’t know what to do. Everything’s such a mess.”

It had never before in any situation occurred to him that she might need him. She had been the determined one who held her family and business together, who made her own decisions. She had been the one who cheered him out of his loneliness and laughed at his weakness. He felt suddenly very strong and hopeful.

He moved to the window to stand beside her.