Connie was quite thrown. She looked at Veronica, suspecting sarcasm or other, more sinister motives. Was this the start of a joke at her expense?

‘It was kind of you.’ She looked around. She was the last in the queue; the other mothers were drifting away. She thought Veronica would never have made the comment if she’d had an audience. ‘Why don’t you come to me?’ Connie wondered why she’d felt the sudden impulse to reciprocate. ‘What about today? Come for tea. You won’t get home baking, but I bought a cake from the Tyne Teashop the other day for a treat and they’re always good.’

Veronica looked up from her paper and Connie expected a put-down, at best a polite excuse. The village had a hierarchy and, even without the complication of her notoriety, they moved in different circles.

‘Thank you!’ Veronica said. Then there was a brief, almost triumphant smile, as if she’d been hoping for the invitation all along. ‘Shall we say about four? I’ll see you then.’ She took the cheque from Connie’s hand and set down her pen.

Connie walked back to the cottage, wondering what had brought about this recent change in Veronica. Really, what was this all about? What could Veronica Eliot possibly want from her?

While Alice was at playgroup, Connie tidied the house. As she polished and vacuumed, she saw it through the older woman’s eyes, imagined the disdainful glances at the tatty furniture, the cobwebs and the grime. But when Veronica arrived a little earlier than expected, surprising Connie by turning up at the kitchen door and carrying a bunch of flowers cut from her garden, she was gracious: ‘Goodness, what a difference you’ve made to the cottage! I came for dinner one night when the owners were here and it wasn’t nearly so cosy then.’

In the end, though, they sat outside, which despite the breeze was more pleasant than the damp house. Alice was wearing her wellingtons and paddling around in the mud and sand that formed a little beach between the burn and the river. Connie poured tea from a china pot she’d found at the back of the larder and cleaned for the occasion. She was reminded again of the young man who’d turned up on the afternoon of Jenny’s murder. She’d had tea outside that day too.

Veronica was talking about her son.