Alice was quiet. Playgroup always wore her out. She didn’t even ask why they weren’t going straight home. What would Connie have answered? Mummy wants to know her enemy.

The front door opened and Veronica was standing there. Did she want to hurry Connie inside before her friends could see that they were fraternizing? Was fraternizing even a word you could use for women? Lack of sleep and the events of the previous day had left Connie light-headed. She felt as if she’d been drinking and other strange thoughts chased through her mind. Nobody knew she was here. One woman from the village had been murdered already. Was she the next intended victim? She found herself smiling at the idea of Veronica as killer, at the image of the sharp red nails ripping into soft flesh.

‘Thank you for coming along.’

Veronica had got her way and now she was conciliatory. Connie walked into a hall with a polished parquet floor, flowers in a big copper bowl on a little table, paintings. In pride of place the graduation photograph of a dark young man in cap and gown.

‘I’ve put out some lunch in the kitchen.’ And an effort had been made. There was a salad – ‘the first leaves from the cold frame’ – cold meat, a local pâté and Northumberland goat’s cheese. A loaf from the Rothbury bakery. White wine chilling in the fridge. For Alice, little sausages, carrot sticks and a homemade cake. Had Veronica spent the morning planning this, or was her larder always packed with goodies?

She wants more than bits of gossip to pass on to her friends.

But despite herself, Connie found she was feeling grateful for the attention. Her fight had gone. She could think of nothing nicer than sitting here in this light, white kitchen drinking cold wine while Veronica found old toys for Alice to play with: Dinky Toys that had belonged not just to her son but to his father, a wooden jigsaw puzzle and a bucket of plastic bricks.

‘Is your husband still working away?’ It was the ordinary stuff of conversation, but Veronica looked at her, as if she were searching for a deeper meaning to the question, some slight or sarcasm. She must have been reassured because she answered almost immediately.

‘Yes, a conference in Rotterdam.’

‘But your son’s home for the Easter holidays?’ Connie thought the art of social intercourse wasn’t so hard after all. The skill was coming back to her.

Again there was a pause, a quick appraising glance. No answer this time, but Veronica had a question of her own. ‘Did you know Simon, my son, was going out with Jenny Lister’s daughter?’

‘No!’ Connie took a while to process the information. The photo on Jenny’s desk had been of a slight, red-haired child, but of course now she’d be older, a young woman. ‘How dreadful all this must be for her! I never met her, but I had the impression that she and Jenny were very close.’