Hilda took off her apron, sat on a high-backed chair and folded her hands on her lap. When she spoke it was with the concentration of a Mastermind contestant answering questions on her specialist subject. ‘Jenny Lister moved into the village in . . .’ a very brief pause ‘. . . 1993. The summer. Hannah was a baby, and Jenny was still on maternity leave.’ Another pause and a little sniff to show she disapproved of the concept. A touch of jealousy? Ashworth wondered. If I’d had bairns, I’d have stayed at home and looked after them myself. ‘The father, Jenny’s husband, had gone back to London, where he’d come from.’

The same sort of history as Connie Masters, Joe Ashworth thought. Her man left her while she had a young child. Was the shared experience relevant? Or would the stress of holding together a marriage, a new child and a stressful job be too much for most relationships? Maybe it happened all the time. His wife hadn’t worked since their first child had been born. He couldn’t imagine how he’d survive if she were out all day. It seemed strange to him that he’d never realized how much he depended on her holding the show together.

Hilda continued. ‘Jenny was what they called a generic social worker in those days. She dealt with everything. Then there was a change in the system and she specialized in children. She ended up as the fostering and adoption officer.’ She looked at Ashworth through small, square spectacles. ‘But you’ll know that already.’

He nodded. ‘All the same, it’s useful to have someone sum it up.’ The other men might as well not have been in the room. Maurice seemed to be dropping off to sleep. The lorries rolling past the window provided a background rumble.

‘She had a boyfriend,’ Hilda said suddenly. ‘Lawrence. Worked as a ranger with the National Park. Nice enough. We invited them round to dinner one night. Before Maurice was taken ill, we liked to entertain. Still do, but only close friends these days.’

‘What happened with this Lawrence?’

‘I don’t know. They were talking about setting up home together, and the next thing I heard they’d parted.’

‘Did Jenny ever talk to you about it?’

‘She wasn’t one for weeping on folks’ shoulders,’ Hilda said. With the apron removed, Ashworth saw she was rather stylishly dressed. A pleated skirt and a yellow cotton blouse. A smart woman, in every sense of the word.

‘But you’d have been the nearest thing she had to a mother.’