Priest played around with some papers on Sarah’s breakfast bar while she returned to Tilly’s lunch. He saw a couple of payment reminders and some drawings Tilly had done. It was the holidays, apparently, and he could hear the sound of his niece playing some imaginary game with considerable enthusiasm from the room next door. Underneath the pile he found her school report, which he flipped through. Tilly was doing well. Mostly A’s for effort and the little book was peppered with encouraging remarks about her attitude and ability to listen, although she had a propensity to get carried away with her projects and argue with her teachers. A notable Priest trait. Pleasingly, there seemed to be very little evidence that her useless father’s genes had impeded her development. She thrived not because of him, but in spite of him.

‘Tilly, lunch!’ Sarah called.

Tilly trotted through, her ungovernable mass of strawberry- blonde hair bouncing everywhere like it had a life of its own. She climbed up on the seat opposite Priest to retrieve her plate of sandwiches and pointed at him accusingly.

‘Uncle Charlie!’ she exclaimed. ‘Your bottom smells.’

‘Tilly! Enough! Out with you!’ Sarah ushered her out of the room but before she could escape Priest leant over and whispered, ‘Not as much as yours, munchkin.’

She ran off cackling. After a few more moments of clattering around the kitchen and an intense negotiation with the dishwasher door, Sarah sat at the breakfast bar, her own mug of tea in her hand.

‘What’s troubling you, this time?’ she asked, her chin resting on her hand and her bright eyes staring at him unblinkingly.

‘Ah, work stuff,’ Priest sighed. ‘The libel trial isn’t going well.’

‘Hope you’re not thinking of losing. How’s our Bristol Road tenant?’

‘Dead.’

‘Dead!’ Sarah spat some of the tea back into the mug in surprise. Priest found himself the subject of her scrutiny yet again and watched as the realisation dawned on her face. ‘The news . . . I didn’t put it all together.’

‘Yes,’ he said, pursing his lips and hoping she wouldn’t shout too loudly. ‘The dead witness from the libel trial was our tenant.’

Sarah nodded, her mouth slightly open and her brow furrowed. Then, ‘You bloody idiot.’

‘I accept without reservation your concern.’

She shook her head and took a hefty gulp of tea. ‘We’re not going to be able to relet it for ages, are we?’

‘Probably not.’

They sat in silence for a while. She’s taking this pretty well, all things considered. Must be getting soft in her old age . . .

‘What happened?’ she said at last. ‘The news said the police were treating the death as suspicious.’