‘Will your boss mind you taking another week off?’

‘My boss will be fine. He owes me loads of holiday. Saffy,’ her voice is stern, ‘leave it to me. I can’t go back to Spain yet. Not until all this has been sorted out.’

I sigh. ‘But it might never be sorted out.’

‘Of course it will,’ she scoffs. Because things always are in my mum’s world. She makes sure of it. ‘If your gran knows something about the bodies, who they are and who killed them, then fear would have kept her quiet all these years. The police will understand that, I’m sure.’

I turn away, my hands gripping my cup, feeling nauseous. From the kitchen window I can see the hole – the dug-up grave. The gruesome discovery that started all this. Even the cocky builders don’t want to come back, and I don’t blame them. So we’re stuck with it for a while, the reminder that two people were murdered here. I wish so much we’d never planned the fucking kitchen extension. Then we would have been in blissful ignorance and none of this would be happening.

I go to bed early – it’s not even ten o’clock. I’ve been feeling sick all day and I don’t know if it’s the pregnancy or because I’m stressed.

I lie soaking in the bath for a bit until the water turns cold. I’m nearly eighteen weeks pregnant and I can see the swell of a bump underneath the water. My belly button has changed shape, protruding more than normal. I step out of the bath carefully and dry myself, then pull on my most comfortable pyjamas. I climb into bed, the duvet lovely and cold against my skin. I can hear Tom and Mum downstairs chatting. Their voices are indecipherable but I know they’re probably talking about Gran. That’s all our conversations are about at the moment. I turn onto my side and pull my knees up towards my stomach. This should be such a happy time, looking forward to the baby’s arrival, doing up the house. But now everything feels tainted and grey. I roll onto my back and glance around the room. Was this Gran’s room when she lived here? She must have had her bed pointing this way too, facing the little cast-iron fireplace on the far wall and the window that overlooks the driveway on the right. Despite how tired I feel I get up and go to the window, pulling aside the curtains, wondering if Glen Davies is still lurking about outside.