Lorna stands up straighter, adrenalin pumping through her as she introduces herself. ‘I’m visiting my daughter who lives up at Skelton Place. My mother used to live there, a long time ago now. Back in the late 1970s.’

‘Oh, who was your mother? I’ve lived in the village all my life, so I might have known her.’

‘She’s called Rose. Rose Grey . . .’

Melissa’s mouth falls open. ‘Lolly?’ she gasps.

Lorna swallows. ‘Yes. Have we met before?’

Melissa claps her hands together. ‘Yes. When you were a little girl. Lots of times – oh, it’s so lovely to see you. Tell me, how is Rose? It was so sad I never had the chance to say goodbye to her. And to you. You both left in such a hurry.’

‘Did we?’ Lorna wonders if it had anything to do with the bodies.

Seth hands Lorna the latte. ‘Small world,’ he says, with a chuckle, as Lorna pays him.

‘A lot of people have lived in this village for decades. Generations,’ says Melissa. ‘Seth doesn’t understand that. His mother moved away years ago. He’s only here to do a holiday job because I know the owner.’ She pats him affectionately on the back and he grins.

But Lorna is still reeling. Here is a woman who knew her mother when she was young. She can’t believe it. ‘What was she like, my mum, back then? Do you know why she left so suddenly?’ she asks, determined to get the conversation back on track, not wanting to let this opportunity pass.

‘She never even said goodbye. She just upped and left. She was such a closed book. And very jittery. A nervous thing, really. Always worrying about you. You once wandered off, on Christmas Eve, and, honestly, I thought Rose was going to have a heart attack. But then she got that lodger and it seemed to change her. She was happier. Thick as thieves they were.’

‘You remember Daphne Hartall?’

‘Daphne! That’s it. I couldn’t remember her name until you said. Yes, Daphne. Attractive woman. Used to work up at the farm.’ She lowers her voice and looks around furtively even though there are no other customers in the tiny café. ‘I heard about the bodies up at the cottage. Bad business. They’re saying one was identified and died in 1980. I was shocked to read that.’

‘Yes,’ says Lorna. ‘My daughter only found out the other day. Do you recognize the name Neil Lewisham?’

She frowns and shakes her head. ‘No. I don’t think he was local.’

‘Mum was living at the cottage back then.’

‘Well, yes,’ she says. ‘But I can’t believe Rose would have known anything about it. She wouldn’t have hurt a fly. And she had you, of course. A little girl in the house – she wouldn’t have done anything to put you in danger.’

‘Oh, I know that. But I imagine people will talk.’