‘But you haven’t even seen it,’ I’d protested.

‘What do I want with a cottage in the middle of nowhere?’ And I could see her point. A cottage in the countryside would be too mundane for Mum. No, she needed sunshine and sangria and exotic men who weren’t much older than me.

Mum had flown back to San Sebastián without even visiting the cottage. She couldn’t have been less interested in it. Which helped ease my guilt for accepting the offer. A free house. No mortgage. It meant the sort of financial freedom Tom and I had never expected in a million years, especially not in our mid-twenties. It meant I could give up my job in Croydon and go freelance, surrounded by idyllic countryside. A dream come true.

But now I revisit that conversation. Ten years ago Gran had transferred the deeds into my mother’s name. Why? Was it purely for financial reasons? To avoid inheritance tax? Or because she knew a murder had taken place?

But, no, that’s ridiculous. There’s no way Gran would have any knowledge of this. I know it like I know I love black coffee and peanut-butter sandwiches and the velvety patches of fur on Snowy’s ears and the smell of cut grass.

I take a deep breath and hold on to the steering wheel as though to steady myself. I can never predict when I visit which Gran I’ll get. Sometimes she’ll recognize me, at others she acts like I’m one of the staff, and each time it’s like losing her all over again.

As I get out of the car I notice a black sedan slowing down on the road so that it idles past me. I can’t be sure but it looks like the same car that was parked near the cottage earlier. The driver’s face is turned towards me as it coasts past. It’s a man but I can’t make out his features. Is it the same guy as earlier? Is he going to pull into the car park too? Then the car speeds up and drives off down the road. I stand for a moment staring after it, wondering if I’m worrying about nothing, or if this is something to be concerned about.

4

GRAN IS SITTING IN THE DAY ROOM BY THE BAY WINDOW that overlooks the manicured grounds, a coffee table in front of her and an empty chair opposite. The sun has come out and it streams through the net curtains, highlighting dust motes that dance around her head, like little orbs. My heart contracts with such love that my eyes smart. Seeing her here makes me ache with longing to go back in time to how it used to be: Gran bustling around her little kitchen making endless cups of tea the colour of treacle, or in the greenhouse showing my teenage self how to plant radishes.