‘It’s okay, Gran,’ I say softly. ‘What do you remember about this man?’

‘He was after us,’ she says, turning back to DS Barnes.

I stare at her in shock. I assumed she wouldn’t know him. I can’t look at Mum. I haven’t told the police about Sheila’s file and the article in it with Neil Lewisham’s byline in case I end up implicating Gran somehow.

‘What do you mean, Rose?’ probes DC Webb, her voice gentle, and I realize that’s why she’s been brought along today. A woman’s touch.

My mouth is dry and I’m still exhausted after last night’s events. I notice Joy hasn’t brought in the tea she promised.

‘Did you hurt him, Rose? Or did Daphne?’ Lucinda Webb’s voice is soothing, like honey in warm water on a sore throat.

Gran takes her hand away from mine and reaches into her mass of white hair. ‘I don’t remember . . .’

‘Was he having a relationship with you? Or with Daphne?’

‘No, I don’t think so . . .’

‘Did he come to the house, Rose? Do you remember?’

‘He was angry,’ says Gran. She seems calmer now, her hands resting in her lap. ‘He was angry.’

‘Why was he angry?’

I stiffen. Can Gran really remember? Or is she confused again?

‘He tried to hurt us.’

‘Why would he do that?’ asks DC Webb.

‘Because he found out about Sheila.’

I notice Mum has gone quiet. I don’t know whether to say something. What if it lands Gran in trouble?

‘Who’s Sheila?’ asks DC Webb, in that same soothing voice.

Gran stares into her lap silently.

Mum glances at me, then turns her gaze on the detectives. ‘I . . . think she might be talking about a woman called Sheila Watts. I recently found out that she might have stolen the identity of Daphne Hartall.’

Both detectives lean towards Mum. ‘Go on,’ says DS Barnes.

‘A Sheila Watts drowned back in the late 1970s. My mother had an article about it in her things. I did some digging and, to cut a long story short, it appears that Sheila Watts could have faked her death and stolen the real Daphne Hartall’s identity.’

A flicker of irritation crosses DS Barnes’s craggy face. ‘Why didn’t you mention this before?’

‘I’m sorry, a lot has happened over the last few days. I meant to.’

DS Barnes looks a little shame-faced. ‘Of course.’ He addresses Gran again, his voice grave, like that of a newsreader about to impart doom. ‘Neil Lewisham was an investigative journalist. He often went on benders and, according to his son, had a turbulent relationship with his wife. Did he come all the way to Beggars Nook that day to see Daphne because he found out she was really Sheila Watts, Rose?’ There is urgency to his voice, as if he knows time is running out before Gran reverts back into herself.