We are interrupted by the clearing of a throat and we turn to see a uniformed policewoman standing at the back door. It’s one of those stable-style ones, so the top part is open and it frames her, like she’s about to perform a puppet show. She’s regarding us as if we’re a couple of naughty school kids. Snowy starts barking at her.

‘It’s okay,’ murmurs Tom to Snowy.

‘Sorry to interrupt,’ says the officer, not looking sorry at all. ‘I did knock.’ She pushes open the bottom half of the door so that she’s standing on the threshold.

‘That’s fine,’ says Tom. He releases Snowy, who instantly darts over to the police officer to sniff her trousers. She looks vaguely irritated while gently pushing him away with her leg.

‘PC Amanda Price.’ She’s older than us by about fifteen years with a dark bob and intense blue eyes. ‘Can I just confirm you are the owners of this property? Tom Perkins and Saffron Cutler?’

Technically my mother is but I don’t complicate things by saying so.

‘Yes,’ says Tom, widening his eyes at me. ‘This is our cottage.’

‘Right,’ says PC Price. ‘We’ll be a bit longer, I’m afraid. Is there someone you can stay with tonight, maybe for the weekend?’

I think of Tara, who currently lives in London, and my school-friend Beth, who’s in Kent. Tom’s friends are either in Poole, where he’s originally from, or Croydon. ‘We haven’t lived here long. We haven’t made friends in the area yet,’ I say, and it brings home how isolated we are, in this new village in the middle of nowhere.

‘Parents nearby?’

Tom shakes his head. ‘Mine still live in Poole and Saffy’s mum’s in Spain.’

‘And my dad lives in London,’ I say. ‘But he’s only got a one-bedroom flat . . .’

She frowns, like this is all information she doesn’t need. ‘Then may I suggest a hotel, just until Sunday. The police will pay your expenses for this inconvenience. It’s just while the crime scene is being secured and the excavation is completed.’

The words ‘crime scene’ and ‘excavation’ make me feel sick.

‘When can the building work resume?’ Tom asks.

She sighs, as though this is a question too far. ‘I’m afraid you won’t be able to use the back garden until the excavation and removal of the skeleton has been completed. You’ll have to wait until you hear from the SOCO. A scenes of crime officer,’ she clarifies, when we look at her with puzzled expressions.

‘So you think this is a crime?’ I ask, throwing Tom a concerned look. He tries to smile at me in reassurance but it’s more of a grimace.