As she walks away she’s sure she hears him call out, ‘Say hello to Rose.’ But when she turns he’s heading towards the woods. She frowns at his retreating back, wondering if she should run after him and ask if he knows her mother. But she decides she must have misheard.

When Lorna reaches the cottage she’s relieved to see that Heleana and her crew have left. She rings the doorbell and Saffy lets her in with an air of distraction.

‘Hi, honey,’ she says, unclipping the lead from Snowy’s collar. Saffy bends down to kiss his head, then returns to her study. On the screen is a mock-up of a book cover with the name Leon Bronsky in huge red letters across the top and a sinister-looking china doll on fire underneath. Lorna’s read some of his books: they’re exceptionally dark. ‘Did you create this?’

Saffy nods. ‘His publisher’s employed us to do his cover and marketing. Posters, headers for magazine ads, that kind of thing. A rebrand. He’s moved into horror. It’s a good commission. He’s a huge deal.’

Lorna winces, imagining how much more gruesome this book must be. ‘Did you have to read it?’

Saffy laughs. ‘Yep. It gave me nightmares.’ She pushes a curl from her face, eyes still trained on the screen and the creepy cover. ‘I’m glad the reporters have finally gone.’

‘Me too. One of them cornered me earlier. But don’t worry, I didn’t say anything.’ She holds up her carrier bag. ‘Bought groceries for tonight. I couldn’t get everything I wanted but I’ll manage to make a paella of sorts.’

Saffy grunts in answer, her brow furrowed as she concentrates on the screen. Lorna decides it’s best to leave her to it and puts the shopping away in the kitchen. Afterwards, she wanders into the living room. They were too tired to finish looking through the boxes last night and Tom had to get up at the crack of dawn for work.

Lorna settles down to continue what they started yesterday. She can see a layer of dust on the skirting board and resists the urge to go and find a cloth. She slips off her sandals and curls her feet underneath her on the hardwood floors, trying to decipher if a bunch of papers is important or just receipts when her mobile rings.

It’s Alberto.

Her stomach drops. She’s been trying to ring him for days. He sent her a few cursory texts when she arrived but every time she called his mobile it went straight to voicemail.

‘Mi tesoro, I’ve missed you,’ he says, as soon as she answers. ‘When you coming home?’

‘I’ve missed you too.’ She’s not sure if it’s true. ‘I’m staying until the weekend, at least.’