She’d got as far as the small porch when a tall, thin man wearing a yellow fluorescent jacket over a grey suit darted out of the house, nearly banging into her. He had a wispy beard, glasses with large lenses. Charlie thought he looked exactly as a goat would, if animals were people. There was a flare of recognition in his eyes when he saw her. ‘Oh,’ he said.

‘You know who I am?’ Stupid question. Who in Spilling didn’t know? It was a small town and Charlie was its most famous fuck-up.

‘I know that coat,’ he said, looking down at it to avoid meeting Charlie’s eye. ‘Ruth picked a bad time to lose it with the boiler packing in. It breaks down every three months on average, and Muggins here has to spend a day twiddling my thumbs, waiting for the engineers. Never be a landlord, that’d be my advice to you.’

‘You’re not Aidan, then,’ said Charlie.

The goat extended his hand. ‘Malcolm Fenton, Area Manager for Parks and Landscapes. I’ll take that off you if you like.’

Charlie hesitated. If she gave the coat to Fenton, she’d lose her opportunity to talk to Ruth again. Mainly she wanted to ask about the newspaper article. What was Ruth’s interest in her? She was about to tell Fenton she’d catch Ruth at work when she saw that she’d lost his attention. ‘On time for once,’ he said, looking over her shoulder. ‘Excuse me.’ Charlie turned and watched him trot down the porch steps. Beyond the park gates, prevented from entering by the two black bollards, was a white van with the words ‘Winchelsea Combi Boilers’ painted in blue on its side.

Fenton pulled a large bunch of keys out of his pocket, unlocked something at the top of one of the bollards and lowered it into the ground. Behind the van’s greasy windscreen, one of the men from Winchelsea Combi Boilers chewed gum with a ferocity that made Charlie wonder if it wasn’t gum at all but an organ torn from its rightful owner’s body.

She glanced at the lodge’s open door, started to edge towards it. ‘Sorry,’ Fenton shouted after her. ‘I’d rather you didn’t go in. I know you’re a policewoman, but all the same.’ He looked apologetic. Policewoman—did people still say that? ‘If you leave the coat with me, I’ll see Ruth gets it.’

‘The door’s wide open,’ Charlie pointed out. ‘The boiler repairmen are going in, presumably.’

‘They practically live here,’ said Fenton irritably. ‘I don’t mean to be ungracious, but Ruth’s a private person. I know for a fact she wouldn’t want me to let a stranger into her home.’ He sighed. ‘This is a little awkward. I mean, clearly Ruth’s made herself known to you if you’ve got her coat, but . . .’ He looked away quickly, annoyed with himself for saying too much. ‘She didn’t tell me she was going to make contact with you, or to expect you, so I’m afraid I can’t let you in.’