‘Gina, perhaps?’ said Evie, looking up. ‘Or, you know, someone else at the museum.’

‘They’re hardly professionals,’ said Carolyn.

‘I suppose not.’ Evie handed the shoe back to Chris. She looked glad to be rid of it.

*

‘But what will you do?’ Carolyn asked as Nell saw her to the door.

‘We’ll ring the letting agent and they can worry about it.

It’s not our problem.’

‘Of course,’ said Carolyn, pausing on the step, ‘but if you do find anything else, you will let me know – I mean, it’s an incredible thing, isn’t it? For it to have been hidden away all this time. It does make you wonder.’

‘There wasn’t anything else,’ said Nell, flexing her fingers.

‘Oh. Well, we’ll see you at the party?’

‘Of course.’ Nell’s smile was fixed firmly in place.

‘Right, Good. I’ll see you then.’

Nell closed the door and leant her head against it.

‘Can we keep it?’ They had put the shoe on the dining table and Maude was leaning over it, prodding gently at the worn leather.

No shoes on the table, Nell’s gran would say, it’s bad luck. And Nell found it was quite an effort not to pick it up and set it down on a chair instead. ‘No,’ she said, running the hot tap and squirting washing-up liquid into her hands as Chris and Maude continued to fuss over the shoe, him taking photos from every angle.

Nell dried her hands on a tea towel and watched as Maude ran her thumb across the top of the grimy leather, tracing out the shape of someone’s foot – this little piggy went to market, this little piggy stayed at home. It had been worn for as long as possible, until the leather at the very front had begun to lift from the sole, and the heel had begun to stretch and buckle. It was plain and simple, with four eyelets for a lace of some sort punched unevenly into the top.

It was small enough to fit in the palm of her hand, stained and battered, inexplicable.

‘Maude has something to say to you,’ said Chris, looking up from the shoe. ‘Maudie?’

‘Sorry.’ Maude stood up straighter, tugging at her T-shirt, giving the impression of looking at Nell, without actually making eye contact. ‘For saying – what I said.’

‘Oh.’ Nell glanced at Chris.

‘We had a talk,’ he said. ‘Earlier. While you were asleep.’

‘Well, that’s OK,’ said Nell, ‘I mean, it’s not OK that you said it, but . . .’ The old Maude would have given her a hug by now, a bit teary that she’d upset Nell, perhaps; they’d be making a joke and moving on.

The old Maude wouldn’t have called her a bitch in the first place.