She nodded, remembering.

‘And some people think . . .’

He stopped again and Connie made a guess. ‘They think that Kenneth stole Frank’s share.’

Her father scratched his chin. ‘Let’s just say, in Kenneth’s case, the chickens may be coming home to roost.’

10

Marina

January 1992

Marina unwraps the shawl from its tissue paper, releasing the scent of lavender. Laying the shawl on the bed, she admires the blue. The police would have examined every inch, scrutinised the label, searching for clues, but she can’t help thinking there’s a secret they might have missed, hidden in the depths of its weave.

Along with the shawl is a white cotton gown, although the material is yellowed and softened with age. Hand-sewn, it’s a family heirloom perhaps. Marina imagines deft fingers holding a needle, forming neat stitches.

She places Sofía’s folder next to it and tries to quell her anticipation.

A knock disturbs her train of thought and she opens the door to a smiley young woman with short, purple hair and red dungarees, carrying a baby in a sling and holding a plant – a fern in a pot.

‘Welcome,’ the woman says, holding out the fern. ‘I’m Selena Hamilton from Flat 4. That’s Bill.’ She points to a shy-looking man behind her, who smiles too.

‘Pleased to meet you. I’m Marina.’ She takes the plant. ‘This is very kind.’

‘If you need anything, do shout. Or come up and see me! I’m always keen to speak to an adult.’ She strokes her baby’s head.

Marina thanks her and invites the couple in for coffee, but just as they accept, the baby starts to cry. Selena gives a reluctant sigh and promises to return another time – ‘When this one’s feeling a bit more sociable.’

As Marina sets the plant in the fireplace, she mentally crosses out any possibility that the young residents of Flat 4 lived in the house when she was born. To be honest, she’s relieved not to have to make small talk when all she really wants to do is to read through Sofía’s folder.