She looked down at the top she wore, simple, short-sleeved, light cotton, with a V-neck. “What’s wrong with it?” she asked, aware that he’d sidestepped her previous question.

“Just, with the electrician around the house . . .”

He let his words trail away, knowing his meaning was clear. He reached into the wardrobe, found a faded old hoodie. She took it from him and slipped it on, went to ask him once more about the house, but he was already heading to the door.

“I need to go,” he said, nudging her out of his way. “I’m running late.”

The idea of being alone in the house, even with the electrician, caused unease in her.

“Can I have the car?” Sara asked, knowing she was on the edge of angering him.

He paused at the top of the stairs. “What for?”

“Just so I can get out for a while,” she said, scrabbling for a reason to give him. “Your father can give you a lift, can’t he? I don’t want to hang around the house all day while the electrician’s working, and besides, we need some bits and pieces. I could go into the village to that little grocer’s shop we saw.”

“No, he’s already away,” Damien said. “We’ll see about a car of your own once we’re settled. I need to get going.”

He descended the stairs and closed the front door behind him. Sara hesitated, considered locking herself into the bedroom and remaining there for the day, but she would not let cowardice guide her. She went downstairs and found the electrician in the living room, on his knees, working on a power outlet. He did not acknowledge her presence, though she knew he was aware of it. It was her natural inclination to leave him, pretend he wasn’t there, but she decided to attempt an interaction.

“Can I get you anything?” she asked.

He didn’t look up. “No, ta.”

“It’s no trouble. The kettle’s not long boiled.”

Keeping his attention on his work, he said, “Look, I just want to get my work done and get out of this house, all right?”

“Okay,” she said. “Sorry.”

He glanced up at her, and she sensed his shame at having snapped at her. She left him alone and entered the kitchen. The emptiness of the space surrounded her, and she felt small in this room, engulfed by it. She went to the island at its centre and placed her hand on its polished granite surface. The cool stone against her palms, the chill rising up through her arms.

The killings, the receptionist at the care home had said. Four or five dead.