I search his face for any sign that he knows. That headline must have made its way on to the kitchen tables of several homes around here, the pub included. Yet it doesn’t seem like Jimmy has seen it.

‘No,’ I say, more firmly than intended. ‘Er, no, we’re not together any more, his dad and me.’

I feel Joe’s head grow heavier on my chest.

‘I’d better get him to bed now,’ I say. ‘Why don’t you make yourself comfortable in the living room and I’ll be with you in just a sec.’

As I walk away I hear his footsteps on the stone kitchen floor. I should be peeved that he’s snooping but this isn’t my house and the only thing he’s likely to come across is an old tin of powdered milk. But when I get to the bedroom I remember the newspaper on the kitchen table, my name and face splashed across the inside, and my legs buckle. Joe is fast asleep in my arms now. I lay him down gently on the bed, tuck the thick woollen blankets tightly round him, then quickly make my way back to the kitchen.

‘Christ, this place is like a museum,’ says Jimmy as I enter.

He’s standing by the stove, looking up at the dusty shelves. ‘I was looking for some glasses,’ he says, turning to me, smiling. ‘But it seems these are the nearest thing.’

He takes down a couple of wooden beakers from the shelf, wiping the rims with his sleeve.

‘Thank God for screw tops, eh?’ he says, gesturing to the bottle of wine that stands opened on the table. ‘A man could die of thirst. And how come there’s no taps?’

‘I have to collect the water from the lake,’ I say, swiping the newspaper from the table and tucking it under my arm. ‘There’s no water in the house, no electricity, no gas.’

‘Fucking hell,’ he exclaims, his eyes widening as he pulls out a chair and sits down. ‘How the hell do you manage? And you say you came here for a holiday? You must be made of stern stuff.’

‘It’s been … an experience,’ I say, sitting down opposite him and placing the newspaper on my lap. ‘But then it’s also been quite refreshing. You know, getting away from it all.’

‘I suppose,’ he says, pouring me a beaker of wine. ‘But I can’t imagine it’s that relaxing being here. I’d be scared shitless, to be honest.’

He leans across and passes me the beaker.

‘That too,’ I say, smiling. ‘Particularly after hearing your stories the other night.’

‘Yeah, I shouldn’t have gone on like that,’ he says, taking a sip of wine. ‘Anyway, now I’m here, it’s the last thing I want to think of. Let’s just hope that mad woman’s safely away in jail, not prowling around here somewhere.’ He shudders. ‘So how did you find it?’ he says, moving his chair forward a little. ‘This place? Was it on a website or something?’