‘Oh, don’t mind us, will you?’ she says, lifting a pile of papers from the table. ‘I was just clearing up when you arrived.’

‘It’s OK,’ Chloe says, casting her eyes further around the room. ‘Don’t feel you have to—’

‘Well, I guess you take us as you find us, especially if you’re thinking of living here.’ Maureen shrugs.

Just then Patrick comes through the back door with the washing. She rifles through a few shirts on top of the pile. ‘Oh Patrick, it’s soaked.’

‘Not much I can do when the heavens open like that,’ he says. He glances at Chloe again. He seems surprised to find her sitting at his kitchen table. It’s she who looks away.

‘Take it upstairs and put it in the box room, I’ll get the airer out later.’ She tuts as he leaves, then turns to Chloe. ‘Milk? Sugar?’

‘Yes, two, please.’

She turns her back to open a cupboard opposite. Chloe scans the contents. Everything looks ordinary enough except, just before she shuts it, she’s sure she sees a child’s cup, some cartoon character etched onto the side. Patrick returns. He pulls out the chair next to her, then has a change of heart, sitting himself down on the one opposite. Maureen puts the tea in front of her.

‘Did you make me one of tho—’

‘You didn’t say you wa—’

She sighs, opening the cupboard again to get another mug. Chloe glances for the same cup but Maureen closes it so quickly she doesn’t see a thing. Patrick picks up the newspaper and flicks straight to the horse racing. Chloe scans the room but there’s nothing to see, it’s just an ordinary kitchen. What had made her think she could come in here and find a clue to Angie’s disappearance? But the truth is, she didn’t expect to be in here at all. Maureen brings her own tea to the table and pulls out the chair between Chloe and Patrick.

‘We haven’t been here long ourselves,’ Maureen says, taking a sip. ‘Ouch, too hot.’

‘No?’ Chloe asks. ‘What brought you out here?’

She sees the way Patrick looks at her quickly from under his eyebrows.

‘Fancied a change, didn’t we, Pat?’

He changes position in his chair as if that will do as substitute for answering her.

‘We got sick of the city in the end, tired, you know. We wanted some peace. It’s nice and quiet out here, see?’

‘Yes.’

‘But what about you? Young thing like yourself, what brings you to Low Drove?’

Chloe swallows her tea and feels it scald the back of her throat. She coughs.

‘I . . . er . . .’ She hasn’t thought about this. She coughs a little more. ‘I suppose I’m after peace, too. It’s just I lived with my Nan until recently and, well . . .’ Chloe pauses, she swallows. ‘She died, quite suddenly, and . . .’