Davis stood up, wandering around Pete’s boat in a proprietorial sort of way that Meredith found doubly infuriating. He peered at book titles on the shelves and even, when he thought she wasn’t looking, flicked through a large stack of vinyl next to a turntable. He still looked like all his birthdays had come at once.

‘So what did you need to ask me?’ she enquired pointedly, setting the glass back on the coffee table with a too-loud clatter, glaring at Davis until he came and sat down again. For a horrible moment she thought he was going to ask for her autograph.

‘I know our colleague, PC Khan, took some details from you on Thursday at the scene. We thought we’d come and see how you’re feeling today?’ Gemma said. ‘Could you talk us through it again, what happened? In case we missed anything important.’

Meredith opened her mouth to speak, but had a shocking mental image of Ralph’s mouth, gaping, full of green slimy water, and felt as if she was being choked by it. ‘I still just can’t believe it,’ was all she managed. ‘I just can’t…’

‘It must have been a terrible shock to find him like that.’

Meredith wrapped the dressing gown tighter around her body. She could see Davis trying not to stare at her legs. Under normal circumstances, she was sure he’d never fancy someone like her – older than him, lines around her eyes, no make-up. She bet his usual type was a WAG in vertiginous stilettos, she thought bitterly, trying to rid herself of the memory of Ralph’s bloated body.

‘Do you go down to that pond a lot when you’re at work?’

She nodded slowly. ‘I quite often eat my sandwiches there in summer. There are no tourists. A bench with a view that gets the sun. The shop’s so hectic at this time of year that I crave a bit of solitude, you know? To not speak to anybody for half an hour.’

‘How long have you worked at Minstead House?’

Meredith thought about it, counting off the years on her fingers. Her brain felt like soup. Or like slimy pond water. She’d got the job two years after it happened.

Two swans sailed majestically past the porthole, the movement making Gemma jump.

‘Over twenty years … twenty-one now.’

‘Wow. Long time to be in the same job.’

Meredith wondered if the woman meant it to sound that patronising. It was a long time, though. Twenty-one years ago was 1997.

They must have been wondering how – or why – she’d gone from being at the top of the music business to being a gift-shop manager. She was well aware it was an odd choice of post-fame career.

‘Do you enjoy your job?’ Davis asked, a slightly high break in his voice betraying that he wasn’t over his rush of starstruckness.