“A ghost novel,” I reply.

Guilt hits at my insensitivity, before reason takes over. Of course Stuart doesn’t think of Nina as a ghost. How ridiculous. I’m doing the exact thing he hates: people behaving abnormally around him. Not for the first time I notice that he touches his beard more when he’s feeling awkward.

“Sounds seasonal,” he says.

Silence hangs until I realize that this is the perfect opportunity to broach a delicate subject. Nina’s promises have been unsettling me more than usual lately because I’m now her sole voice. My latest fear is that her words will distort and mist further over time and the importance of her promises will fade when more immediate priorities automatically take precedence. Some gentle but legitimate detective work is required.

Every time I mull things over, the more obvious it becomes that Nina was too overly concerned about her future reputation for someone in her situation. She was trying to tell me something without spelling it out. I’m not too worried—there can’t be anything bad to unearth—she’s hardly likely to have been the local drug dealer or involved in some elaborate scam. Still, theories worm away at my consciousness, along with the frustration that I missed my cues to delve deeper when I had the opportunity.

“I’ve been thinking of the best ways I could help out more. I’m happy to do even more of the admin and everything else in relation to the running of the guesthouse,” I continue, pleased at how natural I sound. “Deborah does her best, but she doesn’t update the website or reply to comments,” I say.

“The trouble is, she enjoys it. It gives her a purpose.”

“Understandably, but I promised Nina I’d do everything I could. I’ll act carefully, make sure she doesn’t feel like I’m treading on her toes.”

Before he can respond, there’s a distant thud coming from upstairs.

“Shall I go and check on them?” I say. “It’s probably one of Emily’s books.”

He smiles. “Yeah, probably. She has a pile even bigger than her mother’s was. Go ahead, shout if you need me.”

He turns around and walks off in the direction of his study, shutting the door behind him. He really isn’t himself. Stuart has excellent manners and is a good host, he’d never usually have a drink without offering me one, but still, it saves me having to pour it down the sink when no one is looking.

Upstairs, I peek into Felix’s room first. His Batman bedside light shines yellow. He’s asleep. A snow globe is lying on the carpet beside his bed, thankfully intact. Nina gave it to him to shake and watch the flakes settle if he ever needed a calming prop.

I sit beside him and stroke his hair like I watched Nina do so many times; he can’t have been asleep long. The burst of love I feel for my godson is overwhelming. I can’t imagine loving my own child more than this. I gently rub my stomach. It’s not flat—it never has been—but already it feels rounder. (Rationally, I know it’s not.)