I feel compelled to cut open more boxes, to steal knowledge. Clothes: coats, scarves, belts. As I delve deeper, reckless indulgence takes over and I tip the boxes upside down. Nina’s old belongings litter the ground. It makes sifting through easier, although I feel desperate at my lack of findings. I hadn’t appreciated how much hope I’d pinned on finding something, just like in a novel or a film, which would illuminate all of Nina’s old world.

I shove as much as I can back in, but the stuff is in the wrong boxes and it won’t all fit back in the same way. The cardboard lids won’t flatten properly and random items poke out, one of which is a turquoise scarf. Nina loved it and it seems a shame to leave it up here. I add it to my pile of things. My back aches. I’ll have to return soon and clean up the mess.

To prevent the risk of falling, I drop the books, scarf and photos down onto the carpet below so that I will be able to grip the metal ladder with both hands. The books thump, one after the other. Goldie’s muffled bark sparks a pang of guilt; I’ve neglected her this morning.

I glance around one more time before I switch off the light and climb carefully back down, sealing the hatch behind me.

Goldie’s barks are still muffled as I walk downstairs, the kitchen door is shut. I never close it.

Icy fear grips.

“Hello?”

The door to Stuart’s study opens, but it isn’t him. It’s Camilla.

“What are you doing?”

“Stuart said I could borrow a heater from his study. There’s something wrong with the central heating in the cottage. It’s freezing in there. My hands and feet are like ice.”

“So you let yourself in? How?”

“I rang the doorbell. No one answered. I phoned Stuart, he told me to use the spare key if you were out.”

“What spare key?”

“The one he keeps hidden by the back door.”

“Where?”

As we walk into the kitchen, she stays behind me as Goldie rushes up to greet us. I place the photos on the kitchen table and put the books on top of them. I open the back door. Camilla points out a large stone by the metal boot-scraper as she leaves, handing the key back to me as I hold out my right hand in readiness to accept it.

For goodness’ sake. I’m shocked at Stuart’s carelessness. Any old burglar with a spot of imagination and a dollop of determination and desperation could find it in seconds. Or anyone else with malicious intentions. I chuck the key into a kitchen drawer; it’s safer inside than out.

I put on my coat and wrap Nina’s turquoise scarf around my neck. It is warm and comforting.

I stroke Goldie.

“Sorry, gorgeous girl. Let’s go for a walk.”

She is gracious and forgiving. If only people around here will be like that when they find out about me and Stuart. As I open the door and step outside into the cold air, I’m apprehensive about what lies ahead. Unseen horrible, future judgment almost feels tangible, like an imminent, unavoidable thunderstorm.