“Never mind,” Sheila says. “We’ll have to start without her. So, Jane” – she squeezes my elbow – “we know how much you loved your blue bike, so we had a little whip round and, well, it’s not exactly the same but we hope you like it.” She waves at Barry, who’s standing outside the double glass doors. He disappears around the corner then reappears pushing a beautiful blue mountain bike. Claire opens the doors for him and the crowd parts as he pushes it into reception.

“I put it together myself,” he says proudly. “It’s one of those kit bikes you can get. Made one for my grandson last Christmas. They’re very sturdy.”

“Barry, Sheila, everyone …” I press my hand to my mouth and inhale deeply through my nose to stop myself from crying.

“It’s okay.” Sheila clasps my shoulder and pulls me into her side. “You don’t have to thank us. We just wanted you to know how much we appreciate what you do for Green Fields, and it really hasn’t been the same without you over the last week. We have missed you, you know – especially Barry.” She winks lasciviously and everyone laughs.

“I missed you too, Barry,” I say, and everyone laughs again. “Seriously, thank you all so much.”

“Take it for a ride!” someone shouts.

“The bike or Barry?” someone else shouts and, as the room explodes with laughter, Sheila lifts up the reception counter and Barry wheels the bike towards me. Thirty seconds later I’m riding around the yard, being applauded like a five-year-old who’s just had their stabilisers taken off. Sheila has the biggest smile on her face as I ride round and round, but there’s tension in her cheeks and worry in her eyes. She told me when I came in that Gary Fullerton and Rob Archer both have alibis for the night that Green Fields was broken into, and the car that was recorded driving into the yard on the CCTV was later found abandoned in a layby on the outskirts of town. It had been stolen earlier that evening. Whoever broke into Green Fields that night is still out there.

My ears ring with the sound of applause and laughter as I walk back through reception and down the corridor, but it’s the worried look in Sheila’s eyes that haunts me. I was sure Gary Fullerton or Rob Archer must have been behind the break-in.

“Oh!” I stop short in the doorway to the staffroom and Angharad, sitting in the chair in front of the computer, visibly jumps then, lightning fast, shuts down whatever file she was looking at, snatches something from the USB drive and twists round to look at me.