Angharad and I stand in silence as we wait for Sheila to return with Anne, her deputy, from one of the back rooms, and then the three of us troop into the staffroom and I close the door behind us.

“Would you take a seat, please, Angharad.” I gesture to a chair. Sheila frowns but says nothing as she sits beside me on the opposite side of the room. Angharad smirks and tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. For someone who’s on the verge of being asked to leave the volunteer programme, she looks remarkably composed.

“So.” Sheila looks from Angharad to me. “What’s all this about, then?”

“I think Angharad should explain, don’t you, Angharad?”

“Actually” – she sits up straighter in her chair – “I think you should explain, Emma.” She pauses for long enough for a cold shiver to run down my spine. “Sorry, Jane. I forgot your name there for a second.”

She holds my gaze just longer than is comfortable, and I instantly understand. She wants there to be a confrontation, and she wants it to be in front of Sheila.

“Sorry, Sheila.” I stand up. “I’ve just realised that … Angharad, could you come with me for a second?”

Sheila looks at me blankly. “I thought you needed to talk to me. I just put Anne on reception.”

“I know.” I open the door and gesture for Angharad to follow me. “I’m sorry to mess you about, Sheila. I just realised something urgent that we forgot to do.”

“Who are you really?”

We’re standing outside the main doors of reception, on the edge of the car park. It’s cold and blustery and I rub my hands over my bare arms. It’s too cold to be working without a fleece.

“I could ask you the same thing, Jane.”

“I’m not playing games with you, Angharad. I know you were looking at my documents on the staff computer, and I’m pretty certain you stole a private letter from my cottage too.”

She crosses her arms over her chest, a self-satisfied grin on her face.

“Nice. I bring you a cake and do all your work when you’re off sick, and this is the thanks I get.”

“What do you want from me?”

“Paranoid, aren’t we, Emma?”

“Who are you? Tell me! Tell me who you are.”

She slips on her coat, buttons it slowly and deliberately, and then puts the strap of her handbag over her head and slips it across her body so it sits on her right hip. “It’s been nice working with you, Emma. I’ll be in touch.”

“No!” I hurry after her as she crosses the yard at a pace and takes her car keys out of her pocket. “Angharad!” I grab her arm as she points the key fob at her Polo. “Tell me who you are.”