‘She’s got a lot to worry about,’ Ron pointed out.

‘I know, but – I don’t think she’s sleeping much, either.’

‘Would you?’ Ezra asked. ‘With everything going on?’

‘Probably not, but that’s not the point really, is it?’ Edie said, her usual impatience with Ezra rising quickly.

‘Well, what is the point, then? We’ve all offered what help we can; what more can we do besides be there for her? We can’t force her to talk, or to take sleeping pills.’ Ezra paused. ‘Although I’m sure you have ways…’

Edie took a breath, and to deflect the inevitable coming tirade, Toby said, ‘Oh, look. Isn’t that Gilly?’

They all turned to look. The pub’s kitchen door had swung open and there was a familiar figure beyond. Gilly was elbow-deep in the sink.

‘Kid’s got a job!’ Ezra said. ‘I wondered why she’d not been into the bookshop for a while. Good for her. Not the wastrel you assumed her to be then, Edie.’

‘I never said she was a wastrel,’ Edie snapped. ‘I just said—’

‘That she was trouble.’ Ezra looked at her over the rim of his pint.

‘I said she might be trouble, that’s all. And how do we know she’s not?’

Ezra shook his head, then downed his pint and stood up. ‘I don’t think I can take another drop of Newton Dunbar’s best bitter tonight. See you tomorrow, Ron. And you, Toby?’

‘I should think so.’

Toby watched as Ezra headed to the door, nodding cordially to several other punters as he passed.

‘I’ll never understand you two,’ Ron said to Edie. ‘You used to be such good friends.’

Edie downed her own pint and stood. ‘We were never friends, Ron,’ she said sourly. ‘I’ve still got some work to do tonight. I’ll see you.’

‘What’s their story, then?’ Toby asked, once she’d gone. ‘They bicker worse than my parents, and they’ve been divorced since I was eight.’

‘Beats me,’ Ron said. ‘I’ve never been able to work ’em out. You’d think they were both old enough to sort themselves out, but…’ he trailed off with a shrug. ‘Another?’

Toby finished his drink and stood, picking up both of their glasses. ‘Sure. My round, I think.’

He crossed to the bar before he’d noticed that Dora McCreedy was standing at it. Toby considered beating a quick retreat, then thought it would be rude, then realized too late that she hadn’t noticed him anyway. McCreedy was leaning hard on the bar, head tipped towards the landlord. Toby caught the words, ‘surely illegal’ and ‘squatting, pure and simple’, and wondered for a moment if they were talking about Gilly. He hoped not.

McCreedy glanced up when Toby reached the bar. She smiled widely, an expression Toby found deeply insincere. ‘Mr Hollingwood! How lovely to see you.’

He returned the smile. ‘Two more, please,’ he said to the landlord.

‘And how’s work progressing on the book?’

‘Fine, thank you.’

‘You know, you’ve stumbled right into a good story here, haven’t you?’ McCreedy said, leaning in far too close, with a conspiratorial air. ‘A terrible crime right under your nose.’