At the top of the stairs, he knocked on Mary’s door. He felt uncomfortable. He had this strange, irrational fear that Lucy had done something to Lennon. She had made it clear that she didn’t think much of Mary (calling her a witch was hardly a display of neighbourly good feeling), but surely – surely – she wouldn’t do anything to harm her cat.

Mary opened the door. She was smiling, and Jamie noticed that her pupils were dilated. He guessed she had been smoking weed – in fact, there was the distinct smell of cannabis in the air as he stepped into the hallway.

‘Kirsty told me Lennon has gone missing. It’s just that, well, I’m not sure how to say this…’

Mary cut him off, a wide grin on her face. ‘He’s come back. Come and see.’

She led him into the living room and there, sitting on the sofa with his legs tucked under his body, was her cat.

‘I was so relieved,’ Mary said. ‘I thought he’d been run over, or, well, I don’t know what. You hear of awful things happening to people’s cats. In the paper last week there was a report of these children shooting a cat with an air rifle and killing it. Horrible. But Lennon’s safe and sound. As you can see.’

Jamie crossed the room and bent to stroke the cat, who rolled over onto his back, inviting Jamie to scratch his belly.

He remembered what he had meant to ask her. ‘Does Lennon ever bring rats in?’

Mary shook her head. ‘God, no. He never brings anything in apart from the odd earthworm. I remember he caught a butterfly once, and that was a major achievement. He was really proud of himself. But rats – well, he’d run a mile if he saw a rat. Especially the big ones you get round here. Linda upstairs told me she saw a rat that was as big as a puppy – a monstrous thing.’ He wasn’t really convinced by what she said about her cat. It reminded him of the parents of a school bully who think the little brat is in fact an angel. It probably was Lennon who had left the rats on their doorstep.

Mary walked over to the fireplace and took a silver cigarette case off of the mantelpiece. She produced a ready-rolled spliff, confirming Jamie’s suspicions. She held it up. ‘Care to join me?’

Jamie wondered if this was the reason why Lucy disliked Mary so much, accusing her of being a practitioner of the black arts. Maybe Mary had offered her a smoke on a previous occasion. He smiled. He could imagine Lucy being the type who would freak out at the mere mention of illegal substances.

‘I’d better get back to Kirsty,’ he said. ‘She needs nursing.’