‘Call me tomorrow,’ he said as he descended the stairs. ‘We’ll talk properly then.’ When they reached the bottom, he leant in close to her. She felt his breath on her neck as he inhaled her – then kissed her on the cheek. ‘You’re not alone. Remember that.’

She shrank back, away from his touch, and nodded without saying anything more. After letting him out the front door, she turned towards the kitchen, and the gathering that had occurred while she’d dozed.

This, she could do without.

It felt like her birthday party all over again, only with far fewer people, thankfully. Couldn’t they have waited for Tiff’s funeral though – her wake? That was the time people reminisced, passed on their condolences, not by showing up at someone’s house, imposing on them at such a difficult time.

‘I can’t believe it, Louisa. I was just saying to Brian, you never know when your time is up, do you? She had so much going for her, poor love. I can’t get my head around it – slipping on those tiles!’

‘No, Bridget, me neither.’ Was all Louisa could contribute to the conversation. She didn’t want to speak at all, let alone to the one person she knew was a busybody and would be sharing any nuggets of information gained from Louisa at the Co-op as soon as she could. Clearly Brian hadn’t informed her of the police’s initial investigation – that they’d had to look into the possibility of Tiff’s death being suspicious, otherwise she would already be embellishing the ‘slipping on those tiles’ theory.

Had Bridget been at Louisa’s party? She didn’t remember seeing her at all. Oliver had just said he recognised a few people from the party, but as far as Louisa could tell, none of the seven people currently standing in her kitchen had been there – these were all neighbours. God, that man was full of shit.

However, Arthur was there, and that seemed a more likely explanation as to why Oliver had the sudden need to rush off. Perhaps he’d clocked Arthur and was afraid that he’d be recognised from loitering in his car, and awkward questions would be asked.

Excusing herself from Bridget, Louisa sidled over to Arthur.

‘Hello, Arthur. I’m sorry, I was upstairs when you arrived, having a bit of a lie-down.’

‘Ah, my dear.’ He put his hands to Louisa’s face, tears shining in his yellowing, old eyes. ‘How are you doing?’

He was the first person to ask her that, and she responded by promptly bursting into tears. Arthur put his arms around her and gave her a squeeze. She dropped her head onto his shoulder, hiccupping sobs muffling in his Aran-knit jumper.