Clive feels a tempest of frustration sweep across him. How hard is it to build a damn house? First storms, then an overenthusiastic moose, now a body protected by law.

Tom nods to show he has understood, but is not yet fully able to use actual words. His mind flicks rapidly to that morning in the Land Registry office in Ålesund, when the clerk showed him a screen of microfiche documents bearing the details of Granhus’ previous owners. Only two owners: Henrik Skjærvik, who built the house in 1899, and then a man named Snorre something who did some renovations in 1980 before moving to Denmark. Henrik had apparently gone missing, and the clerk had made a big fuss about how the death date was unrecorded and there was no mention of a burial. It was likely that the body was his. Murdered, perhaps, given that he’d been buried without a coffin or headstone. Yes, forensics would be all over that.

‘Tell the men to take the rest of the day off,’ Clive tells Erik, who flicks his eyes to Tom, not sure this is the answer he wanted. Tom still doesn’t speak. Erik gets up, hard hat still in his hands, and nods.

Once the cars and vans begin to pull off site Clive gets up suddenly and stalks purposefully towards the door.

‘What are you doing?’ Tom calls after him. No reply.

Outside, Clive looks down at the pit. At the body lying there. For a moment he sees Aurelia. He tells himself to get a grip. Then he heaves the concrete mixer over, tips it on its side and watches as the concrete pours down on top of the corpse.

‘What are you doing?’ Tom yells. He races for Clive, slamming into his chest with his shoulder, but Clive shoves him off. He finds the second mixer, pours it on its side. The body is covered now. Good. It’ll dry by morning and they can cover it up with another layer of soil.

Tom sinks to his knees and stares down into the pit in horror. There’s no way back from this. The body is desecrated. He looks up at Clive. ‘What have you done?’

Clive wipes his nose on his shirt sleeve. ‘I’ve saved the build.’ He winks and grins. ‘You’re welcome.’

Tom doesn’t sleep all night. He hears Gaia calling him from her bedroom to read her a story, a habit he’s kept to every night since Christmas. But tonight, he can’t. He is tortured by a webpage.