‘I chose him because he’s the only local agent who could accommodate the viewings without me needing to be involved,’ I say, angry with myself for feeling the need to substantiate my decision.

‘Oh, if you ever need anyone to oversee a viewing, I’m your woman,’ she declares, her grin so wide her entire top row of teeth seem to be visible.

‘Oh, no. You’re fine, thanks. I’m sure you’ve got better things to do. And you might be working anyway?’

It occurs to me I have no clue what Davina does for a living, if anything. She always appears to be at home.

‘I’m a writer,’ Davina says. ‘I’m almost always at home.’

Now, that makes sense. Always in comfortable clothes, her hair never styled, no make-up. I guess she thinks there’s no need seeing as she rarely goes out. Well, only to harass her neighbours. And writers are inquisitive by default, always looking for material for a bloody novel. Although I am actually a bit curious and would like to ask her about it, I refrain. I just want to cook tea, have a shower and lounge in front of the TV for a few hours before crashing into bed.

‘I’ll keep that in mind – thanks, Davina.’

‘Make sure you do,’ she says, smiling. ‘I like helping people out, and now you’re on your own, I want you to know I’m here if you need anything.’

Yes, so that you can dig out anything juicy about them to tell the rest of the village.

I nod politely and begin to make my way inside.

‘I was going to ask,’ Davina continues despite me walking away. ‘Any bites yet? Only I see that estate agent has brought the same—’

‘Must go, Davina – the boys need putting to bed.’ I skip up the step, turn quickly to say goodnight, then shut the door. Sometimes I question myself – think I might have got Davina all wrong; maybe I’m being too harsh on her. I’ve never given the woman a chance. What if she’s just lonely? Isn’t being a writer a very isolating career? I assume her husband isn’t at home all day, so she must spend so much of her time alone, secluded – no real people to speak with – just characters in her head. It must make you a little mad.

As I lock up, making sure I slide the safety chain across too, I make a mental note to be more friendly and open towards her, instead of cutting her off the second she opens her mouth. I don’t have to be best friends with the woman or invite her into my house – but I could make more effort to engage.

I remember the letter as I’m putting Leo to bed.