Main Street was like running the gauntlet, she thought, as a third person crossed the road on spotting her approach.

It might have been less stressful to return to Beanach by the woods after all.

She turned as a head popped up in a neighbouring garden, and a voice called out, ‘Don’t mind them, dear. Folk have got used to keeping their distance. It’s hard to break the habit even when they tell you it’s all over.’ The elderly woman gave her a wide smile. ‘You’ll be Greg’s visitor up from London?’

Joanne nodded, giving her name.

‘Nice to meet you, Joanne Addington. I’m Kath Webster. My son Malcolm has the Blackrig Arms.’ She paused. ‘I don’t suppose you fancy a cuppa? I’ve just about had enough of weeding. Or my back has.’

When Joanne hesitated, she added, ‘We can have it here in the garden if you like, or we can go inside and really give them something to talk about.’

Joanne laughed. ‘I’d like that very much. Thank you.’

‘Good, come away in, then.’

Minutes later, Joanne was seated in a sunny front room with a large ginger cat eyeing her sleepily from the back of a neighbouring couch.

‘You’re in luck,’ the woman said, entering to place a tray on the nearby coffee table. ‘I just got a fresh delivery of scones from the pub. Malcolm keeps me well supplied with goodies from the kitchen.’

During the silence that followed, while they both munched their scones, Joanne considered why she’d really been invited in. Was she to be questioned on her and Greg or what had happened at the Party House?

It turned out to be neither, in fact.

Joanne relaxed as Kath did all the talking, and she began to learn things about Greg and the village.

‘Greg and his dad have lived at Beanach for as long as I remember. His mum, Elspeth, died when he was ten. Cancer.’ She shook her head in memory of that. ‘His dad, Jim, was a gamekeeper on the estate. That was in the days when Lord Main owned Blackrig. Like many of the young folk, Greg went away, then came back when his dad died. Took over from Jim.’ She checked with Joanne. ‘He didn’t tell you all this?’

‘Just bits and pieces,’ Joanne fibbed.

Kath nodded. ‘Aye, he’s not a great talker. Keeps himself to himself, just like his father.’

She was silent for a bit and Joanne thought she was trying to decide what she would say next. Eventually she continued.

‘A few folk left after the terrible time when Ailsa Cummings disappeared. Then we lost five of our children to the virus, brought in by folk who should never have been here in the first place.’ Her voice rose in anger. ‘Rich folk who thought the law didn’t apply to them. Like our current owner.’