I still don’t feel very well. Last night when Daddy came to check on me, his breath smelled of brandy. He asked me what was wrong. I said I’d been sick. I can still taste it in my mouth. He asked if I’d eaten too much chocolate. Maybe he had seen me?

I love him so much but, Diary, I am worried. Both Mummy and Daddy are cross. I know because of their mouths. They went straight like when I’ve done something wrong. I know I’ve done something wrong, but I don’t know what. Diary, I’m scared. I also saw someone standing outside my room while Daddy was in here. I saw their feet shadows under the door.

Lottie looked out into the growing light, trying to piece it all together. Flipping through the notebook, she wanted to see what else her very observant mother had noticed. Both this Tom Martin and a young, handsome Gramps watched Gran closely. But she was beautiful, so that was not surprising. What she was sure of was that Gramps knew more than he was saying. Lottie had a feeling Mrs Hoskine might as well.

The next entry in the diary was the last. Lottie read the whole thing again looking for something. Anything that would take away the knowledge or provide her with a reason why Gran pushed her husband off the cliff.

The sky had gone from leaden to a Ceylon sapphire blue and now was a blaze of pink and orange with Gribben Head like a dark finger stretching out into the grey water. The sun hadn’t appeared above the headland yet. She threw on some jeans and an old sweater. The morning air was fresh, and an easterly wind blew through her open window. Lottie looked down, trying to picture what her mother would have seen fifty-six years ago. She imagined the dress hanging in the closet catching the light and her heart hurt.

Heading towards her grandparents’ room she could hear Gramps snoring again. They were both sleeping – her grandmother was still with them. When she was a child, she used to think someone was moving a table back and forth in the attic room above her. Lottie smiled at the memories of how Gran had laughed when she’d told her this. These were the things Lottie wanted to remember. Laughter, joy and fun. Instead, as she reached kitchen, she was thinking of murder.