Her mother stroked a black and white photograph. ‘All this time I thought there were no other photos.’

‘Did you ever ask?’

‘She said she didn’t know where they were.’ She sighed.

‘Well, then don’t make a judgement.’ Lottie winced. She shouldn’t have said that. That was the brandy talking.

Her mother stood, taking the box of photos with her. She glared at Lottie then headed not towards her bedroom but her mother’s.

‘Mum, where are you going?’

‘To ask about these.’ She looked mutinous.

‘It’s nearly midnight and I hope both of them are asleep.’ Lottie paused and took a deep breath, thinking maybe the gins had taken away her mother’s normal sense. ‘Tomorrow morning will be soon enough to ask these questions.’

She stopped and turned. ‘She may not be alive tomorrow.’

Lottie couldn’t argue with that, but she had to stop her. ‘Then maybe you shouldn’t ask.’

‘I need to know the truth.’ She rested the box on her hip.

‘The truth about what?’

‘My father.’

Lottie let out a long sigh. ‘Mum, you know the truth: he fell from the cliff.’ She flinched. The tragedy that two people connected with Boskenna had fallen to their death was still too close after her walk this evening and the coming anniversary of John’s death.

‘Yes, I’ve read the newspapers and the coroner’s report.’

‘Then what are you looking for?’ Lottie hoped she was right that her mother had no memory of what she’d written in her diary.

‘I wish I knew.’ She walked towards her and Lottie dared to hope she would leave talking to Gran until tomorrow. As her mother passed, Lottie grabbed her hand. ‘I know this is hard.’

She shook her head and went to her room, but Lottie was sure she’d seen tears pooling in her mother’s eyes. Yet again she’d said the wrong thing to her. Walking down the hall to the linen cupboard, she pulled out towels then sheets for her mother’s bed and for her own.

Passing the closet where the clothes and photos had been found, Lottie pushed it closed with her foot. As she expected, the door to her mother’s room was shut. She tapped lightly and said, ‘I’ll leave the sheets for your bed here, and some towels.’ There was no response from within, so she placed them on the floor and went back to collect the ones for her room. But her way was blocked by the now wide-open closet door. No doubt this was why it had been locked in the past. It wouldn’t stay shut.

Lottie tried to close it again to no avail. Looking closely, one of the shoeboxes had moved forward. She pushed them back, but it didn’t work. Groping in the darkness, she found the culprit. One of the lids wouldn’t sit on its box. She pulled it to the front and found not shoes in it, but a bulging notebook filled with bits of old newspaper, from what little she could see. Closing the door, she kept the shoebox and the notebook and walked to her room.