After her shower, she pulled on jersey trousers, baggy from years of washing, and a soft, well-washed cotton jumper. Comfortable staying-at-home clothes. She stretched out on the sofa, finished the book she’d been reading, then switched on the TV and found a movie to watch, following it with another. When the doorbell rang, she checked the clock. Five minutes past four.

The doorbell had rung a second time as she struggled to her feet and made the journey to the front door.

‘You should check who it is before opening up,’ DI Fanshawe said, stepping into the hallway, his eyes sweeping over her. He pointed at the security chain. ‘You have one, why don’t you use it?’

Ignoring him, she led the way back to the living room and sat. ‘If you want tea or coffee,’ she said, ‘help yourself.’

‘We’re okay,’ the inspector said, taking a seat beside her while DS Carstairs sat opposite. ‘How’re you feeling, or is that a silly question?’

‘It’s a silly question,’ she said, then shook her head. ‘Sorry, you were being polite, and I was being rude. I feel pretty crap if you must know although the pain isn’t quite so bad.’ She could feel her eyes filling and rubbed them roughly. She would not cry.

‘Why don’t you tell me what it was you wanted to tell me,’ he said gently.

It was tempting to say, no, you go first, but her life had already descended into a farce, it didn’t need any more help from her. Slowly, she told him about Amelia’s visit, the tea she’d made for her, the weakness that had come over her shortly afterward and Amelia’s surprised reaction when she’d come downstairs.

‘You think she poisoned you?’

Molly rubbed her eyes again. ‘I was so sure last night but today…’ She looked at him. ‘I’ve lived a very ordinary life, Inspector, it didn’t equip me for coping with all that’s been thrown at me.’

He smiled. ‘You’re doing okay. It’s not surprising your mind is in a whirl and you’re second guessing yourself the whole time. You’ve done the right thing, you’ve told us.’

She nodded, pleased that he appeared to be taking her seriously. She brushed away the small part of her that had hoped he’d say she was being ridiculous. ‘You think I’m right, that she tried to poison me?’

He rubbed the back of his neck.

‘You look as if you need coffee,’ she said, and made to stand.

‘Stay,’ Fanshawe said. ‘DS Carstairs is a dab hand at making coffee.’

He was, as it turned out, and also an expert in finding where the biscuits were. He didn’t, she noticed, bring the out-of-date cake.