She decided instead to return to her mother’s place and take a good look through all the documents in the upstairs room. She dodged through the traffic and headed west, arriving at the cottage mid-afternoon. She sat astride the bike and removed her helmet. Listened. Nothing but the water tumbling through the weir. She kicked down the stand and dismounted. The attack had spooked her and she was angry it had changed her feelings about being here. After a minute’s contemplation she went inside.

She spent several hours going through all the box files. There were documents relating to research her mother had done years ago as well as more recent material, but there was nothing that mentioned Karen Hope.

The sun had sunk by the time she’d finished. Down in the kitchen she found a tin of curry in a cupboard. There was dried rice in a jar on the side. Two saucepans went on the stove. In another cupboard a rack held several bottles of red wine. Silva smiled to herself; her mother enjoyed a drink and it wasn’t hard to imagine her pouring a large glass and taking it outside to sit by the weir on a summer’s evening such as this one. Silva opened a bottle and checked the rice and curry. While she was waiting for the rice to cook, she drifted through to the living room. Above the fireplace there was a corkboard with photographs and postcards. There were several pictures of Silva as a child, some of her with her shooting medals, one of her standing beside a Foxhound armoured vehicle in Afghanistan. Silva pulled off some of the postcards. These were from friends, and she recognised the names of various people who’d come to the funeral. Like her mother, the friends were well travelled. Peru. Japan. New Zealand. South Africa. Chichester Harbour. Chichester Harbour? Silva turned the picture over, interested to know which of her mother’s friends would send a card from a little over fifty miles away. Presumably it was an attempt at ironic humour.

18 August

Dear Rebecca, remember the beach we used to go to here? West something or other, wasn’t it? Those were happy times, good memories, a place with buried treasure and hidden secrets to be passed on from one generation to the next. I so enjoyed the many times we visited. I definitely Hope you did too. Love always and forever, Mum.