‘Eight-ish. Nine, maybe. I’d have had a better idea when I was first questioned.’

TT jumped off John’s lap and lay down on the rug by the radiator. Marnie’s father’s hands were clasped. The tip of one index finger was tapping against the knuckle of the other. Otherwise he was composed. She could hear a faint whining from Mister in the bedroom.

‘And you stayed with your daughter all night?’

‘Yep,’ said John Morahan. ‘That’s right. I did.’

Across the room, Marnie signed to her father.

I woke up that night. You weren’t in the cottage.

He looked at her long and hard as if he was weighing up whether or not to tell her something.

They stared at one another. He was stronger. She turned away first.

* * *

While Marnie’s father was showing the police out, she went back to the bedroom to tidy up, pushing the clutter back under his bed. One of the old carrier bags had split and its contents spilled out: documents and cards.

She collected them up. They were condolence cards sent to her father after her mother’s death. Marnie remembered the envelopes arriving on the doormat in the caretaker’s cottage, dozens of them. John had opened them, but hadn’t put the cards up. Marnie had never had a chance to look at them before; now she took a few moments to read the sentiments inside. It was soothing to read what people had written; kind words about her mother; sympathy and good wishes.

Inside one of the cards, along with the thoughts and prayers, was a newspaper cutting. Marnie unfolded it, turned it over so she could read the headline.

Beloved mum in overdose tragedy.

Marnie’s heartbeat slowed almost to a standstill.

No.

She read the headline several times in case she’d somehow misunderstood, but it was quite clear.

Her mind grappled for explanations. It might be a cutting about someone else’s mother – but the date matched Denise’s death.

Marnie narrowed her eyes and glanced at the photograph, literally glanced, so her brain barely had time to register what it was seeing. It was a poor reproduction of a picture of a woman who looked like Denise.

But it couldn’t be true! Denise had died of a weak heart. It had been a tragedy, certainly, but ‘overdose’ didn’t come into it.

The cutting had to be a coincidence, some woman who bore a passing resemblance to Denise Morahan had taken an overdose at about the same time as Denise’s weak heart had given up and some idiot from the cricket club had seen fit to include the cutting in the card he sent to John.

Marnie couldn’t bring herself to read the article. But she was remembering that something about her mother’s death had always bothered her.