It was the headline on the cutting she’d seen earlier that was troubling her most, but she didn’t want to think about that so she searched for another reason for her unease. She didn’t have to look far. She had a book beside the bed. It had been recommended by the woman in the library. It was a literary novel, but it was about a murder and Marnie was not enjoying it. The dead character was female and had been buried in a shallow grave. The mystery of the book was not who had committed the murder, nor even so much why, but the identity of the exhumed body. It was a disturbing story; deeply unsettling and as soon as she spotted it on the bedside table Marnie thought: That’s it! That’s what’s keeping me awake!

She shouldn’t have this book in her cottage.

She slid out of bed, pulled a big old jumper over her head and went to the window. Outside, the trees were flailing their branches; the cottage groaned and sighed in response. The wind whistled under the roof tiles. Marnie hoped the sparrows who sheltered there were safe.

She needed to get rid of the book, but as it was a library book she couldn’t consign it to the flames inside the stove. She’d have to put it outside, as far away as possible from the cottage itself.

She left the bedroom, turned on the landing light and went downstairs. She wrapped the book in a plastic bag, unlocked and opened the door. The wind snatched at the door, grabbed it from her and slammed it back against the wall. Tessy trotted out. Luna scratched at the dining-room door.

Marnie put on her coat and boots and went outside. The wind buffeted her and almost knocked her over. She walked round the side of the cottage to where the car was parked, rocking in the wind. She placed the bag with the book under the car. In the storm, with all the movement around, it was easy to imagine cold eyes watching from the shadows; strangers lurking with malicious intent.

But she was being ridiculous. What murderer in their right mind would come out in weather like this?

Her phone was upstairs at the side of the bed. Gabriel had told her she could contact him whenever she wanted. But he didn’t mean now, in the middle of the night. She couldn’t text him to leave his warm bed and drive all the way from Avonmouth because her imagination was working in overdrive; because she was afraid of shadows.