I walk briskly, trying to shake off the feeling that hangs over me. The air is cold but I’m warm by the time I reach Ida Jones’s cottage. Thinking of what she said when I saw her last, I pause to knock on her door, instantly regretting it, wishing I’d called her first to check that she isn’t busy. But then I hear the latch lift; the door opens and Ida appears.

‘Elise! What a lovely surprise.’ A smile crosses her face, but then she falters, studying me. ‘Would you like to come in?’

‘Thank you. I hope I haven’t interrupted you? I should have called you but I wasn’t working, so thought I’d just pop by – if you’re not busy?’

‘Oh no, dear. Not at all. I was going through some old photos.’ When I follow her through to her sitting room, I see her small dining table is covered in them. ‘Young folk these days don’t appreciate them, do they? Everything’s on their phones. All very well till they lose them.’ She sounds wistful. ‘Now, come into the kitchen and I’ll put the kettle on. Would you like a cup of tea?’

‘Thank you.’ I’m ridiculously grateful for the warmth, not just of her cottage, but how her presence feels, making me suddenly aware of the absence of warmth in my own life.

Looking around I see that her kitchen is dated and the pine units are in need of a coat of paint, but her curtains are fresh and there are pots of herbs on her windowsill. It’s homely in a way I’m suddenly nostalgic for. Hugging my arms around myself, I watch her warm the teapot. I can’t remember the last time I saw anyone do that. Then she gets two mugs.

She turns briefly. ‘How’s young Niamh?’

‘She’s quiet. Losing Hollie has rocked her. It’s impossible for her to understand why anyone would have wanted to kill her.’

‘It’s difficult for any of us to understand.’ Offering me a mug, Ida picks up the other and starts towards the sitting room. ‘Let’s go through there.’

I sink into the sofa, feeling the tension leave my body, then exhaustion taking over, suddenly aware of the strain I’m under but conscious of Ida watching me.

‘These are sad times,’ Ida says quietly. ‘Those two poor people, and so close together. From the same family, too … I don’t know how that man is coping.’ She goes on. ‘Have you seen him at all?’

I nod. ‘At the funeral earlier.’

‘I didn’t make it.’ Ida looks sorry. ‘I had a hospital appointment this morning. I do hope enough people were there.’

‘Not really.’ There’s a lump in my throat.