‘Are you sure?’

‘I’m sure. Are we seeing you before Christmas?’

‘Yes, I’ve got a babysitter. Des and I are coming out with you both – we’ve booked a table at the Ginger Fox on Christmas Eve.’

‘Ah, great, brilliant. OK, see you then, if not before.’

‘You really sure you’re OK?’

‘I’m OK, thanks.’

He ended the call and sat still in the car, staring at the windscreen, which was opaque with drizzle. Remembering. Emily had told him that when Louise went into one of her psychic trances it was like she had gone to another planet, and could never remember anything afterwards. That must be it. It made sense now.

Except it didn’t.

She might not have seen the Reverend Fortinbrass in their kitchen, but he sure as hell had, with his own eyes.

49

Tuesday 18 December

He started the car, drove out onto the road, headed through the village and back up the hill. There was a simple landmark, a red postbox, directly opposite the entrance to Cold Hill Park. He turned right between the stone pillars and drove in, then along Lakeview Drive.

As he neared their house, he could see from the empty driveway that Emily was not back yet. To his amusement, the Penze-Weedells were still bumbling around outside in their front garden. Maurice was standing, enveloped in a spaghetti tangle of Christmas lights that had evidently fallen from the wall onto him, and he and his wife were gesticulating at each other, clearly having a row. He waved at them as he passed, but neither noticed.

At the end of Lakeview Drive he carried on around the estate, looking for the Cadillac and the removals lorry he’d seen arriving earlier. He drove along silent roads that were not still closed off with barriers, having to make U-turns a couple of times at dead ends, looking at each of the empty houses in turn, some of them finished, some of them just fenced-off shells. He passed a police car parked across the entrance to the still-silent construction site, noticing some police officers beyond, then carried on.

The Cadillac and the lorry had to be here, somewhere. He’d only been gone an hour and a half – no way could the removals men have unloaded the entire juggernaut in that time, surely?

Unless he’d imagined the Cadillac and the removals lorry. Imagined the vicar.

A Cadillac in which a family of four had died outside Cold Hill House?

The O’Hares.

Oh, sure, a ghost car – and a ghost removals lorry. And a ghost vicar.

After fifteen minutes, when he reckoned he had now covered the entire estate, he headed home, perplexed. Emily’s van was now outside, the rear doors open, as was the front door of the house and the double garage’s up-and-over door. The Penze-Weedells were nowhere to be seen – presumably gone indoors. The stepladder and tangle of wiring remained on the front lawn.

He pulled on to the driveway just as Emily appeared through the front door. He climbed out and greeted her with a kiss.