‘Always the same on a Saturday morning, it’s a lot quieter during the week.’

So she’s a regular too. I know I can’t just jump in and ask her if she knew the dead woman. I’ll have to be discreet. Open with something general. The weather.

‘Not a bad day out there,’ I say glancing out and noticing the rain beginning to pour down. ‘Oops, think I spoke too soon.’ The woman also looks towards the window to see the change in the weather. She’s not taking the bait though. Her words have dried up and now she seems to be turning her attention to her handbag.

‘Are you using that sugar?’ I ask her, pointing at the two sachets in the middle of the table. I don’t even like sugar in my coffee but I need to engage this woman.

‘No, you fire away, love, I’m not using it.’

‘I shouldn’t really,’ I say opening the sachet. ‘They say too much sugar can shorten your life.’

She pushes the second sachet in my direction saying, ‘Sure everything nowadays can shorten your life.’

Watching the grains of sugar fall into the coffee, I say, ‘It’s not up to us, it’s up to the man above.’

‘Or the devil below,’ she says. Lifting my stare from the spoon I’m circling around in my mug, I look up at her.

‘Yes,’ she says, unable to maintain her polite façade any longer. ‘That poor woman.’

I lean forward slightly, all ears.

‘A neighbour of a friend of mine, young woman, killed in her own home last week.’

‘Oh, was that around here… I heard something about it on the news… did the police find out what happened?’

‘No, not yet.’

‘I’m sure they will, was she married?’

‘No, had a boy though, poor kid, left without a mother at such a young age.’

‘And without a father too.’ I sigh.

‘Oh no, he has a father, they just don’t live together.’

‘Well, that’s something.’

‘It is, if he’s not the one who killed her.’

My hand grips the handle of the mug tightly. Too tight. ‘Why? Do you think he killed her?’

‘No, but you know gossip, people always say it’s someone close to the victim.’

‘And was he close to the victim?’ The woman pauses momentarily like she’s wondering whether to say any more. Maybe she thinks I’m a journalist I’m beginning to sound like one.

‘I don’t know much about them, I feel sorry for the kid, and the woman of course. A life cut short.’ I decide not to push my luck, so I turn my attention back to the rain pouring down outside the window and sip my coffee.