Here are long-forgotten letters; the first commission of a story; a particularly poignant letter from a young fan with Down’s syndrome; a photograph of herself with Jimmy and Pa, taken by Miss Calver when they first arrived in the village, and one of Pa and Mum on their wedding day. Also a handkerchief with the initials CMW from that stormy night, which she must have failed to return. Molly still doesn’t know what the M stands for – she will ask Kit next time she writes. She expects to cry, but strangely enough she finds these small items comforting.

And there, at the bottom, is The Ugly Dragon: pages torn from a lined notebook and stitched together with string between cardboard covers. She remembers how tough it was, pushing the thick needle through so many pages, how she pricked her finger and, yes, here it still is, the stain of her blood.

Outside the daylight is fading; she has to switch on the light to read, although it doesn’t take long. She sits back and folds her arms. They aren’t that bad, these stories, for the first attempts of a fifteen-year-old. She can read clearly between the words the love she had for her brother, as well as the frustration she felt at having to look after him. She can sense the longing of a young woman in love, believing herself to be on the brink of adulthood. And she can feel, almost palpably, how the writer was trying to make sense of the anxiety and confusion around her, of a village riven with mistrust and hidden, malign forces.

The stories could do with some serious editing, of course. An introduction, and maybe a final chapter. She’s always sworn she would never offer it to her publisher, but perhaps now is the right moment, after all this time? It will, of course, be dedicated, as are all her books, simply ‘To Jimmy’.

A month later something entirely unexpected happens. The police return. It seems Bella has ignored Molly’s instruction and written to them anyway, saying she has new evidence to suggest that a line of enquiry into Jimmy’s disappearance was never properly pursued. Knowing Bella, Molly suspects that it was probably a rather forceful letter, leaving them no option but to act, for fear of a future complaint. And act they did, with surprising speed. A couple of coppers were despatched to do a search of the area around the hut, and they’ve found something they want to show Molly.

‘Something that might . . .?’ she asks, scarcely able to catch her breath.

As the policewoman holds out the transparent plastic bag, Molly gasps. Inside it is a small rectangle of flat metal, barely an inch long, so rusted that it is impossible to tell whether anything had ever been inscribed on it. But from the size and shape, and the position of the hole in one end, Molly knows at once what it is.