It was all so depressing. It was shocking what these people were doing. It didn’t feel like Britain any more, more like America or one of those violent Arab countries. But still, better than nothing right now, and she watched the opening story.

Twenty minutes later, Hall was stood by the kitchen telephone, breathing more quickly than usual and with a fluttering in her stomach. She’d made a note of the number that had flashed up on the screen after that podgy policeman had been on.

‘Oh, hello. Yes. I wanted to report something suspicious. I’ve just seen the item on the news calling for people to contact the police if they’ve seen anything funny… That’s right. Yes. Well, I’ve got a holiday cottage in the Lakes. Near Windermere. And I had a group of young men up here for a few days. Thursday last week, late, and they left Monday. Five of them. Looked like students. Three were Indian gentlemen, and there was a black feller with them. And a white man too who was a bit older… What?… Ginger. Pasty. With a beard. I thought they were a bit odd. And the policeman said to report anything unusual or suspicious – particularly people with holiday lets like me… Well, we don’t get many of their sort staying, if you know what I mean…’

#

An hour and a quarter later, two officers from the North West Counter Terrorism Unit were sat on Jennifer Hall’s blue velvet sofa. They’d arrived five minutes into Emmerdale – and it looked like they could be here through to the end of Corrie, thought Hall.

‘Was there anything unusual about them, Mrs Hall, other than they weren’t all white?’ The woman did most of the questioning, which surprised her. She was a sergeant. Not in uniform, but quite smart. Nice bobbed hair, which was unusual these days. So many girls had their hair long. The man was silent and made notes in a tiny pad. She wondered how he could write small enough to fit the pad. Brown suit. A bit shabby. And a scuff on his shoes. Needed a woman’s touch.

‘Not really,’ she said. ‘They left a lot of beer cans – but thinking back, they didn’t look like the sort who’d drink beer, if you get my drift. What with, you know…’ She mimed a beard.

The woman police officer smiled patiently. ‘And what did they drive?’

‘Oh, a big van. A grey van. They were loading it up when I left. The ginger man was putting in some big boxes – big cardboard boxes, big brown ones with a smiley face on them.’

‘Sorry, a smiley face?’ the woman asked.

‘That’s right. Some writing – I couldn’t see – and a smiley face. A sort of smile with an arrow.’

The man pulled out a mobile and pressed a few times on the screen.

‘Like this? The Amazon logo?’ he said, putting it in front of her face.

‘That’s it. Yes – a smiley face.’