Walking into the hall, he decided to visit Grace’s bedroom. Or was that Morgan’s? His left hand fell to his pocket. His other old friend. He swigged the half-bottle of whisky, the liquid as smooth as silk as it passed his lips. His own personal anaesthetic. He crept down the hall, his breath shallow as he approached Grace’s old room.

The bedroom door was half-open, a set of fairy lights casting the room in a soft glow. But when he stepped nearer her bed, it felt as if an electric current had rooted him to the floor. He took a sharp inhalation of breath as he stared at the girl before him, her long auburn hair resting on the pillow. It couldn’t be . . . He blinked in the dim light, craning his neck for a better look.

‘Grace?’ The words were barely audible as he reached out to stroke her hair. He froze as she moaned in her sleep before turning to face the door. Lloyd staggered back, the lub lub of his heartbeat booming in his ears. As his vision grew accustomed to the light, he retreated into the shadows, his eyes casing the room. It was then that he saw the bottle of hair dye. He took a slow breath to bring himself back to ground. This wasn’t Grace. It was Morgan. The girl had dyed her hair. She wasn’t Grace. She never could be.

He thought about Dawn, getting mixed up with this new family. He wanted better for her. It was why he had told Reverend Humphries about Dawn’s visit to Ivy Cottage earlier today. After seeing her walking in the snow, he’d dropped her off at the end of the road. He couldn’t help but look out for her. She was a much-loved member of his community. He couldn’t risk her stepping out of line.

Chewing over these thoughts, he retreated from the room. But it was when he reached the back door in the kitchen that the light flicked on. Swivelling around, he reached for his gun. His knee-jerk reaction was met with a sudden shriek. Before him stood Naomi Ward, the whites of her eyes flashing as she clasped a brass ornament of a couple entwined. Her dressing gown was tightly fastened, her hair a nest on her head. Lloyd decided to leave his gun where it was.

‘What . . . what are you doing in my house?’

Her voice was jagged and urgent but Lloyd was confident he could talk his way out of it, especially as he’d had the foresight to wear his uniform. As always when he made these visits, he had just come off his shift.

‘You left your back door unlocked,’ he said, smiling. ‘I thought I saw an intruder.’

‘No, I didn’t.’ She took a step back as Lloyd approached her. ‘And you . . . you can’t just walk in here.’