It was Eleanor who’d seen the advertisement for the Sentiman job in the Guardian. You like all this strange stuff, Poll. Why don’t you go for it? Another reason to be grateful to her.

They were gathered in Sletts now, and Polly could feel the tension as pressure on her forehead and squeezing against her eyes. Mary Lomax was no longer camping out with them, but the three felt constrained, choosing every word carefully as if there was still someone listening in. The landline rang. For a moment they stared at it. Were they expecting another message from the dead Eleanor? Polly reached out and answered it. It was Caroline, her voice normal, almost cheery. Again it seemed strange to Polly that Caroline could be so cool and restrained when her best friend was dead. ‘Grusche wonders if you’d like to come to dinner here in Voxter? Get you all out of the house for a bit.’

Walking down the track towards the hall they found that they were chatting freely for the first time all day. About Willow and Perez, what odd police officers they were and nothing like the detectives you’d find in London, comparing notes on the interviews in Springfield House. And about Eleanor. Snatches of anecdote and pieced-together memories of the times they’d spent together. Even Ian seemed to be able to escape his anger for a moment. At one point in the conversation he stopped in the middle of the road. ‘The thing about Eleanor was that she could be so sodding annoying.’ Marcus and Polly gave a surprised laugh of agreement and they all continued on their way.

Walking past the houses, the old, apparently derelict croft and the new-build family home, Polly was tempted to say something about the little girl. I think Nell’s ghost lives in one of these. I saw her playing on the beach. Not a ghost at all. But in the end she stayed silent. It would have felt disrespectful to Eleanor’s memory, and she didn’t want to remind the others that the last hour they’d shared with their friend had been odd and a little embarrassing. She sneaked a look in through the windows as she went past, though. Still it was impossible to see anything through the mucky glass of the old house; she thought there might be a faint warm light in the corner of the room – the embers of a fire perhaps. And, looking at the chimney, there was a drift of smoke, the smell of peat. No other sign of life.