‘Are you serious?’

I pulled my eyes away from the numbers dancing across the cranky old desktop screen. Dad stared back at me. Of course he was serious. I supposed that if I helped change the beds and clean the bathrooms I might be able to wangle some information as we went.

One sparkling, spanking clean Gadwall, Pintail and Goosander later, I had garnered the following.

The systems and processes employed by the Tufted Duck were in place because they’d always been that way, and why change something that worked? With that attitude, I was impressed they’d progressed to a computer. I did manage to gather some dribs and drabs on how they managed accounts and budgets, but honestly there was nothing I couldn’t have found in half the time by looking on the internet. Mum did, however, reveal something of genuine significance.

‘Did that person manage to get hold of you?’

‘What person?’ I focused very hard on smoothing down the fresh sheet on Pintail’s bed as my heart began tap-dancing in my chest.

‘They called asking to speak to you.’

‘What did you say?’ Could have been an old friend. Someone from the town… one of the staff at the Cumbrian Chronicle.

‘Well, I told them you weren’t here, of course.’

‘And?’

Mum flicked on a duvet covered in frolicking forest animals with expert speed. ‘And what?’

‘What else did they say?’

‘They asked where you were.’

‘And?’ I tried to keep my voice below a screech, despite my throat having seized up.

‘Well, I asked who was asking. They said an old friend from school. I don’t know who they were but with an accent like that they weren’t from round here. I’m not about to give away any details to some stranger. I know all about stalkers and super-fans and things. I’m not an idiot, Eleanor. I told them to try your online whatsit. They could have been a tabloid journalist looking for a dirty scoop.’ She bent over to start damp-dusting the skirting boards.

‘Was it a man or a woman?’

‘A woman. I think.’

‘Anything else about her you remember?’

Mum stood up and went to shake the duster out the window. ‘No.’

‘When did she call?’

‘A few weeks ago I suppose. Please don’t stand there staring at me. That mirror won’t clean itself.’

‘After I’d called to tell you I’d left London?’

‘Well, it must have been, or else I’d have mentioned it then.’

‘Okay. Thanks for letting me know.’ I gave the mirror a squirt of cleaner.

She was the one to stop then. ‘Is everything all right? Because you’ve just sprayed bathroom cleaner on a glass surface.’

‘Yes.’ I used the duster to wipe off most of the fluid. ‘It’s fine.’

‘And you’ve no idea who it is?’

‘Like you say, probably a fan of my writing. They can always get in touch with me online. Thanks for letting me know.’

My mother was about as convinced by that theory as I was.