For a moment I was rooted to the spot, unnerved by the shadowy recesses of the room. As my eyes grew accustomed to the gloom, I looked for the side table in the alcove that had held the little doll and the book, then remembered that Mrs Barley had put the things away in a cupboard. I edged my way gingerly over to the sideboard. My stomach turned a somersault as I heard a scratching noise behind me. I spun round, but exhaled in relief as I realised it must have been the lovebirds, whose cage was covered with a cloth. I eased open the door to the left of the sideboard and felt inside. It was empty! Why would she have removed the contents? I opened the other side: the photograph album was still there, but there was no sign of any of the things that had been sitting on the little table earlier. Exasperated, I looked around in case she had put the book elsewhere. Maybe it had been replaced on the bookcase at the far end of the room. In desperation I picked my way gingerly across the floor and began to scan the shelves. There were so many books, and in spite of the moonlight creeping though, the lighting was too dim to make out the wording on their spines. It was hopeless.

But what did I expect to find, realistically? Even if the material had come from Reggie’s bandana, what of it? Mrs Barley could have found it on the road – she might have had no idea where it came from.

I stopped suddenly and took stock of the situation. What on earth was I doing? This was madness. What if my neighbour came downstairs suddenly and found me searching through her belongings? She could call the police – and quite rightly; I could even give her a heart attack – after all, she was an elderly woman. I realised now that my behaviour was absurd – and seriously ill-judged. As quietly as I could, I made my way back into the garden and carefully pulled the door shut, replacing the key beneath the plant pot. I glanced up at the house, but mercifully there was no sign of life.

I edged down the path and back into my own home. Stoked with adrenaline, my heart was hammering like a steam train at full pelt. I was more wide awake than ever. A brandy would have been welcome, but I knew I couldn’t drink. I made another chamomile tea and hugged the mug in my frozen fingers, wrapping the throw tightly around myself as Jobie hovered, watching me uncertainly from the kitchen doorway. I took deep breaths as I sat at the table once more, torturing myself with what might have happened had I been caught. I felt stupid and reckless. My mind still darting, I went back to the magazine and leafed through other items but couldn’t resist returning to my own feature.