Elodie was awake but quite contented, staring up at the mobile dangling from the hood of her pram in the living room. I went to pick up the post from the doormat and through the small frosted pane could see movement outside the front door. It was only 8.30 a.m., but already Mrs Barley was out at the front of Rose Cottage with a bucket of soapy water and a sponge, trying to remove the mess from her downstairs windows. The eggshells had been swept into a dustpan. She looked pale and worn out, and I felt suddenly sorry for her, in spite of her peculiar behaviour during the night.

‘Mrs Barley, Jack said he would do that for you later.’

She stopped what she was doing and turned to look at me, wiping her forehead with the back of her rubber glove. ‘That’s very good of him. I’d be grateful if he could do the upstairs – I’m not going to even attempt climbing a ladder at my age.’

‘No, you mustn’t. Here, let me help.’ I rolled up my sleeves, took the sponge from her and started to scrub at the window. She watched me for a moment.

‘I’ll get a chamois; dry them off.’

Between us we cleaned the glass until all evidence of the previous night’s assault had been removed, from downstairs at least. That left three upstairs windows for Jack to do later. My hands were red and numb with cold.

‘Thank you, love. That’s been a great help. Come round the back, I’ll make us a hot drink. I’ve made an apple cake for Samhain.’

I thought about her nocturnal activities in the summer house and hesitated. But then maybe this would be an opportunity to talk to her properly, ask what she had actually been doing.

‘Okay. I’ll see if Elodie’s dropped off – I’ll wheel her round in the pram if she has.’

Elodie was fast asleep, so I pushed the pram down the garden and back up to Mrs Barley’s house. She had already opened both doors for me to get the pram over the step and called through from the kitchen.

‘Have a seat, I’ll be with you in a minute.’