‘Well, nothing for a week or two. He must have thought the dust had settled and called for Frank to go to the pub with him again one Friday night. The next day he was climbing up onto a roof, something he’d done hundreds of times before, and somehow his ladder slipped and he fell.’ She cast her eyes downward, shaking her head. ‘Shattered every bone in his body, apparently. He died the following week – never regained consciousness. But the rumours soon started flying round that she’d helped him on his way – whether she’d tampered with the ladder or something, I don’t know. Nothing was ever proved, but everyone thought she’d had something to do with it.’

I felt a chill pass through me. ‘Do you know what the man was called?’

‘Funny name – somebody Wisecracker or something, I think Mum said. He’s still got family round here apparently, but I don’t know them. He was only in his twenties, poor bugger. I mean, it could’ve been a coincidence I s’pose, but no one looked at her in the same way after that. All a bit nasty, really.’

‘Could it have been Wiseacre? Leonard Wiseacre?’

‘Yeh! Yeh, that was it. Have you heard of him, then?’

I remembered the book about Avoncote, and the man in the photograph in Mrs Barley’s album. I felt slightly sick.

‘Yes, I read about him in a book about the village. He was the Jack o’ the Green in the May Day celebrations the same year. God, that’s awful.’

‘I mean, it might’ve all been gossip – you know how these things can get blown up. But the old woman’s done herself no favours with some of the things she’s said and done over the years. Like I said, just watch yourself – and the bab, if she’s looking after her. Not saying she’d do anything, but you don’t want to take any chances.’

I stayed with Lucy for an hour or so and then made my way home. It was a dismal afternoon, the sky white with cloud and the air damp and chill. I kept thinking about what she had told me about Mrs Barley and my stomach was in knots. I really wanted to give our neighbour the benefit of the doubt, but the more I learned about her past, the more uneasy it made me feel.

As we approached Wisteria Cottage, I looked up at Mrs Barley’s windows. My heart sank. The upstairs looked a real mess, the egg having dried to a pale yellow crust splattered across each of the three panes of glass. After what I had just heard, I was beginning to have reservations about Jack climbing a ladder to clean them.

But that was silly. Why on earth would she want to hurt Jack? All these narrow-minded rumours about Mrs Barley were making me paranoid.