‘We’re going to sell it, eventually. It’s a no-brainer. You have to admit, it’s the answer to our prayers, financially at least. We can use the proceeds to get all the work done on Wisteria Cottage, and hopefully there’ll be some left over besides. But I think we could do with a holiday – once the funeral’s behind us, maybe we can get away for a while. Even if it’s only to a little caravan somewhere by the sea. A change of scenery might be just what we need.’

‘You’re right. A few days away might help to put a bit of distance between us and everything that’s gone on. It’s such a shame. We ought to feel over the moon, but every time I look out of the window, that’s all I can think of now. It makes me feel ill.’

‘I know. The whole situation keeps going round and round in my mind. I still can’t believe Mrs Barley would’ve been capable of hurting her own child, though. And she still adored Frank – surely no mother could feel like that about a man who had harmed her baby. But from everything we’ve heard, there were only ever the two of them at the house. It’s mind-boggling.’

Mercifully, details of Frank’s final resting place and the deeds to the grave in Dorset had been left with the solicitor, too. It simply remained to pass the information on to the funeral director and they would then liaise with their branch in the area. It sounded as if pretty much all we would need to do was choose hymns and pertinent Bible readings, and turn up on the day.

We set about sifting through Mrs Barley’s things, setting aside anything that looked saleable, taking other things to the charity shop in the town or the local recycling centre.

The jewellery box on the dressing table contained mainly costume jewellery – nothing of any particular value other than sentimental.

I couldn’t bring myself to part with the baby clothes. I had bought a little white-lidded wicker basket, lined with silk, and took it up to the otherwise empty bedroom one humid Tuesday afternoon late in July, when Jack was at work. Leaving Elodie sleeping under the shade of the pram’s parasol in our garden, I carried her monitor with me so that I could hear if she awoke. I was reassured to hear her soft, rhythmic breathing.