Reggie hesitated as she was about to climb into the car. I wondered for a moment if she was on the verge of sharing something, but then she painted on that famous smile, the one she reserved for the cameras. ‘Sure, hon. I know that. But I’m fine – never better. You don’t need to worry about me – I’m a born survivor. You concentrate on yourself and that baby.’

‘We must have lunch in town soon – let’s keep in touch more, eh?’ Then, as an afterthought: ‘I’ve really missed you, you know.’

‘You too, babe. But I’ve really got to go.’

As she drove away, I turned back towards the house and saw Mrs Barley staring from her upstairs window after Reggie’s disappearing car. The look on her face was what I can only describe as one of loathing. It chilled me to the bone.

Jobie was delighted to be allowed back into the house, and I gave him an extra bone biscuit and lots of fuss. Ridiculously, I felt quite wrung out after all the talking and lay down on the settee. I could hear Kenny and the boys calling to one another outside. There seemed to be some excitement. Groaning, I eased myself off the chair and went to see what was going on.

‘Well, we’ve had an interesting find, if you can call it that.’ Kenny, who had just descended the ladder, turned to me as I stepped outside. ‘What do you make of this, then?’

I recoiled as he held out what looked initially like a bundle of rags. On closer inspection, I saw that it was an old bath towel or something of a similar size, the once-white fabric filthy and shredded, wrapped round the remains of some poor dead animal, about two feet in length. As Kenny peeled back the cloth, it revealed what looked like a mummified cat. The skin was pale and parchment-like, stretched taut over the delicate, protruding bones. The unfortunate creature’s ears were pressed back, the teeth bared, its mouth gaping open as though desperate for air. It was quite disturbing.

‘Oh, that’s awful. Where did you find the poor thing?’

‘It was wedged in the old lady’s chimney, just above the rafters. Some of the bricks were loose and I’d taken a bit of mortar up there to repoint it. Got a bit of a shock when I pulled one out!’ He offered the animal forward as if to demonstrate the point. ‘I’ve heard of this before – never found one myself, mind. People years ago had some odd beliefs – thought that burying things alive in their walls would ward off evil, apparently. I’ve seen a few witch markings in my time, though – even found a witch bottle once.’

‘Witch markings?’ The term sent an awful coldness through me.

‘Oh, folk would carve things into beams – star shapes and such – to protect their homes from wicked spirits.’