‘It could still be Daphne. Perhaps your gran got it wrong when she said Daphne was really Jean. Or Daphne lied to her.’
‘But that file of Sheila’s. It had a report about Jean Burdon in it, written by Neil Lewisham. That’s a link. And Dad rang earlier to say someone at his newspaper deciphered the shorthand and it was notes about Jean and Sheila being one and the same.’
‘The police will figure it out,’ says Lorna. Her stomach rumbles as the smell of the casserole fills the cottage. ‘We need to have faith in them. In DS Barnes.’
Saffy sighs. ‘As soon as the police do figure it out, the journalists will be back with a vengeance, like wasps. I know they’re only doing a job, but this is our life.’
‘I know.’ Over the last few days they have lost interest, but Lorna has been keeping Euan updated by text, and he warned her that it’s often the way. And then a new piece of information will come to light and the journalists will be back.
They hear the front door bang and Lorna notices how Saffy stiffens. Then Tom pokes his head around the living-room door. ‘Something smells good.’
‘You’re home early,’ cries Saffy, happily, and Lorna feels a stab of envy at how she runs to him and he wraps her in his arms. It used to be her she ran to as a kid, when it wasn’t her gran. Now it’s Tom. He’s still wearing his helmet. It’s white and looks like an egg. He removes it and shakes out his hair. It’s slightly damp.
‘I’m starving,’ he says, throwing his helmet onto the chair. Lorna fights the urge to pick it up and hang it on the peg in the hallway.
‘Only another half an hour –’ She’s interrupted by a rap on the door. Tom goes to the window and peers out. It’s still light outside, the sun just starting to descend behind the trees, the kind of evening Lorna loves, where the heat of the day still lingers. ‘It’s an old woman with a young guy,’ he says.
Lorna joins him at the window. ‘Oh, that’s Melissa and her nephew, Seth.’ She darts to the front door, opening it. ‘Hi, come in,’ she says. She ushers them into the living room and introduces them to Saffy and Tom.
Melissa is beaming. She hands an envelope to Lorna, then glances around the cottage, at the modern sofas and the wooden floors. Then her attention is back to Lorna. ‘After our chat I remembered I had these photos,’ she says.
‘I told my aunt to wait until tomorrow but she insisted,’ grins Seth, thrusting his hands into the pockets of his jeans.
‘I thought you’d like to see them,’ adds Melissa. ‘It’s when Rose was bell-ringing with us all at the church. She used to love it.’
‘She was a bell-ringer?’ asks Saffy, raising an eyebrow in surprise. ‘She never mentioned that.’
Lorna wants to add that there were lots of things her mother never mentioned but thinks better of it. She flicks through them. A group of about six women, including a much younger Melissa, are grinning at the camera, each holding a length of rope in what looks like the inside of a church tower. It must have been taken in the late 1970s, judging by the haircuts and fashions. Lorna scans the women but can’t see her mum. ‘Is she in these?’ she asks, frowning.
Melissa peers over her shoulder. ‘Yes, there she is.’ She points to a woman with long wavy hair. The photo might be old but Lorna can see straight away it’s not her mother. ‘That’s not her. She looks vaguely familiar but …’
‘What do you mean?’ says Melissa, snatching the photos from Lorna’s hand. ‘Yes, that’s her, there. And in this one …’
‘Let’s see,’ says Saffy, walking over and taking the photo from Melissa. ‘Wait. That’s not Gran.’ She turns to Lorna, eyebrows raised. ‘That’s – that’s the other woman in Gran’s photos. That’s Daphne.’