The Little B & B at Cove End. Linda Mitchelmore

I won’t touch another thing. Let’s go downstairs. I’ll make that call to the police to let them know I’m back and then make a cup of tea. And a bacon sandwich, now I’ve got the things to make one.’

      The last thing Mae would want now was for her to bang on about washing her knees and putting antiseptic on, wasn’t it?

      ‘Surprising as it may seem,’ Mae said, ‘I seem to have lost my appetite.’

      ‘Make that two of us,’ Cara said. ‘And your frock, Mae. I can mend it.’

      ‘Whatever,’ Mae said.

      They stood up and together, mother and daughter went down the stairs.

      In the kitchen, Cara rang the police to tell them she was home and then busied herself putting bacon and eggs in the fridge, and the bread in the breadbin. Mae sat and watched every movement her mother made around the kitchen as though she was afraid she might disappear again if she took her eyes off her, even for a second. Cara checked the time on the kitchen clock, wondering how long it would be before the police turned up. There was no resident policeman in the village and the nearest manned station about thirty miles away although, she supposed, there might be police nearer than that in a patrol car somewhere.

      ‘Can I have that hug now?’ Mae asked.

      ‘Of course.’ Cara opened her arms wide and Mae snuggled into them. Cara hugged her tight.

      ‘I thought I was beginning to handle losing Dad,’ Mae sniffed against Cara’s shoulder.

      ‘But now you find you can’t?’

      ‘It seems to be getting worse as I get older, not better. He keeps coming back to me in dreams and it’s only in dreams I can remember his voice. And he’s only been gone two years. Oh, Mum …’

      ‘Me, too,’ Cara said.

      And the tears came for them both. They stood hugging and crying with loud and wracking sobs for ages, until Cara’s arms ached with holding Mae to her. But for Cara, none of those tears were cleansing.

      And then Cara became aware of someone watching her – that uneasy sort of feeling you get that makes you turn around.

      ‘Evening, ladies.’ A policeman with a policewoman standing beside him gave Cara and Mae a rather embarrassed, if kindly smile. ‘We did knock, but …’

      ‘We were making too much racket,’ Cara said. ‘Sorry …’

      ‘Don’t be,’ the WPC said. ‘A break in, is that right?’

      ‘No,’ Cara said. ‘I very stupidly went out and left two people who came wanting B&B for a couple of nights alone while I went to get a few bits from Meg Smythson at the corner shop. Mae came home earlier than expected and found her room trashed – and mine, although I’ve not looked in there yet—…’ Her throat began to close over with emotion again, and she couldn’t get any more words out.

      ‘Shall I make tea?’ the WPC said.

      Cara nodded. The evening was beginning to feel more surreal than ever, watching a strange woman – albeit a policewoman – searching for things in Cara’s cupboards and drawers, filling the kettle at Cara’s kitchen tap, while she felt herself unravel a bit emotionally, like a dropped stitch in knitting, she knew she could recover with patience and the right tool but couldn’t at that moment.

      ‘Have you touched anything?’ the policeman asked when they were all seated around Cara’s kitchen table.

      ‘I haven’t,’ Cara said. ‘Well, only the clothes strewn all over the place in Mae’s room. Mae met me at the door and we went straight upstairs. ‘I looked in the sitting room but didn’t go in. There’s silver missing. I could see that straight away.’

      Silver that had been in my family for generations, she wanted to add, but didn’t because it would add nothing to the investigation. But it was the void that was hurting most – the family heirloom silver, which had had a grounding effect, anchoring her to her past in some way, had been snatched away.

      ‘And you, Mae?’ the policeman asked. ‘Have you touched much?’

      ‘Doors. I opened and closed every door. So my fingerprints will be on there, right?’

      ‘They will,’ the policewoman said. ‘But we can eliminate all of yours in seconds once forensics get here. I’ve set that in motion. They shouldn’t be long. It’s a quiet night, apart from this.’

      ‘How long will it take?’ Cara asked.

      ‘Forensics?’ The policeman checked his mobile. ‘ETA about ten minutes and then an hour or so.’

      ‘Oh,’ Cara said, unable to stifle a yawn.

      ‘It’s best done now,’ the policewoman said. ‘And it if helps, I know what this feels like because my mother’s bungalow was burgled when she was in A&E having a broken wrist seen to. There was a feeling of …’

      ‘Don’t!’ Mae interrupted. ‘You were going to say evil, I know it. Miasma or something. We did a tutorial on it in psychology. Evil leaves a tangible presence, far more than good does. And these people were pure evil to do this.’

      Mae shivered, hunched her shoulders up around her ears, and a lightning rod of guilt shot through Cara for putting her daughter through this. She struggled to find words of comfort or remorse or regret – apology even – but nothing would come. But Mae filled the gap.

      ‘I just knew something bad had happened because the air wasn’t right. I was afraid something had happened to Mum.’

      ‘Oh, darling,’ Cara managed to croak out. ‘But perhaps we should be answering questions about the Hines?’ She looked from one officer to the other.

      ‘In a moment,’ the policewoman said. ‘Anything else, Mae?’

      How kind this very young policewoman was being, how understanding; to allow Mae to talk about how the shock of the burglary had affected her.

      ‘No, that’s about it,’ Mae said.

      Cara told the police officers everything she could remember of Pam and Eddie Hine – what they’d been wearing, hair colour, accents, the small bag they’d brought in with them – from the few moments she’d spent in their company. She knew now she’d gifted them the opportunity to steal when she’d gone to the shop, but she had no doubt they’d have more than likely done a moonlight flit, and left without paying, taking stuff with them anyway.

      ‘They can’t have got much in the small bag they had,’ she finished.

      ‘Duh, Mum!’ Mae said, slapping a hand to her forehead, cartoon comedy-style. ‘They’d have had something else in that bag, like a roll of black sacks or something. They probably had a car parked around the corner as well.’

      ‘Really?’ Cara said, wondering how her daughter had become so streetwise all of a sudden.

      ‘Really,’ the policeman said, ‘we need you to check where you kept jewellery, money, anything like family heirloom medals, that sort of thing. Small, portable things. To check what’s missing. If you have photos of any valuables, that would be more than helpful. Ah, here’s forensics now. Shall I let them in?’

      ‘Do,’ Cara said. ‘I’ll make a list of what I think is missing.’

      And then the house became noisy with the organised bustle of people moving about and voices and the beep of phones as the police contacted colleagues at the station. Mae was practically glued to Cara’s side as she went from room to room jotting things down, still afraid she’d find her mother missing again if she lost sight of her.

      ‘All done,’ the policewoman said, coming into the sitting room where there was still the evidence of forensics testing on all the furniture, and where Cara was sitting on the couch, with Mae beside her, snuggling in. They’d been at loggerheads more than a bit of late and Cara was