The Little B & B at Cove End. Linda Mitchelmore

well, well,’ Meg Smythson said when Mae burst through the door just before the shop was about to shut up for a couple of hours so Meg Smythson could eat her tea and watch Corrie before opening again for the evening trade for those people who forgot milk on their online Tesco shop or whatever. ‘Without the boyfriend tonight, Mae?’

      ‘Am I?’ Mae said, looking behind her theatrically. ‘Oh yeah, seems so.’

      ‘Come for some more bacon and eggs, have you? Saw the B&B sign up. New venture there, is it?’

      ‘No to the first question, yes to the second,’ Mae said, struggling to retain the good manners her mum would want her to have when speaking to an elder … another vicar-ish word that, elder.

      ‘The police were up at your place last night, so I heard.’

      ‘You heard right,’ Mae said.

      ‘Everything all right?’

      ‘Yep,’ Mae said. ‘Just a social visit. The lady copper is a cousin of Josh’s, just thought she’d stop by.’ Mae knew she’d failed miserably to keep sarcasm out of her voice. That was the trouble with small village living – people knew all your business within minutes of it happening, and sometimes even before it. ‘That was a lie, obviously, about the social visit. The WPC is Josh Maynard’s cousin. A couple of old people took advantage of being alone in our house while Mum was here buying bacon and eggs from you. Helped themselves to stuff and scarpered. That’s the official version, Mrs Smythson. Ignore anything anyone else tells you.’