‘So five years ago, you and your husband were running the hotel?’ Ravi said.

The woman nodded and her eyes swayed over to him. ‘Very handsome,’ she said quietly, and then to Pip, ‘lucky girl.’

‘No, we’re not . . .’ Pip said, looking to Ravi. She wished she hadn’t. Out of the old lady’s wandering eyeline, he shimmied his shoulders excitedly and pointed to his face, mouthing ‘very handsome’ at Pip.

‘Would you like to sit down?’ the woman said, gesturing to a green-velvet sofa beneath a window. ‘I know I would.’ She shuffled over to a leather armchair facing the sofa.

Pip walked over, intentionally treading on Ravi’s foot as she passed. She sat down, knees pointed towards the woman, and Ravi slotted in beside her, still with that stupid grin on his face.

‘Where’s my . . .’ the woman said, patting her jumper and her trouser pockets, a blank look falling over her face.

‘Um, so,’ Pip said, drawing the woman’s attention back to her. ‘Do you keep records of people who have stayed here?’

‘It’s all done on the, err . . . that, um . . . the computer now, isn’t it?’ the woman said. ‘Sometimes by the telephone. David always sorted all the bookings; now Henry does it for me.’

‘So how did you keep track of the reservations you had?’ Pip said, guessing already that the answer would be lacking.

‘My David did it. Had a spreadsheet printed out for the week.’ The woman shrugged, staring out of the window.

‘Would you still have your reservation spreadsheets from five years ago?’ asked Ravi.

‘No, no. The whole place would be flooded in paper.’

‘But do you have the documents saved on a computer?’ Pip said.

‘Oh no. We threw David’s computer out after he passed. It was a very slow little thing, like me,’ she said. ‘My Henry does all the bookings for me now.’

‘Can I ask you something?’ Pip said, unzipping her rucksack and pulling out the folded bit of printer paper. She straightened out the page and handed it to the woman. ‘Do you recognize this girl? Has she ever stayed here?’

The woman stared down at the photo of Andie, the one that had been used in most newspaper reports. She lifted the paper right to her face, then held it at arm’s length, then brought it close again.

‘Yes,’ she nodded, looking from Pip to Ravi to Andie. ‘I know her. She’s been here.’

Pip’s skin prickled with nervous excitement.

‘You remember that girl stayed with you five years ago?’ she said. ‘Do you remember the man she was with? What he looked like?’

The woman’s face muddied and she stared at Pip, her eyes darting right and left, a blink marking each change in direction.

‘No,’ she said shakily. ‘No, it wasn’t five years ago. I saw this girl. She’s been here.’

‘In 2012?’ Pip said.

‘No, no.’ The woman’s eyes settled past Pip’s ear. ‘It was just a few weeks ago. She was here, I remember.’

Pip’s heart sank a few hundred feet, a drop tower back into her chest.

‘That’s not possible,’ she said. ‘That girl has been dead for five years.’

‘But, I –’ the woman shook her head, the wrinkled skin around her eyes folding together – ‘but I remember. She was here. She’s been here.’

‘Five years ago?’ Ravi prompted.

‘No,’ the woman said, anger creeping into her voice. ‘I remember, don’t I? I don’t –’

‘Grandma?’ A man’s voice called from upstairs.

A set of heavy boots thundered down the stairs and a fair-haired man came into view.

‘Hello?’ he said, looking at Pip and Ravi. He walked over and proffered his hand. ‘I’m Henry Hill,’ he said.

Ravi stood and shook his hand. ‘I’m Ravi, this is Pip.’

‘Can we help you with something?’ he asked, darting concerned looks over at his grandmother.

‘We were just asking your grandma a couple of questions about someone who stayed here five years ago,’ said Ravi.

Pip looked back to the old woman and noticed that she was crying. Tears snaking down her tissue-paper skin, dropping from her chin on to the printout of Andie.

The grandson must have noticed as well. He walked over and squeezed his grandma’s shoulder, taking the piece of paper out of her shaking grip.

‘Grandma,’ he said, ‘why don’t you pop the kettle on and make us a pot of tea? I’ll help out these people here, don’t worry.’

He helped her up off the chair and steered her towards a door to the left of the hall, handing the photo of Andie to Pip as they passed. Ravi and Pip looked at each other, questions in their eyes, until Henry returned a few seconds later, closing the kitchen door to muffle the sound of the boiling kettle.

‘Sorry,’ he said with a sad smile. ‘She gets upset when she gets confused. The Alzheimer’s . . . it’s starting to get quite bad. I’m actually just cleaning up to put the place on the market. She keeps forgetting that.’

‘I’m sorry,’ Pip said. ‘We should have realized. We didn’t mean to upset her.’