Page 38 of Secret Paths

It is breakfast because he stayed too late. It is yoghurt and fruit and a stupid impression of Mrs Higgins.

That is all.

Peter seems to read something in my face because he puts his mug down and stands.

“I should get out of your way.”

“You probably should.”

He nods, neither hurt nor offended. “Good chat.”

He takes his bowl to the sink. I start to get up, but he waves me back.

“I can wash these.”

“You do not need to.”

“I am trying to redeem my kitchen credentials.”

“You made Mrs Higgins out of fruit.”

“And you laughed.”

“At you.”

“Result is the same.”

He rinses the bowls, puts them in the rack and reaches for his jacket from the back of the chair. I follow him to the door, coffee still warm in my hand.

Peter crouches to tie his boots.

The doorbell rings.

He looks up. “Are you expecting anyone?”

“No.”

I’m not sure why my voice is suddenly so high pitched.

I open the door.

Dan, the postman, stands on the step with a padded envelope in one hand. He smiles at me, then his eyes move past my shoulder and land on Peter, who is still bent over his laces.

“Morning, Mandy,” Dan says. “Parcel for you.”

“Thank you.”

I take it.

That should be it. A parcel. A polite goodbye. Peter leaves two minutes later, and Dan thinks nothing of it.

Instead, panic arrives so fast it makes my mouth move before my brain catches up.

“Peter is here about the mice.”

Dan pauses.

“The mice?”