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She pointed an accusing finger towards the cabinet. ‘Put a decent measure in it, why don’t you?’

After topping up the drinks and handing Glynnis her sherry, Kelly watched as the old woman took a rather generous swig before immediately requesting a further top-up.

‘Bit stingy, dear,’ she said, holding out her glass. ‘I asked for sherry, not a homeopathic remedy.’

Kelly obliged before asking whether she could help with the cooking.

‘Oh, nonsense,’ Glynnis said, her hands—now adorned with a multitude of elaborate signet rings—flapping dismissively in Kelly’s direction. ‘You sit yourself down.’

She returned to stirring the enormous pot on the stove, gripping a large wooden spoon with both hands.

‘It smells lovely,’ Kelly said. ‘What is it?’

Glynnis let out a witchy cackle.

‘The usual,’ she replied. ‘Marinated frog’s legs in a lizard broth stew, infused with dried bat wings for a little extra flavour.’

Kelly’s horrified expression only made Glynnis laugh harder.

‘I’m only teasing, dear,’ she said. ‘It’s vegetable stew. Parsnips, pumpkin, potatoes. Triple P, for goodness’ sake. I’m a vegetarian, don’t you know? Too many unpleasant connotations towards eating parts of animals, especially when you’re in my line of work.’

Before Kelly could ask what exactly that line of work might be, Glynnis continued.

‘Mind you, I’m partial to a good slice of cheese, and I couldn’t live without whole milk on my cornflakes. Tried that soy stuff once. Far too much bean for my liking. I had so much gas I was worried the museum might take off.’

Kelly smiled as Glynnis chuckled to herself and returned her attention to the stew.

Taking a moment to look around, Kelly examined the photographs and ornaments arranged across the mantelpiece. There were several miniature landmarks: a ceramic Eiffel Tower, a tiny Taj Mahal, and a small metal Golden Gate Bridge.

Nestled amongst them were family photographs.

One showed Glynnis, much younger and with jet-black frizzy hair, cradling a baby while a young couple stood proudly beside her.

In another, she stood next to a woman Kelly recognised.

‘Isn’t that Regina Clover?’ Kelly asked, pointing at the photograph.

‘Oh dear,’ Glynnis said. ‘You know her, do you?’

‘She works for the council,’ Kelly replied. ‘We’ve run quite a few articles about her. Mostly concerning public works projects nobody wants that she keeps trying to shoehorn into areas of outstanding natural beauty.’

Glynnis cackled.

‘That’s my Regina,’ she said proudly. ‘Always had a talent for upsetting the status quo.’

‘She’s a relative of yours?’

‘My niece. My brother’s daughter.’

Glynnis pointed to the photograph with the baby.

‘That’s my nephew Stephen and his wife, Annette. The little baby’s Brian. Twenty-four now. Travelling the world.’

She gestured towards the souvenirs.

‘He’s the one who sends me all these trinkets. I don’t know what he actually does for a living. Something to do with a computer thing called YouTube.’

‘I’ve heard of it,’ Kelly said with a smile. ‘It’s fairly popular.’