Stan Frost glanced at the clock above the doorway. It was almost time to put his dinner on; he made a mental note then looked over at the table.

‘You still haven’t told me where you’ve been,’ he said.

‘Home, of course,’ replied the other man, who was sitting at the table. He swivelled around and patted his knee. Maudie was the first to jump out of her bed near the back door and onto his lap. ‘Sorry Itch, you miss out this time.’ The little tan cocker spaniel lapped up the man’s attention. Itch opened one eye and closed it again.

‘But that doesn’t explain anything,’ Stan insisted. At that moment, he wished he’d remembered to pay that last phone bill. The lack of a working telephone hadn’t worried him until now.

He placed two cups of tea on the pine table.

‘Have you got anything to eat?’ the fellow asked.

Stan opened the biscuit tin. It was full of choc­olate digestives. They were one of the few items Stan ordered in these days. He’d just leave a note and the money in the letterbox for the postman, and whatever he needed would appear a couple of days later. It wasn’t that Stan didn’t like having guests; he simply didn’t encourage them, and since Beryl had gone, it was easier to keep to himself.

‘I dreamt about it last night. I know where it is.’ The man sipped his tea and took a bite out of the biscuit.

‘About what? No, never mind. What I really want to know, Reg, is where have you been? And what about Myrtle?’

The man frowned. ‘Myrtle?’ He looked confused for a moment, as if teetering on the edge of a memory. ‘Oh, she’s gone.’

‘I’m very sorry to hear it,’ Stan replied.

Reg looked up. ‘Where’s Beryl, then?’ It was as if talk of Myrtle had suddenly brought something back to him.

Stan cast his eyes downward. ‘She’s gone too,’ he replied.

‘Probably gone together,’ Reg smiled absently.

Stan’s stomach lurched. He hadn’t seen Reginald Parker for three years and now he turned up as if he’d been here just yesterday. Stan wondered if living with Myrtle all those years had knocked the sensitivity right out of the silly old fool. Surely he’d heard that Beryl had died. The funeral had been a private affair: just the priest, Maudie, Itch and Stan, exactly as Beryl had requested. No family, no added complications. Even so, word got around the village and Stan had been surprised to find several casseroles and cakes left on the doorstop at the house. Reg must have known.

Stan spoke again. ‘What did you do to your arm?’ He pointed at the sticking plaster covering Reg’s wrist.

He looked at it and shrugged. ‘I don’t know.’ Reg drank his tea, savouring every last drop. ‘Geez, these biscuits are delicious,’ he enthused, reaching out to take another.

‘You never liked them much before.’ Stan watched as Reg devoured at least six of them. ‘Haven’t you eaten today?’

Little did Stan know that Reginald Parker hadn’t eaten a piece of solid food in years.

Reginald gave Maudie a gentle prod and she leapt down from his lap. He walked to the sink, rinsed out his teacup, and looked expectantly at Stan. ‘Well, come on then, we should get out there.’

‘Out where?’ said Stan.

‘What’s wrong with you, Stanley Frost? Have you forgotten that we’re on the verge of making a huge discovery? We’ll be famous the length and breadth of the county. If we tell anyone, that is. I’d rather we kept it to ourselves for now. Anyway, I dreamt where we’ll find it.’

The penny suddenly dropped. ‘I haven’t been up there in years,’ Stan whispered.

‘What do you mean, Stan? We were there yesterday and the day before that and the day before that.’

Stan Frost shook his head. Something had happened to his friend. Something terrible. He needed to get to the village and let someone know. Reginald Parker had gone mad. Or Myrtle had driven him to it. The last time he’d seen Reg, he said that he had to get home and clean out the gutters because Myrtle would be back soon and she’d have his guts for garters if it wasn’t done. Stan hadn’t seen the old girl in years but he’d suffered often enough at her hands to know that Reg probably wasn’t kidding. He waited the next day for him to reappear. And the day after that. He’d telephoned the house several times but there was no answer. And then a week passed and a month. He’d wanted to go into the village to look for him but Beryl was insistent. There was never any good to come out of his friendship with Reg Parker, she said. Just leave things alone.

And so he had, until he made one last call just before Beryl got sick. Myrtle had answered and when Stan asked to speak to Reg, she replied tartly that Mr Parker wasn’t in the business of speaking with anyone these days and promptly hung up the phone. She hadn’t asked who it was and Stan didn’t say. So that was that. Beryl’s illness and sudden death had knocked Stan sideways. Afterwards, he just puddled along on his own with the animals and his memories to keep him company. But why had Reg come back after all this time, and why did he think he’d been there the day before?

‘We need to go to the village,’ Stan said, wishing he’d kept up a bit more maintenance on the old Cortina in the shed and the bridge over the stream. He hadn’t turned the engine over in more than a year. If they were to go anywhere it would be on foot.

‘Bah, I’m not going to the village. Come on, Stan. We’ve got work to do. Let’s get outside and have a look. You won’t be sorry.’

But Stan found that hard to believe. Reg walked over to the back door and grabbed the large torch that hung by a strap from the old hat stand. ‘What are you waiting for? An invitation?’

Stan walked over to join him.

‘That’s the spirit. You wait, Stan. This is it. The big one. I can feel it in my bones.’ Reg Parker walked out the door and into the back garden. He turned to look at his friend. ‘And Stan, I think I might stay here tonight, if that’s all right with you.’

Stan shrugged. He wondered how many more surprises there could possibly be before nightfall.