Free Shadows in the Cotswolds by Rebecca Tope

things you remember,’ she concluded, with a little sigh.
    This appeared to refer to an earlier conversation, to judge from the little laugh that Fraser gave. ‘Don’t fret about it,’ he urged. ‘Nobody can remember everything.’
    ‘But it seems so
mysterious
. None of the theories fit. I mean, with other things – like these porches, for instance – it just needs a small trigger for everything to come flooding back. I can clearly see that rose, and a swallow’s nest right over the front door, and my father’s old walking boots full of cobwebs, tucked under a rickety bench. I find it rather frightening,’ she added diffidently. ‘As if the only explanation is that parts of my brain have died.’
    ‘Familiarity,’ said Fraser with confidence. ‘You saw that porch every day for years. Whereas we … well, it was all very brief.’ He glanced shyly at Thea. ‘Brief but intense, at least from my point of view.’ 
    The potential for embarrassment was prodigious. ‘You must remember
something
,’ Thea said to her mother.
    ‘I told you,’ came the curt reply. ‘I do, of course. It’s just … I thought it would come back in more detail, and it hasn’t.’
    They decided they were still rather early for lunch, so turned left into what Thea gathered was Gloucester Street for a short way before transforming into Cheltenham Road, for no discernible reason other than a fair balance in acknowledging both the two large towns to the south.
    Her mother seemed to give herself a silent talking to, before determinedly staring about her at the houses on either side. ‘Heavens, Thea – have you had a chance to really look at these?’ she breathed. ‘They’re amazing.’
    ‘I had a good walk yesterday,’ said Thea, distractedly. ‘I saw the church and its gargoyles.’
    ‘But the
houses
,’ insisted Maureen. ‘And the roofs.’
    ‘Yes.’ It seemed wrong to be admiring their surroundings, when a murder had just taken place, virtually under Thea’s nose. ‘I know.’
    ‘Fraser,’ Maureen appealed to her friend. ‘Aren’t they wonderful?’
    Fraser in turn appeared to make an effort to concentrate. He looked obediently at the row of mismatched houses. ‘No two the same,’ he observed. ‘Must be very unusual.’
    ‘I
did
notice them,’ Thea insisted, childishly. ‘They’re all different sizes.’
    But she had not fully appreciated exactly how varied they were. Some had three gables, some two and some none at all. The heights were uneven, and the widths of dramatically different proportions. Some had a door and a window on the ground floor, others a door between two windows. Chimneys were of crazily differing heights and there was not a satellite dish to be seen. Nor a solar panel, she realised. Most were faced with render, concealing the stone beneath. They were of many assorted colours, from white to blue, with creams and browns between. ‘It’s not so Cotswoldy, is it?’ she concluded.
    ‘It is, though,’ Maureen argued. ‘Just below the surface, there’s all that same stonework.’
    ‘Not to mention the antique shops,’ said Fraser, with a laugh. ‘Oliver thinks they must be a front for other things. He can’t imagine how they survive otherwise.’
    ‘We’d better turn back,’ said Thea, realising they’d walked almost the length of the town. ‘I’m getting hungry.’
    The return walk gave them a different vista, with the long wall concealing the grounds of the erstwhile abbey gaining in prominence. ‘Goodness, look at these!’ cried Maureen, pointing to a row of almshouses, standing at right angles to the main street. ‘What have they done to them?’
    ‘Sold them for millions, if you ask me,’ said Fraser.‘Turned them into a gated community.’ He put his face to the firmly closed gate of Dents Terrace, like a little boy.
    Thea followed his gaze, realising she had not registered the houses previously. ‘They can’t be very big inside,’ she remarked.
    ‘Bijou,’ said