"Eleanor Rigby? Is this some sort of joke?"

Why on earth had a stranger showed up on my doorstep asking if I knew an old Beatles song?

The man gave a little cough. "No, I'm not joking, I assure you. Do you know her?"

"What do you mean, her?"

"Eleanor Rigby."

"The song?"

"No, the person."

"I'm ever so sorry, but I have no idea what you're talking about."

Why me? Was this karma's idea of a joke? I'd left a few little gifts for Edward in his house, and in return, I was destined to meet every weirdo in East London?

"You're not the daughter of Frank and Victoria Porter, then?"

My eyes widened. How did he know that? Okay, this was getting a little creepy. Not quite as creepy as Margot, the tarantula, but close.

"Yes, I am, but who are you?"

"Mickey Scudamore." He held out a hand, and I shook it out of habit. "I work for a company called Heir Today, Gone Tomorrow."

"What's that got to do with me? Or my parents?"

"My research suggested you might have an aunt called Eleanor Rigby."

Eleanor Rigby... Eleanor... Ellie... Aunt Ellie? Dim memories of a childhood birthday party surfaced. A plump lady handing me a bowl of jelly and ice cream before she sat back down next to my mother. I'd seen her a handful of times before that day, and every time she visited, Mother had worn a scowl.

"I do have an Aunt Ellie, but I never knew her surname."

"Do you know where she is?"

"I haven't seen her since I was seven years old. Maybe eight. Look, what's this all about? I'm busy with work."

Well, busyish. Choosing the perfect shade of pink for Longacres' homepage background was a very important job.

"My company looks for unclaimed estates and tries to reunite them with their rightful beneficiaries. I'm sorry to tell you this, but I think your aunt died a couple of months ago."

But he didn't seem particularly sorry. More...hopeful.

His words slowly sank in. Aunt Ellie was dead? By rights, I should have felt sad at the news, but I'd barely known her.

And when I scratched around in the recesses of my mind, I vaguely remembered shouting. A row. Mother rarely shouted, but that day, she'd yelled long and loud at Aunt Ellie while I hid in my bedroom with my father.

"Why's Mum cross with Aunt Ellie?" I'd asked him.

He'd shrugged. "Those two have never got on. Like chalk and cheese."

"What do you mean, chalk and cheese?"

"Never mind, Livvie. Why don't we read a story?"

At that age, I had more important things to worry about than Aunt Ellie and her absence. Ballet lessons and frilly dresses, if I recalled correctly. Mother had begun teaching me to act like a lady as soon as I learned to walk.

Indeed, I'd barely thought about Ellie at all until Mickey turned up at my door. And now she was dead?

"I'm sorry to hear about her passing," was the best I could come up with. "Should I send flowers?"

"The funeral's already happened. I spoke to the priest, Father McKenzie, and he said nobody came."

Now, that made me sad. Imagine going through your whole life and meaning so little to anybody that all you were worth was an empty church and a sermon nobody heard.

Mind you, who would come to my funeral? Probably only Maddie and Dave.

"I'd have gone if I'd known."

She'd been family, after all.

"I understand she was a bit of a loner."

That left one big question. Well, two. "So, how did you know Aunt Ellie? And why are you here?"

"Each day, my company reviews the Bona Vacantia list, and—"

"Wait a second. What's the Bona Vacantia list?"

"It's a list of unclaimed estates published by the government."

"Like when people die without a will?"

"Exactly that. Anyway, we review it and try to track down the deceased's missing relatives to inherit what's left."

I narrowed my eyes at him. "And what do you get out of that?"

The whole arrangement sounded suspiciously like a scam to me. I may have been poor, but I wanted to believe I wasn't entirely dumb.

"We help potential heirs with the paperwork in exchange for a small fee." He gave me a sheepish smile. "But between you and me, I just love the research. Genealogy's always fascinated me, and being able to make a living from studying it is a dream come true."

"So you think, what? That I may somehow be Aunt Ellie's heir?"

"I can't find that she has any other family left."

I opened the door wider, hoping that he wasn't a serial killer. He stood an inch shorter than me, so kind of small for a man, and a year older at a guess. I didn't feel any threatening vibes. But then again, my character judgement had been a little off lately, hadn't it? While he stepped over the threshold and looked around, I inched closer to the ugly lamp sitting on the floor in the lounge. A gift from Edward's aunt last Christmas, nobody wanted it, not even the good folks who shopped on eBay.

"Where's all your furniture? Have you just moved in?" Mickey asked.

"No, I'm in the process of moving out."

"Good thing I caught you, then. It could have taken me months to track you down at your new place. Are you going far?"

We'd made it to the kitchen by then, and I leaned against the counter and sighed. "I don't know yet. I haven't been able to find anywhere suitable nearby. Every place I've looked at has been awful in one way or another."

Mickey bobbed his head. "That happened to me too. It took weeks to find my current flat, and even then, I ended up with a bedroom the size of a matchbox."

Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes, and I gave an involuntary sniff. My search was hopeless, wasn't it?

"Uh, don't cry." Mickey glanced towards the door as if he wanted to run out of it. "What about Eleanor's house? If we get the paperwork done quickly, you could live there until you find somewhere better."

I gripped the edge of the counter as my knees threatened to give way. "Did you just say 'house'?"

"Well, it's more of a cottage from what I understand."

When he referred to Eleanor's estate, I'd imagined some rickety furniture and a few china ornaments sitting in a storage unit somewhere. A house? I gave up trying to stay upright and slid down the kitchen unit until my bottom hit the floor. "But a whole building?"

"Are you all right?" Mickey asked. "Shall I make a cup of tea?"

I nodded.

"Which is that? Yes, you're all right, or yes, you want tea?"

"Both, I think. I can't quite believe this."

He chuckled. "It's not the first time I've seen that reaction. I'll put the kettle on."

Mickey bustled around while I stared at a smudge of dirt on the wall opposite, numb, half expecting a camera crew to pop out of thin air and announce this was all a joke. Try as I might, I couldn't remember much about Aunt Ellie. She'd never paid me much attention. Apart from my birthday party and the argument, the only solid recollection I had was a visit to the Natural History Museum one rainy Saturday, when she'd tagged along with Mother and me and spent most of the time yawning.

"Where's the milk?" Mickey asked.

"Sorry, there isn't any. Cutbacks."

"Black it is, then."

He sat opposite me, cross-legged, and I took a sip from the mug he handed over. He may not have put any milk in, but he'd certainly found the sugar.

"So, what now? You mentioned a fee, but I don't have any money. The website design business hasn't been too lucrative lately."

"You're a web designer?" He scratched his chin, looking thoughtful. "Maybe we could come to an agreement?"

Two hours later, we'd got through several gallons of tea and a packet of chocolate digestives Mickey found hidden behind the baked beans—slightly elderly but still edible—and he'd become my second-best friend.

Not only was Mickey a researcher extraordinaire, he part-owned Heir Today, Gone Tomorrow with a friend he'd met at university. While they shared a love of history and family trees, neither was particularly proficient with computers. The company had only been going for a few weeks and was in dire need of a decent website.

"I'm not so great at the business side of things," Mickey confessed. "My partner was doing that part, but his wife's just had a baby and the lack of sleep's getting to him."

"Well, I can build you a website, design you a logo, organise flyers—anything you like—if you'll help me with my forms."

"Deal."

A handshake sealed the arrangement, and that was how, two weeks later on the thirty-first of December, Maddie, Mickey, and I found ourselves standing outside a rather shabby-looking cottage in the quaint little village of Upper Foxford.