Shona heard a noise. She put down her mug of tea. ‘Pat, is that you?’ She’d spent the last half an hour going back and forth between the farmhouse and the Old Stables looking for him. She’d gone far out into the fields, calling out for him until she went hoarse. ‘Oh, thank goodness,’ she said, letting out the breath she seemed to have been holding forever, although she couldn’t understand why he would knock on his own door. She got up and went to answer it.

But when she opened the door, her heart sank. ‘Oh,’ she said, unable to hide her disappointment. She glanced beyond the strangely dressed woman standing in front of her, hoping to see her husband. Had this person found him and brought him home? When she couldn’t see Patrick anywhere, she looked the girl up and down. She was in a terrible state. Probably homeless or lost.

‘I’m not buying anything, sorry,’ Shona said. She was about to close the door when she spoke.

‘I want to come in.’ It was the hopelessness in her voice that prevented Shona going back inside. She squinted at her, her heart stumbling for a second.

‘I’m sorry, you can’t,’ she said, for some reason not truly meaning it. There was something about her.

‘Please,’ she said in a childlike voice. Her mouth was covered in sores and her clothes were filthy. She looked like a child, even though she wasn’t.

‘I…’ Shona faltered. Was it the pathetic ‘Please’ that the girl uttered from crusted, swollen lips?

‘I’m hungry,’ she said.

Shona looked her up and down again. Some of her teeth were missing and she was pitifully thin. Her clothes were pink and pale green – a T-shirt with a fairy printed on the front, while faded tracksuit bottoms, far too short, clung to bowed legs. Brittle is what she brought to mind, as if she might snap at any moment.

She couldn’t be cold-hearted. It wasn’t in her nature. But there was something more concerning about her than her dark-ringed eyes, that smell making her feel sick. It was more than just an unwashed odour. It was how Shona imagined death would smell. She glanced around the courtyard for Patrick again. There was no sign of him.

‘Where do you live?’

The girl waved her hand towards the fields. ‘Over there…’

Travellers, probably, Shona thought. ‘I’m so sorry, but you can’t stay here. It’s private property.’

‘Where’s Goose?’ the girl said, louder. Her screwed-up eyes popped open, making Shona recoil. ‘I want Goose!’ This time it was a scream. The girl’s voice broke and cracked and cut through the heat of the afternoon. She stamped her foot.

‘What did you say?’ It was Shona’s turn to whisper now. Beyond the door, the courtyard seemed to sparkle, as if particles of the past were catching on fire. ‘Tell me what you just said.’

‘I want Goose.’ Her words were automaton-like, dug up and spewed out as if she had malfunctioned. She jumped, slamming her feet onto the ground. Shona could almost hear her bones cracking as she did it over and over.

Goose?

The blood drained from Shona’s head. She felt faint. Her hand slipped off the door handle, dangling by her side. ‘Goose died a long time ago.’

They stared at each other, a connection in their eyes, something bubbling and simmering.

‘Come in,’ Shona whispered, opening the door wide. This couldn’t possibly be real. Could it?

Very slowly, very tentatively, as if she was coaxing and taming a feral animal, the girl took a step forward. She wore too-big brown leather T-bar shoes like a child would wear to school. They flopped off her bony and bent feet as she took several more steps.

‘That’s right,’ she said. ‘Don’t be afraid. I won’t hurt you.’

Doleful eyes latched on to Shona’s as she stepped inside the farmhouse. Her pungent smell grew stronger, but Shona didn’t care. There was something about her, something that set her pulse skittering. For the moment, she couldn’t think about anything else – not Patrick and where he was, or Jason’s new babies or Rain’s ordeal or Callum… nothing. She was simply transfixed, entranced, by the stranger in her house.

She hardly dared breathe. She’d been waiting for this moment for over two decades. If it wasn’t real, it would kill her.

Shona closed the back door and led her into the kitchen. ‘Shall I call a doctor?’

‘Doctor…’ the girl repeated, as her gaze flickered about. She backed away, her fists cracking into tight balls.

There, Shona thought. That look again, as if her eyes were fossilised with secrets. And the way her lips curled, slightly lopsided to the left, and the tinge of red in her tatty, unwashed hair set Shona’s heart alight. She focused, forcing herself to stay calm. How many times had she seen what she’d wanted to believe?

‘I’ll call the doctor. I think you need help,’ she said, reaching for the phone, her heart racing as she explained to the receptionist that a sick girl had turned up at her door. She promised to pass the message on. Erica had been the family’s doctor for eons and would check her over. ‘Would you like to sit down?’ Shona asked, not knowing what else to say.

The girl didn’t speak but slowly pulled out a chair from under the old pine table. She perched on the edge of the red spotty cushion. A hand went to the table’s pitted surface and she ran her dirty fingers over the dents and stains that had accumulated from thousands of family meals.

Shona sat down opposite, watching her. ‘Would you like something to eat?’

The girl didn’t reply.

Shona knew what she had to do, but what if she was wrong? What if her mind was playing tricks, just like Patrick’s did to him every single day? Malicious phone calls were one thing, but if she was mistaken about this, it would finish her off.

The girl’s eyes rolled back in their sockets and pinpricks of sweat burst from her skin as if she had a fever. Her breathing was laboured and raspy while her collar bones jutted from beneath her T-shirt.

Shona went around to the other side of the table and tentatively brought a hand towards her. ‘Do you mind?’ There was no reply, so she placed her palm flat on her forehead. She felt the heat emanating from her. Then, without asking, Shona peeled back the thin layer of hair behind her left ear, leaning down to take a closer look. If it was there, she thought, it would be easy to find. Her fingers trembled as she parted the knotted strands. She held her breath and her heart thumped.

And there it was. About two inches long, the scar zigzagged away from the dirty creases behind the girl’s ear down towards her equally grimy neck. It was much paler now and somehow seemed smaller than she remembered.

The clifftop walk, the windy day, then the fall down onto the rocks followed by the guilt at having to confess to the emergency doctor that they’d taken their eye off their daughter. Lenni had been pretending to be a bird but was more upset at not being able to fly than she was about the blood pouring from her head or the stitches she needed. Shona had felt like the worst mother in the world.

‘Eleanor,’ she whispered, crouching down beside the girl. She wanted to pull her into her arms but was worried she might crush her. Instead, her eyes blurred with tears. She had no idea if she was dreaming or had simply lost her mind. Nothing seemed real.

Silence for a few moments – no words, no joy or confusion, no breath or movement – just the beating of two hearts as they synchronised and fell into an old, familiar rhythm.

The girl tilted her head towards Shona as if it weighed a ton. Her eyes were washed out, vacant and staring, while her brain wrestled with the decision.

Yes or no? Am I Eleanor or not?

‘Are you cross?’ she whispered.