His voice was coarse as the rocky cliff face, his bushy, graying eyebrows fanned out below the rim of his knitted hat, and his unkempt beard was matted like brushed felt. Annie got the sense he was hamming it up a bit for the sake of ambience. The children were caught somewhere between rapt and terrified, all except Esme, who sat on Gemma’s lap, facing into her chest, watching something intently on her mum’s mobile phone, with a set of headphones clamped over her ears.

Annie looked about the little café. She wouldn’t have imagined so many people would’ve been able to fit, let alone find places to lean. The room was warm with the heat and breath of so many bodies, and condensation poured down the windows. Outside, the wind began to howl and whistle through the old frames, lending the perfect percussion to Ely’s performance. Annie had that uncanny feeling again that this was where she was supposed to be; she couldn’t explain it, but there was a feeling of rightness inside her.

John was standing across the room with Paul, leaning back against the long bench. Paul whispered something to him, and John laughed quietly. He had his arms folded, one leg crossed casually over the other. John—having dispensed with his cloak and pointed teeth—wore dark blue jeans that seemed to make his legs look even longer than they were, with tan Chelsea boots and a knitted round-necked jumper over a shirt. He looked overly smart next to Paul, the aging hippie. John chose that moment to look up, and their eyes met. He smiled at her and her stomach somersaulted. She felt hot beneath his stare and broke away, smoothing her dress down and placing her hands in her lap.

“He’s brilliant, isn’t he?” Samantha whispered in her ear.

“John?” Annie whispered back absently.

“No, Ely!”

“Oh yes. Yes. Ely.”

There was an audible gasp from the children as his story came to an end and the adults clapped and cheered. Annie had goose bumps all over her skin, and the hairs on the back of her neck were standing to attention.

“He can really tell a story!” Annie shouted into Samantha’s ear over the din.

“I know! It never gets old; every year it gives me the tingles.”

Ely took a modest bow and swigged generously from the silver hip flask he pulled from his pocket. The crowd dispersed quickly; it would be way past most of the children’s bedtimes by the time they reached their homes. People called over their good-byes and shouted “Great job, Annie!” and “Just like the old days!” as they left.

“I’d stay to help you clear up,” said Gemma, struggling slightly under the weight of Esme, who was clinging on like a limpet. “But Maeve managed to park at the bottom of the hill and she’s offered us a lift home.”