I’m sorry I’m not brave enough to come to get you, Mum.

When I’m empty of tears, I notice small, faint rustlings. I look up and spot the furry silhouettes of two possums on a tree branch. A big one and a little one. They are not afraid of the dark.

A cheerful chirruping bubbles up from my left, and from above comes a grumbling and muttering. A hungry possum, perhaps. Then beneath me, I hear a quiet, Happy, happy, happy. ‘Hello worms,’ I say.

I stand up and square my shoulders. I can still pass this test. ‘Swyn. Rho ddewrder i mi.’ This is the spell I should have said earlier. Give me courage. These words carry the courage of all magicians, stretching back to the earliest days of magic. They carry the weight of Eunice’s courage, to get on a ship at nineteen and sail to the other side of the world. They carry Mum’s courage to send away her own mother.

A swishing sound envelops me. It’s the trees, encouraging me. ‘Go on, then,’ they seem to be saying.

‘Swyn. Rho ddewrder i mi.’ I lay a hand on the tree beside me and let its energy fill me.

I follow the creek downstream. It must flow to the river, so I will simply follow it. Fear still flutters in my stomach, but the warm, steady flame of courage is stronger, and pushes me on. Maybe you can be both fearful and courageous. Actually, maybe it’s not possible to be courageous unless you are afraid.

There’s the rustle of wings overhead and something soft brushes my cheek. I grab at it. It’s a feather and I know, without doubt, that it’s my talisman. I am a proper magician now.

I continue along the creek, the talisman pulsing in my hand, smiling to myself in the dark.

Sylvie’s sitting on a rock beside the road. ‘Hello there,’ she says, as if I’ve just been out for an evening stroll.

‘I have my talisman,’ I say as we walk towards town, my sodden shoes squelching.

‘I know,’ she says. ‘Keep it safe.’

‘I’ve passed all the tests now. So I’ll go and get Mum, right?’

‘Yes,’ she says. But there’s something not right about her voice, and my fingers give a sharp sizzle.

We reach the empty town centre and pass a woman sitting on a bench, strumming a sad song on a guitar.

‘Of course, it’s much easier if the person in the parallel universe knows you are coming,’ says Sylvie. ‘Sometime, you could come and get me from another universe, if you like.’

‘Like Mum did?’

‘That’s right. I’d be there waiting for you.’

‘And why would you be going to a parallel universe?’ I demand. ‘To make money?’

She makes a yes kind of sound but doesn’t actually say the word.