It pained him to recall how the girl had been treated, but there was nothing any of them could have done. Besides, there was no evidence. The girl simply seemed withdrawn and uneasy most of the time. She wore long garments and a scarf covering her hair, so no sign of abuse was ever discussed. Though they all suspected Kirk had taken the child as his own partner. It was the way she looked, the way she walked, and the way she flinched from touch.

Fred settled on a channel discussing deforestation and replanting in Cumbria. Jock looked at his friend and at Sandra.

‘Another cider, Jock?’

‘Aye.’ It was all they said.

After Jock had gone home, Fred couldn’t get the girl out of his mind. She’d been given the temporary name of Carla Rigg by hospital staff, but Fred knew her real name, or at least what Kirk Junker told them.

Her face burned inside his skull and a memory came searing into his mind. He sat back in his favourite chair and closed his eyes. He had no choice but to allow it, despite the pain it caused. He knew from his conscious memory of self that if he denied access to his spatial wanderings then they would only revisit stronger than the last time, until they haunted his every waking thought. He glanced across at Sandra, who was happy clicking her needles across one another. The noise soothed him and became the only thing he heard as his mind opened and he fell into the abyss.

Kirk Junker stood by a tree. He was an accomplished carpenter. It was what they’d found charming in the man: a trade of godliness. Any man who used his hands to create such beauty was a divinity in himself. Though Kirk looked defiant with a scowl and a jutting chin.

A carving on the tree caught Fred’s attention and he witnessed the engraving move. The figures depicted danced and cavorted inside the bark, making the tree move in grotesque ways. Fred kept still. The click-click of Sandra’s needles enchanted him.

Kirk touched the tree and Fred was impelled to go forwards towards the etchings. They still moved and now Fred looked at Kirk’s face, which was set in a lurid smirk. The images were of nymph-like creatures, svelte and feminine, gyrating in positions Fred had never seen before, but found it difficult to tear his eyes away from. He felt Kirk take his hand and force it towards the tree trunk. He felt the movement of the tiny beings and a throbbing radiating from the trunk. His heart beat faster and matched the pulsing of the life of the tree. It was an animal, alive and vital.