The farmhouse, their home for now, was situated on the edge of a small lake (they called them tarns in Cumbria) and it hadn’t changed for hundreds of years. It was where she’d gone after leaving the hospital. She hadn’t meant to cause trouble. She’d had an incident, a moment; a shadow had fallen across her mind and she’d forgotten where – and who – she was. It was becoming more frequent as her learning progressed, and her father had known it would be the way. He’d told her that he’d been waiting for it; watching out for it to occur, knowing that with a mind such as hers, it was bound to happen.

‘Am I your experiment, Daddy?’ She’d been six years old when she’d asked that question.

‘Not at all, my darling! I don’t need to conduct an investigation into you to discover how you behave: I already know. It’s only the weak who need to be constantly appraised in case they make a mistake and no one spots it. They have to continually analyse and judge test cases of people who they call criminals, simply because they’re scared of them, when in actual fact, violence, aggression, hate, revenge and rage are all quite natural. Take the lioness…’

This was his favourite story. The one where the lioness fought to the death to save her cubs from an aggressive male. All involved knew she stood no chance, and that all the cubs would die as challengers to his authority, but the lioness still defended them.

‘Why do you think she did that?’ Her father asked.

‘Because she loved them?’

‘No, my dear, because it’s her instinct. She has no power whatsoever over her behaviour because it is hardwired through her DNA. Humans are different. We know nothing when we’re born – it’s pathetic – we have to learn everything, and that’s where mothers and fathers come in.’

‘But you said that my instinct is strong.’

‘And I was right, Daphne. But you had to be shown where to find it.’

Her father had become an old man, and she missed his smile and his praise. They’d moved into the farmhouse when Mother was left it by an old relative of hers who passed away with no family. It was worth nothing. The farm had been run down years ago, leaving no livestock to manage and the money dried up, but the bricks and mortar stayed. Built of Lakeland slate, a metre thick, the structure was sound, if cold and bleak. The land was handsome and Father had plans to develop it. Before he and Mother grew sick.

They sowed seeds and planted potatoes.

And they took donations from visitors.