She shook off the negative emotions and glanced at Chris, who was staring vacantly in the opposite direction. But as Hawkins moved the Giulietta forwards to keep up with the traffic, a lack of animation in Chris’s gaze revealed he wasn’t looking past the water droplets coating his window, but at them.

It occurred to her that her current performance as the kid’s supposed mentor was far from exemplary. That she should probably make amends. She cleared her throat.

Chris didn’t move.

She tried again.

This time he blinked, turned to face her.

Hawkins forced a smile. ‘Any revelations over there?’

Chris shook his head.

‘Oh.’ She paused. ‘You seemed … preoccupied.’

His eyes dropped, and he was silent for a few seconds before looking up. ‘I’ve been reading about Cold Christmas church. Lots of people have reported seeing apparitions in the grounds over the years, but there was one account that really struck me … a man who went back to photograph the ghost of a little boy he’d seen on a previous visit. He set up his camera and waited alone in the dark for hours without seeing a thing. In the end, he gave up and went home. But when he took off his coat, he found the hood was full of tiny stones from the graveyard.’ He turned to face her. ‘No one else had been with him. Who put the stones there?’

Hawkins thought for a moment; shrugged. ‘It’s just a story. Probably an old wives’ tale people tell to scare each other.’

‘No. It was from the guy’s blog. Only a couple of years ago.’

Hawkins frowned. ‘It’s hardly proof positive, though, is it?’

‘But I …’ Chris shifted uncomfortably. ‘I have personal experience.’

‘What?’

Chris sat back and rested his head against the seat, gaze returning to the street outside. ‘I was in a car accident when I was thirteen, just me and Mum in the car. No one was seriously hurt, but we ended up in a ditch. The doctor said I must have hit my head on the seat-belt mounting point, because I was unconscious for ten hours afterwards. I went home the next day with no lasting physical effects. Except …’ He paused, and Hawkins got the feeling this was the first time he’d talked about it.

Chris was speaking again. ‘Ever since the crash I dream nearly every night, never the same one twice, and always about … past lives. People I’ve never met.’ His expression gathered. ‘I don’t remember having many dreams before the accident, but now they’re so vivid, so real, and when I wake up, I recall every detail, even faces and names. One time I remembered a street sign, so I looked it up, and the road actually exists in Scotland. Everyone in the dream had Scottish accents.’ He turned back from the window. ‘I’ve never even been to Scotland.’