Meg nods but carries on looking at me intently. ‘Maybe not, but could you just drop by, perhaps?’

She looks so hopeful that I find myself agreeing. Besides, I figure, it can’t do any harm.

A straight path, wider than any other on the island, backs on to the village, lined with small terraces on either side. There are sixteen in total, eight on each side in perfect symmetry, and they all look exactly the same. It is the only part of Evergreen that looks man-made.

As I knock on the door of number 2, it’s starkly obvious how close Emma still lives to where she grew up, and I try to imagine what kind of life she’s had.

A shadow flickers on the other side of the door and I step back in anticipation, but no one answers. I’m about to knock again when the curtains to my left twitch and a woman’s face appears.

I hold up my hand in a semi-wave. Emma’s face is instantly recognisable, pale and framed with a light blonde bob and a sweeping fringe that hangs slightly too low, covering her left eye. She looks thinner than I remember. Emma doesn’t wave back but eventually drops the curtain and opens the door, looking at me quizzically, her eyes flicking over my face.

‘Emma?’ I ask and hold out my hand. ‘You may not remember me. I lived here a long time ago. I’m Stella Harvey.’

Emma continues to study me then hangs her head ever so slightly to one side. ‘Stella Harvey,’ she repeats quietly. ‘You left when we were kids.’

I nod and look over her shoulder, wondering if she’s going to invite me in. ‘I just met your daughter, Meg, in the café and she suggested I visit you. I know this is a surprise but I promised her I would. Though maybe it isn’t a good time?’

Emma cautiously steps to one side. ‘I was just waiting for someone, but you can come in.’

I step in but already wish I’d said I wouldn’t bother her. It’s clear she isn’t comfortable with my turning up on her doorstep, and neither am I. Yet I follow her through to the living room where she ushers me into an armchair in the window as she perches on the sofa opposite, her fingers curling around each other in her lap. Every so often her eyes drift to the window behind me. She doesn’t ask what I’m doing here.

‘Meg’s a lovely girl.’ I search for safe ground.

‘She is.’ Emma relaxes into the sofa. ‘She’s only just sixteen but she’s got a good head on her.’

‘It’s wonderful that you’ve stayed here all these years,’ I say.

‘Is it?’ She looks at me under her long eyelashes.

‘It’s what I always hoped I’d do.’