He stood up and moved away from the skull, wiping his hands on his trousers. It was a warm day, and the mozzies were thick in the air. The closer he got to the sound of the baby, the more he picked up other, more reassuring noises: there was Colleen, her voice pitched higher than usual as she tried to settle the child, and there was the voice of someone else, talking to her. A moment after he recognized her voice he saw her, walking an old woodland path with one of the Bickerstaff sisters. She was wearing a short-sleeved shirt with tiny purple roses on it, and the baby was wrapped in a yellow blanket. Every now and then she rocked it in her arms, trying to get it to quieten down, but the whinging was edging close to crying now.

‘Babysitting, are we?’

Both women looked up at the sound of his voice. Neither of them had heard him coming.

‘Oh, Mike.’ Colleen smiled. Strands of her blonde hair were plastered with sweat to her high forehead. ‘Just giving Eileen a break. This little one,’ she pressed one hand briefly to the baby’s cheek, ‘is teething, we think. Walking them about sometimes calms them down.’

‘Bit of brandy in the milk works too,’ said the Bickerstaff woman. ‘That’s what our mother used to do.’

Colleen looked faintly scandalized. ‘Everyone’s a bit frazzled at the commune, so I thought we’d best take our walk where it’s quiet.’ She grinned suddenly. ‘This is the second spring baby!’

Now that he was next to them, Michael peered down at the baby’s face; Colleen, pleased that he was taking an interest, pulled the blanket back a little so he could see better. The small face was mottled and pink, and he could see a few curls of carroty hair sprouting from a downy scalp.

‘Two babies, and another on the way.’ He looked up at the Bickerstaff woman. It was Lizbet. ‘Are you sure those contraceptive pills aren’t duds, lass?’

Lizbet scowled at him openly. ‘It’s not our fault that girls are forgetting to take them, is it? You should be grateful you don’t have to think about it, Michael. God knows where we would be if men had to take some responsibility for what they keep in their trousers, filthy beasts.’

Filthy. Beast.

Michael swallowed hard. Something about his demeanour must have changed, because he saw a look of pure alarm pass over Colleen’s face.

‘She’s just joking, Mike, that’s all.’