‘My mother studied flowers and herbs and she taught me,’ she said quietly. ‘I was never allowed near foxgloves – it’s dangerous to have them around children.’

‘Lucky I don’t have any children then, isn’t it,’ was Ruth’s response to that.

Children might stray into your garden, Mary wanted to say, but this wasn’t a strong argument. Ruth’s property was, after all, Ruth’s property.

‘We’ll go on, Ruth,’ Robbie said cheerfully, seemingly oblivious to her mood. ‘We should leave you to your gardening. And if you ever change your mind about those trees at the back, I’d be happy to contribute towards a tree surgeon.’ He paused. ‘Actually, if you’re free tonight, we’re having a little dinner party at ours? You’d be more than welcome?’

Ruth looked like she was about to say no, but then suddenly nodded yes, before turning back to her gardening.

Mary closed the oven door and turned the temperature down, her mind already on tonight’s dinner. Just a little dinner party. For Robbie, yes. But for her, cooking for six, getting it right, fitting in with the social rules of Rowanbrook – there was nothing little about it. Outside, Robbie and Lily were playing – Lily inside the paddling pool, Robbie on the lawn beside it. Golden sunlight sparkled on the water’s surface as Lily sat wriggling her toes, smiling at her dad. Mary watched, her mind shifting from tonight’s dinner to Ruth Cavanagh’s Bible quote to Gavin’s increasingly unsettling presence. She turned to take her recipe notebook from the windowsill. As she did, she stopped suddenly, her hand hovering halfway. The souvenir plate – the one with the illustration of Santa Cruz Wharf – was lying flat on the windowsill, instead of standing as it usually did. Her Alice in Wonderland figurine was in three pieces, sitting on the plate. And her Santa Cruz lighthouse wasn’t there at all. She stared at the discoloured patches where the souvenirs had sat. Then she picked up one piece of Alice. It looked eerie in her hand, this body-less ceramic head, smiling back at her. How did it break? Lily couldn’t reach this high, not even if she climbed on a chair. Mary put down the smiling Alice-head and picked up the body, turning it over in her hand. Maybe Fran had done it? She had seemed a little off when they came home last night, jittery almost, but Mary had put it down to the late hour. Perhaps Fran had somehow knocked the figurine off the sill and didn’t want to admit what she’d done. Or perhaps it was Zara; Zara whose breath whispered of whiskey once or twice, Zara who lapped attention from Robbie, Zara who thought Mary didn’t notice her face light up each time Robbie offered to walk her home.

She scooped the figurine into her hand and crossed the kitchen.

Pieces of Alice. Into the trash. Just like that.

Had the girls smashed the lighthouse too? Mary peered into the trash. Chocolate wrappers, empty potato chip packets, but no lighthouse. It didn’t matter, not really. It was just a cheap souvenir. But it reminded her of home. Gave her comfort. Why they threw it away and not the figurine, she wasn’t sure. Then again, she didn’t really understand these Irish girls with their clumpy shoes and awkward ways.