Her words make Viola think of the ancient stones, that cryptic message left as an arrangement of rocks, and she sees the old woman and herself as some kind of continuation of that, a chain of events.

‘I have to go,’ says Viola, and from behind them, as if cued, comes the sound of the yard gate being opened.

Saul Cooper’s voice calls: ‘Margaritte! Margaritte! You in?’

‘You need to leave this way!’ The woman steers Viola back through the front room towards the door facing the harbour.

‘But what about Dot?’

‘I promise to look after her,’ she says, ‘you have to trust me.’

Viola nods, there is no choice, but also she thinks she can – trust.

She wrenches open the door and bursts free, hearing Saul Cooper arrive with his demands, ‘Where is she? What’s going on?’

The old woman’s reply is swift and high. She plays a version of herself that others have come to expect.

‘I turned the Eldest Girls into cats, Saul, that’s what’s going on. See, there they are, on the sofa.’

Viola makes faster progress without Dot tugging in her wake, but she knows the journey will be harder from here, now that she is alone. If only she can keep hold of that feeling she had with the woman’s hand on her shoulder, the ground solid beneath her feet. Viola must remember that she is all of those who have come before her and all of those who will follow. A wave is building. She and the girls need only ride it.

Viola heads down the narrow passage behind the smokehouse where the gutters hold onto their odious puddles, before making northwards, along the fencing of the harbour loading bay, sprinting into the tarmacked yard, almost colliding with Abe Powell as he fills a wheelbarrow with logs. He stands, unfeasibly tall, his jumper loose on his bones, and he watches her as she hops backwards, then swerves around him. He wears the same dead stare as he did at the Council meeting, and she expects a challenge. He will ask her what she’s doing there, what she’s running from – something. But he doesn’t. He lets her go without a word. She climbs the fence and spills onto the green estate land, sending a gathering of scavenging ravens cawing for the sky.

Ahead of her is a thicket of sycamore, hazel and pine, and Viola runs towards it, through it, knees high, to avoid the tangle of bramble and nettle. The copse gives way to a brick path, trees branching over on both sides, creating a tunnel of radiant green.