Leah inhaled a steadying breath. ‘The ones Ben… Mr Hailey… took of you.’

She was biting back fresh tears, pushing down a feeling too awful to expose – but she had exposed herself. Viola could see it then, piercingly obvious – the real reason Leah Cedars had come to the stones that night. She had expected that horned god to be Benjamin Hailey. That was why her temper had run to fire one minute, then was immediately doused. She wasn’t here out of any love for the girls, she was here for herself, for Mr Hailey.

Viola grinned.

This was where her Eldest Girls would step in. They liked the new teacher from the mainland; they adored him. He had made their time at school so much more interesting, more tolerable, they said. He was funny, he was cool, but most importantly, he was theirs. They would not stand for Leah Cedars accusing him of something so terrible as taking naked photographs of them. Viola waited for them to put Leah straight, to defend their dearest teacher. Oh, no, not Mr Hailey! How could you believe for a moment it had been him!

But they didn’t say that.

Jade-Marie spoke falteringly. ‘Oh, he took those photos for a… a… a project we’re doing together.’

There was quiet. A tealight puttered out, casting its spiral of smoke into the cold air. Jade-Marie cringed almost imperceptibly, but Viola caught it; she had spoken out of turn. A look passed between the girls. There was a secret here, one that Viola was not party to. The idea that they would hold something back from her, something this huge, struck Viola like a punch.

‘No!’ said Leah forcefully. ‘That just isn’t right.’

On this, at least, were Viola and Leah in agreement?

‘You have to speak out about Ben,’ Leah went on. ‘This is our way to open it all up. The island will believe you if you accuse him, because that man is an outsider.’

The Book of Leah

THE BOOK OF LEAH

We lived amongst our boxes, our dread growing larger, becoming an extra brooding tenant in that lodge.

‘Why don’t we just go?’ said my mother, one afternoon, as she searched for something long ago packed and now needed. ‘I can’t stand this any more.’

‘Or we could move Mary Ahearn in?’ was my reply. ‘Appoint her ourselves.’

The idea felt delicious; the notion that we would actually do it buoyed us for days.

We invited Mary to the house to share our plan, opening one of the bottles of wine we hadn’t felt like drinking at Christmas. Mary looked immediately out of place – a muscular, green boulder perched on a tall stool at the island of my mother’s shiny, white kitchen. This sight alone made our suggestion seem ridiculous.