They reach a fence dividing the allotments from the sloping land of the estate and Viola throws Dot over, then climbs the wooden rails herself, landing with a thump on the other side. They sprint across open ground, making for a stripe of trees. Once concealed by hawthorn and hornbeam, they turn nonsensically downhill, back in the direction of the east coast and the harbour, almost towards where they started. This convoluted route will take them away from the usual paths, the ones the rest of the island use to deliver children to school and themselves to work.

It means she will not bump into Michael, but she doesn’t need him now. She has a plan of her own – one of distraction, of delay. Her only regret is that she won’t catch sight of the Eldest Girls heading up the hill to St Rita’s as she instructed, acting as if this is just another day.

Though it is Viola who has given the girls their orders, she is not in charge. She is equal to them; that’s what she likes to tell herself, though she understands deep down how separate she will always be. Viola is a mainlander; the Eldest Girls belong to Lark. They know the island right down its blackest core; it has shaped them. And more than that, the girls are magical, heaven-sent. Viola cannot shake this belief, no matter how much she has seen behind the curtain.

Her complicated route reaches its conclusion: Viola and Dot dart along the ginnel behind the houses. They go through a gate, in through a door.

‘Hello!’

Viola’s hair is squally from the run, strands of it sticking to the sweat of her brow.

‘Hello!’

There are footsteps on the stairs. Dot whines in anticipation of who will arrive in the small hallway beyond the kitchen. When she appears, dressed formally, as if for work, a hairbrush in her hand, Dot tugs forward, eager to offer a greeting.

‘What are you doing here?’ the woman demands.

‘It wasn’t locked,’ says Viola, still breathless from the sprint. ‘I let myself in.’

‘I can see that. Don’t they teach you to knock first on the mainland?’

‘It’s important!’ Viola gasps.

‘Why?’ The hairbrush hangs limp in the woman’s grasp. ‘Has something happened?’

‘It’s Saul Cooper.’

‘And?’ says the woman, trying for nonchalance.

‘He’s at the stones.’

‘Why would Saul Cooper be –’

‘He’s with… a body.’

The woman’s eyes go large. ‘What body?’ The hairbrush drops. ‘Where’s Ben?’

‘You didn’t find him last night, did you?’ Viola keeps her grip steady on the reins, holding the woman’s gaze, waiting for the mask to fall.

‘No, no, I didn’t but… Are you saying that… What are you saying?’

Viola says nothing, she lets the woman fill in the gaps. The colour drains entirely from her skin.