‘Orla appeared in a dream and healed my hands,’ Miss Hahn sighed. She held them up for me to inspect. My vision was slightly blurry. But I blinked at them, nonetheless, quite gamely.

‘So … so you think …?’

‘And she definitely doesn’t want you to go,’ she insisted.

But I must go, I thought. I must. I must.

‘Perhaps you … perhaps you healed your own hands?’ I volunteered.

‘Then she adjusted my alarm clock so I’d think I couldn’t make the bank …’ Miss Hahn paused, scowling. ‘Although that could’ve just been me, like you say … A simple mistake – an accident. I might’ve knocked it over myself, after the dream, in a panic.’

She cradled her head in the crook of her arm for a minute, plainly in conflict.

Another loud creak.

I yelped (inadvertently masking my genitals in my panic).

‘Then I left my bag on the bus,’ she continued, perfectly oblivious, ‘something I’d never normally do. With the money in it. But the driver stopped the bus and returned it, which is a breach of all regulations, apparently. And as I was crossing the Sea Road to fetch it I was hit by a passing cyclist.’

‘Hit?’ I was concerned (and furtively removed my shaking hands). ‘Were you hurt?’

She straightened her head, shook it, and indicated, dismissively, towards a small bruise on her shoulder. I blinked at it, owlishly.

‘Then I was almost knocked down by a car, seconds later.’

‘But wasn’t that just …?’ I started off.

‘Sheer stupidity on my part?’ she snorted. ‘Very possibly.’

‘Mrs Barrow said … uh …’ – I struggled to focus my thoughts – ‘something … something about a hornet sting. On your …’

‘So then I headed up Toot Rock,’ she continued (ignoring me), ‘and my handkerchief was suddenly snatched away by a gust of wind. It landed in some nearby brambles …’ She paused. ‘It was an airless day – I don’t know if you …? If you noticed that at all?’

‘Your …?’ I echoed, blankly.

‘Yes. And while I was retrieving it – which took an age – Joyce got into the bag and took the money.’

‘Joyce?’

‘Mrs Seelinger’s spaniel.’

‘Oh. Oh.’

‘I found it – the envelope – after a short hunt, buried inside a mole hole.’

‘Okay …’

(I was starting to think Miss Hahn – and possibly even I – might’ve been indulging in hallucinogenic drugs by this point.)

‘But then Joyce managed to dig up a mole – in a different hole – so I grabbed him by the tail …’

‘Do moles actually have tails?’ I gasped.

‘The dog’s tail’ – she grinned – ‘Joyce’s tail.’

‘Joyce is a … a … boy dog?’

Boy dog?!

‘Yes. And I fell into some nettles to save the mole and was stung all over.’

‘Ouch,’ I murmured. For some reason … for some inexplicable reason, the hair on my body was all beginning to stand on end. As if alerted to something … As if my body had become aware of something that my eyes, my nose, my ears hadn’t even quite yet …