‘I couldn’t find any dock, but there was this powerful smell of eucalyptus,’ Miss Hahn continued, ‘Orla’s smell. In fact every time something bad happened, there was the smell, that sweet, fusty smell, all around me.’

That was it! Eucalyptus! It was eucalyptus! In the air! Not mint or sage or marjoram! It was eucalyptus!

It was eucalyptus!

It was eucalyptus!

The girl was here!

The girl was here!

With me! With Miss Hahn!

Eucalyptus!

And the more I heard the word echo in my head the less sense the compound sounds made to me: You-Cal-yip-tus!

I just … I just really had to stop her from talking! Surely it was her words that were releasing this … this intoxicating … this asphyxiating … this dreadful vapour! But the urge to discover and then … If I could only … But without … If I could only … But these conflicting impulses … How to …?

‘Eucalyptus,’ I repeated, just repeating things, now, quite eradicated, now.

‘So I went up to the house and when I got there I went to see the old mulberry tree, just to take a look. And then I found myself pulling all this ivy off the dead trunk …’

‘Well this has been … uh … great. Very … uh … illuminating. But I should …I should probably …’

Did I say that? Or did I actually ask, ‘Which old mulberry?’

I started scrabbling around for my clothes.

‘The old mulberry that the cottage originally got its name from. It was in my dream – last night. But in the dream it was still in full leaf, shedding leaves. And I was gathering them up. And then I was collecting up the fruit – the mulberries. They were falling down … so … so hard … almost pelting down on me. And I thought my hands would be all crimson – from … with the juice. But my hands were a pure white, and I felt …’

She shook her head. ‘Suddenly I was inside the cottage, but I was still gathering up the leaves. Although now they were eucalyptus leaves; you may remember I’m allergic to disinfectant, so I was feeling a measure of anxiety. Then Orla appeared and—’

I drew myself up straight. ‘Is there anything more … more boring … more … more … boring than other people’s boring dreams?’ I interrupted, determined to silence her, to shut her up, before her porous words drained away all final vestiges of peace, of … of quiet, of air … or … or … before they released any more of this … this terrifying vapour …

Which was it?

Neither?

Both?

She turned to glare at me, balefully. ‘I’m as infuriated by all this as you are, Mr Huff,’ she grumbled. ‘I think it’s ridiculous. I honestly do. I just want it to stop. It had, stopped, to all intents and purposes, before you arrived here. That’s why I wish you’d never come. That’s why I long for you to leave and head back to Montserrat. For my sake. And for yours. It’s nothing … nothing personal.’