And Mecumba – Brazilian voodoo – isn’t something people should mess with either, so I won’t write down the incantation I had to say. It was all in Portuguese anyway. But let’s just say that I dipped my brush into the chicken blood and made the appropriate shapes, uttering the appropriate words as I did so. It wasn’t until I reached into the backpack and pulled out Heather’s photograph that I noticed the crickets had stopped chirping.

‘What,’ she said, in an irritated voice from just behind my right shoulder, ‘in the hell do you think you’re doing?’

I didn’t answer her. I put the photo in the centre of the shape I had painted. The light from the candles illuminated it fairly well.

Heather came closer. ‘Hey’ she said. ‘That’s a picture of me. Where’d you get it?’

I didn’t say anything except the Portuguese words I was supposed to say. This seemed to upset Heather.

Well, let’s face it. Everything seemed to upset Heather.

‘What are you doing?’ Heather demanded again. ‘What’s that language you’re talking in? And what’s that red paint for?’ When I didn’t answer her, Heather became – as seemed to be her nature – abusive. ‘Hey bitch,’ she said, laying a hand upon my shoulder and pulling on it, not very gently. ‘Are you listening to me?’

I broke off the incantation. ‘Could you do me a favour, Heather,’ I said, ‘and stand right there next to your picture?’

Heather shook her head. Her long blonde hair shimmered in the candlelight. ‘What are you?’ she demanded rudely. ‘High, or something? I’m not standing anywhere. Is that . . . is that blood?’

I shrugged. Her hand was still on my shoulder. ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘Don’t worry, though. It’s just chicken blood.’

‘Chicken blood?’ Heather made a face. ‘Gross. Are you kidding me? What’s it for?’

‘To help you,’ I said. ‘To help you go back.’

Heather’s jaw tightened. The doors to the lockers in front of me began to rattle. Not a lot. Just enough to let me know Heather was unhappy. ‘I thought,’ she said, ‘that I made it pretty clear to you last night that I’m not going anywhere.’

‘You said you wanted to go back.’

‘Yeah,’ Heather said. The dials on the combination locks began to spin noisily. ‘To my old life.’

‘Well,’ I said. ‘I found a way you can do it.’

The doors began to hum, they were shaking so hard.

‘No way,’ Heather said.

‘Way. All you have to do is stand right here, between those candles, next to your picture.’

Heather needed no further urging. In a second, she was exactly where I wanted her.

‘Are you sure this will work?’ Heather asked excitedly.

‘It better,’ I said. ‘Otherwise, I’ve blown my allowance on candles and chicken blood for nothing.’

‘And things will be just like they were? Before I died, I mean?’

‘Sure,’ I said. Should I have felt guilty for lying to her? I didn’t. Feel guilty, I mean. All I felt was relieved. It had all been too easy. ‘Now shut up a minute while I say the words.’