Imelda was wondering whether inviting Billie to stay had been a mistake. She longed to get to know Billie better, but was afraid of the consequences. She had always known that there would be difficult questions. That no matter how little she chose to reveal, she would still be forced to resurrect memories that were deeply painful. She reached for the gold chain around her neck and stroked the tiny stars. She had expected to be asked about Cillian. But she hadn’t anticipated that talking about him, even after all these years, would be like deliberately pressing down on a fresh bruise. Back then, she had recovered from the wounds. She was young and had found the courage and sheer bloody-mindedness to heal herself. But what about now? And what about the questions that she had chosen not to ask? Perhaps now the choice would no longer be hers, but Billie’s, and there would be answers whether she wanted them or not.

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Billie was pretending to read the novel that she had brought with her, but it was like pedalling a bicycle when the chain has come off. Her eyes passed over the printed words, but her brain was occupied elsewhere, examining the evening’s events in search of clues about her birth. Ruby’s death was a blow. She would almost certainly have been able to fill in some of the gaps. She had obviously known Cillian and might have remembered any girlfriends he had had. Perhaps her sister Diamond would be able to help. If she had run the café, she must have known some of the Larkins staff who were her customers, and maybe Ruby gossiped with her about the goings-on at the holiday park. Billie hoped so. She wanted to speak to Treasure too, although he would only have been a boy when Billie was born. Still, it was worth a shot. Maybe she could invite him out for a drink. She smiled to herself, imagining Julia’s reaction to such a suggestion – raised eyebrows and a knowing smirk, followed by, ‘You go, girl!’ And then there was Jeanie. She would definitely need to speak to Jeanie. Billie abandoned her book and padded in bare feet over to the window. The naked trees and gypsy caravan were silvered by the light of an improbably large full moon, but the rest of the garden was a tangle of shifting shadows. Tomorrow, Billie would ask Imelda about the caravan. Perhaps she would allow her to see inside. Billie wondered if Imelda was still awake. She had been quiet in the cab on the way back and had gone straight to bed.