‘Look, can you just get away from the gate,’ the woman demands. ‘We have a right to privacy, just like you. How would you like it if I went peering over your front gate?’

‘Are you Diane?’ I ask.

‘Yes, I’m Diane. I told you. Michael’s wife.’

‘I’m Liberty. Michael’s daughter.’

Diane’s pink mouth drops open, brown eyes glittering. ‘What?’

‘I’m Michael’s daughter,’ I say again.

Diane watches me, unblinking. ‘You’re … you’re Michael’s daughter? Is that what you said?’

‘Yes.’ And then I add an idiotic: ‘Surprise!’ and do jazz hands.

Diane climbs out of the car. She wears tight black jeans, leopard-print boots and a billowing polka-dot blouse. Sort of a punk look. It’s a bit dated now, especially on a woman Diane’s age. And she’s all skin and bones. Like she starves herself. She walks towards me, heels wobbling on gravel.

‘You look like him,’ says Diane. ‘I’ll give you that. And you’d be the right age.’ She watches me intensely, scanning my face with dark, black-brown eyes. ‘Actually, you more than just look like him. You’re the spit of him. Jesus. You’d better come inside. What’s your name?’

‘Liberty.’

Diane swallows. ‘Liberty? And … your mother would be Lorna. Is that right?’

‘Yes.’

Diane shakes her head. ‘Hop in. I’ll drive you up to the house.’

I hesitate. Once I’m through those gates there’s no turning back. Seriously no turning back.

I feel Skywalker’s fur beneath my fingertips. We could just go home. Pretend all this never happened. Say sorry and remain beautiful prisoners.

But no. No, no, no.

Things have to change.

Diane opens the passenger door.

‘Is it okay for my dog to come in the car?’ I ask.

‘Yes, sure,’ says Diane, still watching my face. ‘I grew up on a farm with pigs and goats and all sorts. I don’t mind animals.’

‘He’s a bit farty sometimes, and he dribbles—’

‘He’s fine,’ says Diane. ‘It’s okay, love. Come on. Let’s take you to the house and get all this sorted out. Jesus in heaven, you … you really do look like him. How old are you?’

‘Sixteen.’

‘Yes. Yes, you would be.’ She stares. ‘Well, this is some day. It really is. I think we’re all in for quite the event. Hop in.’

I climb into the car, pulling a sprawling Skywalker onto my lap.

Diane throws the car into gear and roars towards the gates. They open like magic and she drives through woodland towards the fake castle.

‘Fancy you coming today of all days,’ Diane says, staring absentmindedly ahead. ‘Life is a funny one.’

‘What’s today?’ I ask.