‘I see. Well, given that we don’t really want to go anywhere at all, it sounds far from ideal, Mrs Baron.’ Where had this grown-up voice suddenly come from? ‘We’ll talk about it when we get home,’ she went on. ‘And we need to discuss the supervision of the lighthouse with the coastguard too. I’ll let you know our decision next week.’ Mags started to steer me down the path towards the gate.

But the expression on Mrs Baron’s face had changed. ‘I’m afraid that won’t do, Magda.’ She stepped to the side so that she was standing in our way. I felt my sister’s arm twitch as she fought the urge to give our headmistress a shove. ‘It’s not up to you to decide, you see,’ she went on. ‘I’m so sorry, but I have had to make the decision for you. Of course, I’d like to be able to take our time over this and pick somewhere perfect for you both, but we don’t have the luxury of time. You’re both minors and you are currently living in a very dangerous situation with no adult supervision – the lighthouse could well be a target, for German bombers or even saboteurs. We cannot risk something terrible happening to the two of you in your mother’s absence. And as you have no other family . . .’

At that point Spooky Joe walked past us, his eyes fixed on the churchyard gate.

‘Good morning to you, Mr . . .’ Mrs Baron began, but he just waved dismissively, as though swatting away a housefly – and kept walking.

Mrs Baron blinked. She was used to being treated with respect. Her face flushed hotly beneath her neat black hat. There was to be no reasoning with her now; with his one, cold gesture, it seemed that Spooky Joe had sealed our fate.

‘The bus leaves just after five o’clock this afternoon. You’ll have to catch the London train at Dover, and then change again in London on to the overnight train to Wales. I’ll telephone ahead to make sure someone is there to meet you in the morning when you get to Wrexham. Right now, you need to go home and pack. I’ll give you more details when I meet you at the bus stop. Five o’clock sharp, please.’

We walked home in silence.

The morning’s flock of white clouds had been shouldered out of the sky by a herd that were fatter, darker, angrier. The wind whipped at the sea, and a cold salt-spray stung our eyes as we made our way back up the cliff path to the Castle.

‘What are we going to do, Mags?’ I said. ‘Are we really going to pack our bags and go to Wales like Mrs Baron said?’