A couple of men brush past me on their way out, clutching paper bags. They don’t appear to register me, but the woman behind the counter stares, her brow furrowed.

‘Sorry,’ I say, taking a step back. We don’t shop here. I shouldn’t have stopped. I shouldn’t be here at all. I should go home now. Feed the chickens, because Peg will probably forget, and curl up with a book by the fire. Why would anyone want anything else?

‘Hang on,’ says the tall fair-haired woman. ‘What did you fancy, lovely?’

‘Oh, nothing . . . I, um. It smelt good.’ I force a smile. ‘I’m just . . . heading for school. It’s my first day.’ I clench my fists in my pockets. It is my first day. I am doing this.

‘Ah,’ she says. ‘A bit of nerves, then. I thought you looked worried. You’ll be fine. They get all sorts at that school – some real characters . . . You don’t need to worry.’

‘Thank you,’ I manage. ‘I should go.’

‘Wait a minute,’ she says, drawing my eyes up. There’s a sparkle in her blue eyes that makes me wonder, just for a second, if she has a little magic. Some people do. A bit of fae blood, passed through generations, or an affinity with the words in books of magic. The closer you are to fae, the more you open your eyes to it and the more you can do. That’s what Nan says, anyway. ‘You can have a teacake, if you’d like.’

‘Oh, but I didn’t bring any money,’ I stammer.

‘That’s why I didn’t say buy, my dear,’ she says, shaking her head. She reaches out and plucks one of the buns from the top of the pile on the counter. ‘Call it a first-day treat; you look like you could use one. Horrible out there today, and that forest was fair howling last night.’ She shivers. ‘I think I’ll have one too, come to that. I’ll toast it for you. Butter?’

‘Um. Yes, please.’

She cuts two of the buns in half and slides the pieces into a gleaming toaster. Then she thrusts her hands into massive oven mitts and turns to rearrange the trays of pastries in the oven on the back wall. I watch her, shuffling my feet and hoping it won’t make me late. When the toaster pops, I jump half out of my skin. She shakes her head at me with a little smile, removing the mitts and buttering the teacakes with a practised hand.

‘Here,’ she says, putting mine into a paper bag and handing it to me. Her eyes sparkle again as she takes a bite of her own. ‘That’ll get you warmed up. Have a good day, lovely.’

‘Thank you,’ I say, past a little lump in my throat.

She nods, and I back out of the shop, clutching the bag between my cold hands. I hold it like that for a couple of streets, and only when the school looms into view do I take my first bite. I can’t believe I’m actually here. The teacake tastes as good as it looks, and it soothes me while I loiter on the edge of the pavement, getting up the courage to make the next move.