I have to take the shadows with me – and make it all stop.

‘Children,’ says a dark, disapproving voice. Peg flutters down and lands hard on my shoulder. ‘What a fine chorus you are making out here in the wild. I’ve been out here waiting for you. Come, now. Nan has been worried sick, and it’s time for Zara to get home before her folks are the same.’

But Zara is staring with horror towards our house, her feet unmoving.

‘What is it?’ I demand.

She points to the scrubby narrow lane on the other side of the house. A shining silver car has been parked in a hurry, front wheels at an angle. We have a visitor, and it’s not Mrs Mandrake – she’d never let go of her ancient once-was-blue truck.

‘My mum’s here!’ she whispers.

We trudge through the garden in silence. I cannot imagine what we’re going to find inside. Zara hasn’t said that much about her mum before – I have no clue how she might handle ghost Nan . . . or Peg, for that matter. Will she just be standing in an empty kitchen? Will Peg be a bird, or a lizard? Will Nan even be there?

‘How did she find the house?’ I ask.

‘Oh, I told her you lived on the edge of the forest. She’s probably tried every one,’ Zara says. ‘I should’ve sent another text – I forgot.’

‘Well come on, then,’ I say. ‘She’s here now; we’d better go in and face the music.’

I push open the back door, wincing as all the bells ring out, and tread lightly into the kitchen, where Nan is pouring tea, a sweet little red bird on one shoulder. A woman with Zara’s golden eyes and brown skin sits across from her and looks up as Zara follows me in.

‘Ah!’ she says. ‘Here they are!’

She smiles, but there’s worry in her eyes.

‘I’m sorry,’ begins Zara, fluttering about beside me. ‘We were—’

‘I’ve already explained to your mother,’ Nan interrupts smoothly, gesturing for us all to take a seat. ‘Fishing at twilight is rather special – though I note you didn’t catch anything.’

‘They weren’t biting,’ I say, sliding into a chair and plucking a yellow pear out of the fruit bowl. ‘I’m sorry we worried you, Mrs Nassar.’ I gleam at her, and her eyes soften, though she looks rather bemused. ‘The forest is so beautiful, and we lost track of time . . .’

‘You both look very cold,’ Nan says after a long moment. ‘Have some tea . . .’ She indicates for me to pour, and my hands are shaking, but I just about manage it without scalding us all.

‘It has been a pleasure to meet your nan, Stella. And I’m glad that Zara has found new friends,’ says Mrs Nassar. ‘But next time, Zara, a little more information, please – and answer your phone! It would have saved me some worry. You have a charming home, Mrs Brigg.’