My father took me there once, when I was just a little girl, Gran said softly. He asked me what I’d like for my birthday and I told him all I wanted was to visit Stormeil Castle. I thought he’d forgotten, until my birthday came around and we went on a trip. It was just him and me. My mother had passed the year before and I suspect he needed to get away from things for a while. So, we went in search of his family’s castle.

Elle sat still, intrigued by this story she had never heard and wondering why now, all of a sudden, Gran was telling it.

I remember we walked for what seemed like miles. Until we reached the spot. The whole way, my father kept telling me, ‘Now, Iona, remember, the castle is a ruin now. It’s been gone a very long time.’ I didn’t care, I just knew I had to go there—be in the space where it once stood. When we came over the rise … I saw it. I saw the castle standing as proud and beautiful as it once stood—for just a fleeting moment it was there, the imposing stone walls of the fortress towers either side of the gatehouse and its huge drawbridge …

I don’t know how I knew what it looked like, I’d only ever heard stories and it wasn’t until years later I found an old sketch in a library book, and realised it was exactly the same as what I saw that day. I felt as though I’d been there before. I know how that probably sounds—like I’m some silly old goat losing her marbles. She chuckled, and Elle swallowed hard. I can’t explain it and I don’t expect you to understand, all I know is I want to go back there now. Just as desperately as I wanted to go there as a small child that day with my father.

Elle sat for a long while in silence. ‘Okay, Gran,’ she finally said. ‘If that’s where you want to go, that’s where I’ll take you.’ Back to Stormeil Castle.

Thank you, dear, Gran said quietly. But before that, we need to get through the rest of the list, she said, her voice brightening.

Ah, the list. Elle flipped back to the first page and smiled as she traced her finger over the drawings she’d done years earlier.

You were always more interested in doodling than in the list itself, Gran said, and Elle could perfectly picture her tolerant smile.

There were pages and pages of Elle’s artwork. She stopped at one picture where clearly she had been attempting to teach herself to draw a unicorn to scale. She smiled with reluctant admiration for the attempt. Not bad for a thirteen-year-old.