Ben hoped she had taken more from Tír Mallacht than he had. The church’s desecration and the symbols should have been enough to keep the doctor entertained, even if his dreams of a lost civilisation had yet to be realised. No doubt there was more, too, that she hadn’t shared with him. Ben felt like a weak link, undeserving of his share.

Her face had turned towards him in her sleep; lips were slightly parted, revealing the tiniest white of her teeth. Ben set his tape recorder on the dashboard, arranging it so that it wouldn’t slide off at the next roundabout. His interviews wouldn’t make for the most riveting of listens but it was time to make a start, and he’d keep the volume low so as to not disturb Chloe.

‘Let’s find out how bad these really are,’ he whispered, reaching forward to press play.

Testing, testing, interview one.

Ben recalled all those hopeful expectations yet to be disappointed. Ideally, he would have stopped the tape between each interview. That off-the-record moment was a great opportunity to sneak in some last questions. But because he had to keep the recorder hidden, it had been allowed to run, listening in when no one was around. He would have to fast-forward through the interludes, hopefully without crashing the car.

Mary’s feet scrunched over the bark. The wooden board was set in place. Ben heard a short rustle as he adjusted the recorder’s hiding place, poking it further under his jacket’s collar.

Now, Mary. Thanks for volunteering to go first. I honestly don’t know what I would do without you.

‘Yeah, thanks a lot, Mary,’ he mumbled.

Ben always enjoyed listening to past interviews – the anticipation of that perfect question and the subtle press, encouraging the speaker to elaborate, guiding them into divulging their secrets. But he was dreading these.

As the tape played, however, and the interviewees came and left, he started to suspect that he had done everything he could. If one line of questioning reached a conversational cul-de-sac, he had segued into another. His questions were well timed. His demeanour was friendly and receptive. He had played his part and the evidence was on the reel.

Now then, John, make yourself comfortable and we can get started.

The man’s age was baffling, as from a distance he could have been mistaken for a child. It was as though he hadn’t grown but he had aged, and not particularly well.

No matter the question, John would wheel the conversation back to the land, speaking erratically about the crops and the soil, his legs twitching as though he was about to break into a sprint. None of his stories stretched back further than last season’s harvest.

When it became apparent that the man was an empty source, Ben asked him directly about the creeper. He had nothing to lose.

Who told you that name?