‘A few? A lifetime’s worth. And don’t tell me I’m overreacting. Hear that noise? That’s overreacting.’

Olivia faintly heard something smashing in the room above them.

‘You’re going to need a dustpan and broom,’ Susan said. ‘Maybe even a skip. I dodged three cups as I left her suite and she was heading for a vase. I’d sue her for assault if I didn’t like you so much. You’ll also need a new temp agency. I’m telling my supervisor not to send anyone else here.’

‘Susan, please, she’s an old woman. The project means a lot to her. I know she’s contrary —’

‘Contrary? Olivia, she’s a bloody witch. She should be tied to a stake. If I stayed an hour longer, I’d light the match myself. I’m going straight to the agency now to get another job. Enough’s enough.’

Susan had barely left when Olivia’s phone rang. She considered letting it ring out, then answered.

‘Olivia speaking.’

‘Get up here. Now. It’s an emergency.’

Olivia thought of all she’d like to say to the caller. She forced herself to remember the promise she’d made to Edgar, before that awful disease laid waste to his mind. He’d been so persuasive. ‘She mightn’t ever come back to Scotland, Olivia. But if she does, please always make her welcome.’

Olivia had followed his wishes. Celine was family, after all. Edgar’s first wife’s mother. His sons’ grandmother. And truly one of the most difficult, selfish, self-centred women Olivia had ever met. Susan was right. Celine was a witch. A foul-mouthed witch.

‘Olivia? Are you fucking deaf? Did you hear what I said? Get up here. Right now.’

Olivia counted to five before replying. ‘I’ll be up as soon as I can.’

‘Run,’ Celine said.

CHAPTER SIX

It was late evening in Melbourne, after another unexpectedly hot April day. Eliza was in the middle seat of a row of three on a plane sitting on the tarmac of Tullamarine Airport.

Fifteen days had passed since Gillian’s shock announcement. Now here she was, in her seat, about to take off on her first flight in years.

She wanted to be sick.

She’d imagined this entire scene so many times since Olivia’s surprise invitation. Pictured herself walking down the aisle, stowing her bag, taking her seat, willing herself to stay calm, to keep breathing, to somehow endure the two flight legs. The long one to Dubai first, broken by the shortest of connection times, less than two hours, then an eight-hour flight to Edinburgh. Each time, she’d had to fight an overwhelming feeling of nausea. Of panic. Of building terror.

Olivia had sent links to conquer-your-flying-phobia podcasts. Rose gave practical advice: ‘Distract yourself as soon as you board. Watch back-to-back movies. Binge on TV shows.’

Unfortunately, Eliza hadn’t had a chance to switch on her TV screen, let alone watch anything. When she reached her row, a dark-haired, bright-eyed boy of about eleven looked up from the window seat and beamed at her.

‘You look nice,’ he said. ‘I’m Sullivan. I’m an unaccompanied minor on my way to Edinburgh. But don’t worry, I don’t need looking after. I’ve done this flight six times. My parents are separated. Mum lives here in Melbourne. Dad lives in Scotland. The court ordered that he gets me for a month every year. I’m not sure he wanted to win the case, but he did, and here I am.’