Leonie had stopped crying, though there were tears still wetting her cheeks. She was splashing in the bowl of water with her other hand. Soon, she dragged the injured hand away from Ruby and started to play in the water with both hands. Sam found a beaker to fill up and pour, and Leonie went toward him to get it. As she toddled over, apparently perfectly happy now, the hood of her top brushed the wood burner, and Ruby drew in a sharp breath. “I think we might need a fireguard, though.”

He nodded. “I’ll make one. We won’t light the stove again until it’s done.”

Later he crouched in the tiny space next to the table, picked up a spoon and handed it to Leonie, who tried to add it to a pile of three other spoons. The pile fell over.

“Ups-a-daisy,” said Leonie.

“How old are you, honey?” said Sam.

“Spoon,” said Leonie.

Sam turned his head toward Ruby. “How old is she? Two?”

“Nearly.”

“And I dropped you off at the New Park when, February? How long have you known her?”

“Okay, I’m sorry. I should’ve told you the whole story. I planned to.”

Sam heaved himself up from the floor to sit on the bench.

“Hit me.”

So, Ruby told him everything. How she’d met them when she was struggling with her own personal stuff, the way she’d felt about Gregor and the lies he’d told to reel her in. He listened to her account of everything Gregor said about Constance being mentally ill, and how she’d fallen in love with little Leonie and eventually become friends with Constance.

As she spoke, the child was roaming the boat, looking for things to explore. Ruby pulled out a notepad and pen from her bag and handed it to Leonie, who held the biro in her fist and concentrated on drawing spirals of scribble on all of the available space.

Ruby told of the moment she’d learned the truth about Gregor, and how she’d promised to help Constance escape by looking after Leonie until she could persuade her folks to let them live together

“We waited until Gregor was out. And we just ran.”

Leonie toddled over and handed the pen to Sam. “Thank you, sweetie.” A second later, she took it back with a “Taaank-yoo!” and resumed drawing, scribbling over what she’d done already.

“She said she lived on an island in the Hebrides. A skerry. So that’s where we’re heading.” The song came to her then, the folk tune she’d found in the book and learned for Constance. “Can I play your fiddle again?”

Ruby played, and Sam listened. Afterward he said, “I know that one, I think.”

“I can’t pronounce the Gaelic name. In English it’s called ‘They sent me to an island by myself.’”