Don’t draw attention to yourself. So much for that. As the baby screamed at full volume into her ear—such a joyous moment, the fact that she finally felt safe enough to, but why did it have to be now?—Ruby rubbed Leonie’s back in soothing circles. She stood up and looked around to see if she could tell where Sam had gone. There was no phone box nearby that she could see. A curtain twitched in one of the houses, and she turned to retrace her steps, but as she passed the entrance to the pub at the edge of the green, a large woman dressed in chef’s whites and a stripy apron appeared at the open door. “Are you okay, love?”

“Yes, fine, don’t worry. It’s only a scratch. She’s just making a fuss. It’s nothing.”

The woman came close. She lifted up Leonie’s fringe. “Doesn’t look like nothing to me. Might need stitches. I’d go to hospital with that. Are you local?”

“No. Yes.” What was the best thing to say? Ruby just wanted to get away.

The woman frowned, and examined them both a bit more closely. This was a village, where everyone was bound to know everyone else. Ruby laughed, a simulation of amusement that felt flat even to her. “Sorry, that doesn’t make sense does it? I’m not local, but I’m hoping to be. We’re looking at a house this afternoon, just getting a feel for the place.”

“Oh, you’re looking at the Simonsen’s place?”

“Yes,” said Ruby, then, “I think so. It’s a lovely building. Lovely area. Lovely.” Stop, Ruby, you sound manic.

“I see,” said the woman, narrowing her eyes. “Well, hope this hasn’t put you off. The hospital is a few miles down the main road. I can give you the postcode to put in your phone?”

Leonie had stopped crying. Ruby was always impressed with how quickly she got over things. The girl leaned into Ruby’s chest, sucking her thumb and gazing at the chef with her big eyes. The woman covered her face with her hands for a second. “Boo,” she said, opening her hands wide and grinning in a silly way. Leonie laughed.

“Thanks,” said Ruby, “but I think she just needs a plaster.”

“What?” said the chef, frowning slightly. “You’re not going to take her? Looks pretty deep to me.”

“I’m a nurse,” said Ruby, rather too defensively. “I think it’s superficial. Don’t suppose you have a first-aid kit in your kitchen?”

The first-aid kit contained steri-strips, which Ruby used to close the cut after she’d cleaned it. The chef was right, the cut was deep and probably needed stitches, but of course there was no question of going to the hospital.

“How old is she?”