‘Morbid, you mean?’ Nikki’s voice had a hint of the old challenge.

‘Yes,’ Fleur said, firmly.

Nikki, surprised at what she saw in Fleur’s face, said, ‘Did you feel that Mohktar and Blythe were keeping something from us last night?’

‘I don’t know, but I don’t believe anyone could ever be a hundred per cent sure what happened to Saffie or how she died after twenty-eight years.’

She hesitated, again willing the right words to come; words that Nikki might accept and believe from her.

‘I rather think Sergeant Mohktar and Inspector Blythe are gently putting the case to bed rather than reopening it.’ Fleur leant forward. Her hands shook and her voice was suddenly croaky with stress. ‘We won’t be needed here much longer. It’s all too long ago; there’s nothing left for us to remember. We have to let go, darling. We have to let go…’

Nikki’s hand flew to her face. ‘And leave Saffie? Leave her again? No! She’s still trapped here…and there’s something—’ She stopped abruptly. Fleur would think she had lost it.

Fleur stared at her daughter uneasily. ‘Nikki, of course we’re not going to leave Saffie here, we’re going to take her home and give her a proper funeral. Say our private good-byes at home.’

Nikki said nothing. She had never told Fleur that she saw Saffie. She had only ever told Fergus. Nikki never knew if he believed her. She had wanted to keep Saffie to herself as a child. Fleur hadn’t deserved her.

She looked up at the people passing their table without seeing them. Americans, so fat. French, dainty and voluble. English, appallingly badly dressed.

She said suddenly, ‘The man who did it will get off scot-free. He might even have forgotten he once killed a child. He’s lived a whole life without paying.’

‘We don’t know he hasn’t paid,’ Fleur said. ‘We don’t know he hasn’t been haunted by killing Saffie and will be for the rest of his life…’

At that moment the Chinese lady from the baby-clothes shop appeared by their table. She shyly handed Nikki a package, then beamed at them both and nodded her head up and down.

‘For you,’ she said. ‘For baby. I see you like.’ Then she was gone like a little sprite back into the crowded square.

Startled, Nikki peered inside and saw the tiny dress with the pink rosebuds. She pulled it out and laid it on the table smoothing it out.

Fleur said worriedly, ‘You don’t have to keep it, darling. The woman thought she was being kind.’

But Nikki was warmed to the heart. ‘Oh, I want to keep it. Mum, do you think she knew who we were?’

‘Perhaps, darling.’ Fleur reached out to touch the dress.

‘Nikki, this is your future, this child you’re carrying.’

‘I don’t know whether I’m having a boy or a girl,’ Nikki said. ‘I didn’t want to know.’

‘Let’s go back to the bungalow,’ Fleur said. ‘It’s getting very hot.’

They both walked slowly across the long stretch of beach back to the wooden bungalow. A hot wind blew from the sea, churning it white and choppy. Sudden clouds appeared in the sky. Both women glanced sideways. Their shadows, elongated across the sand, seemed to have substance as if a third person walked unseen in their footsteps, as she always had.