I went to the mirror. See? See? Who is to say this is not you, Saffie? Who is to say that this is really me? No one! No one! I can re-create you. I can be you and you can be me. I can do it. See, Saffie, how I stand before you in the mirror in these blue pyjamas you always wear. I am you, Saffie, and if I am you, you cannot be dead…

Fleur touched me, pulled me gently away from that small, fragile skull, from the bones of a child who died long ago.

‘Darling…Come away now. Enough. We have seen…and it is real to us now after all this time. Come away…’

I turned to her, mystified. How can I leave her? We have only just found her.

The child in my womb kicked hard and I drew in my breath, put my hand on my stomach and felt the strange urgent movements of my baby turning. It was like coming back from a long journey to some dark place and I breathed deeply and started to shake and was led quickly away out of the room.

Outside, Jack leapt up and came to me, held me to him, and I was so cold that my teeth chattered, making a noise in the silence. I hung on to him as darkness came rushing sickly upwards.

The journey home passed like a dream as we sped past old colonial buildings built from mellow stone, places we might have visited long ago. They thought I would be hot but the car was cold…so very cold…

I woke to find myself in bed. The room was dark and I had a cover over me. The shutters were open and outside I could see the sky livid with the sun setting. Somewhere, not too far away, I could hear soft voices talking earnestly.

I looked round. I did not know how I’d got back here or how long I had slept. I lay still, and the dark thing I knew was waiting for me edged nearer. The same thing that had waited unseen in the corners of my grandparents’ cold bedroom in England; a thing I could never remember when we returned to their house without Saffie.

On my tongue now was our secret language, Saffie’s and mine. I thought I had forgotten it, but now I found my lips forming the question.

‘Meit to?’ I whispered into the shadows.

‘Favlo!’ came the reply like a breath. And there she was by the window, her hair in a ponytail, wearing the faded cotton dress with the tiny pink flowers on. My dress. I wore pink. Saffie wore blue.

I sat up, leant forward to see her face, but as always it was in shadow. She stood there quite still but she did not move my way. I wanted her to stay. I needed to see the expression on her face, needed to see if she smiled or was sad. Mostly I needed to know, and dreaded knowing, if I would see her last expression of fear imprinted forever upon her features.