Then we had to say goodbye to each other, all over again.

I wonder what happened to that little Cantonese person we loved so much. We never knew how old she was. Would she be dead? Had she returned to her province in Canton or was she still with her second brother’s family in Chinatown, a very old lady, cared for because all her life she had given half her wages to her family.

Something was tugging me away from the sea and the people in the distance, and I turned, aware of where I was going. I walked to the rocks and began to slowly climb the steep slope to the path that led to the lighthouse.

I had forgotten what it felt like to move quickly or to feel light. My body seemed to belong to this baby housed inside me, not to me. I felt I might never regain the freedom of my limbs again. I stopped and took a drink from the water bottle and sweat ran down the inside of my dress and down my legs.

I took it slowly, and when I reached the top the shade of the trees was wonderful. I could hear the distant sound of monkeys and the cicadas were loud and overpowering in the stillness. A huge butterfly landed on my hand and I remembered the moths, the huge moths Saffie and I hated when they got into the house at night and Ah Heng had to shoo them out of the open shutters.

The silence, the absence of people, seemed profound up here. It was an early morning or an evening walk. The main path had been cut through the jungle long ago and the trees above it had formed an arch of leaves in which the sun filtered down in flashes of light and shade.

I walked slowly, aware of the drop in temperature. I felt as if I must make this journey to the place Saffie had been found. I knew the only danger now was in my head and the amount of truth my heart could cope with.

I walked on for five minutes or more, deeper into the forest which would end in the lighthouse. Then I saw her in front of me, flitting among the trees, dancing almost, turning every now and then to see if I was following. She was wearing the cream dress with little pink flowers; my dress.

My heart lurched painfully and I longed, in that second of seeing her in that familiar dress, to be a child again, to go back, back to the time of happiness when she was always with me, each and every day.

I hurried in case she disappeared again and I peered anxiously among the trees for another glimpse of her, but she stayed resolutely ahead of me, the whiteness of her dress leading me onwards, and I began to walk with dread, my breath getting quicker and harsher. I felt chill on my arms and legs and began to look behind me, listen for the crack of a twig or a footfall against the backdrop of jungle sounds.