When Sara entered through the gateway to the house, onto the drive, she saw Tony’s van still parked in front. She felt a peal of joy, but she tamped it down. The air cooled as she walked beneath the thick and wandering branches of the ash trees. She remembered Mary’s words, the seeds planted here. Sara paused, unable to move forward.

Walking on graves.

She could not banish the image, not now. The house, the grounds, the outbuildings, old and demolished, rebuilt and new. Built on graves. Mary had said the children would find her. The idea crawled across her back, held her in place, refused to let her move.

The front door opened, and Tony stepped out, his toolbox in hand. He walked towards the van, unaware of her presence, and opened the rear doors. Once he’d placed the toolbox inside, he turned and saw her in the shadow of the ashes. He stood still, watching her for a moment, as if she might be an illusion. Then he approached, concern on his face.

“You all right?” he asked.

Sara could not find a truthful answer.

The crease in his brow deepened as he drew closer. “Sara? Are you okay?”

What do I want from him? The question formed in her mind, and again, the answer glimmered beyond her reach.

“Yes,” she said, finding her tongue. “I’m a bit out of breath, that’s all.”

He nodded but looked unconvinced.

“Come on in,” he said. “I’ll get you a cup of tea.”

It occurred to her that she should have been the one inviting him in, but she had no real objection. She followed him along the driveway and into the house. As she stepped inside, crossing the threshold, she felt herself an intruder. These floors and walls and doors were not hers, no matter how much money had changed hands.

Tony filled the kettle at the sink as Sara took a stool at the island. She placed her hands on the granite top, felt the cool creep between the bones of her fingers. Her life seemed to have drifted into an orbit around this structure, this gathering of wood and stone.

“So, what happened?” Tony asked. “What did she say?”

Sara turned her gaze to the floor, near the Aga, the dark red stains on the flagstones. She thought of children, lost in the dark. And of the movement she’d caught in the corner of her eye. She looked to the back hall, saw nothing there but shadows. A steaming mug appeared on the worktop, stirring her from the trance that had taken her. She turned her head, saw Tony standing close.

“When they were renovating, did they find anything here?” she asked.

Tony took the stool next to hers. “Like what?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “Anything.”