Margaret came to a halt before the second door from the end. Sara couldn’t see inside from here. The receptionist fidgeted on the spot for a few agonising seconds before she spoke.

“Like I said yesterday, we take the utmost care over the security of our residents. We’re still trying to figure out how Mary managed to find her way out of the grounds, and I can promise you, this will never—”

“I just want to see her,” Sara said.

Margaret squeezed her two fists together to form a ball at her stomach. She hummed with worry.

“I don’t want to pry,” Margaret said, “but have you spoken to anyone else about what happened? I mean, I must be clear, if you want to talk to someone at the health trust about this incident, we won’t stand in your way, absolutely not, but if there was any way we could—”

“I haven’t spoken to anyone,” Sara said. “I don’t plan to. I’d really just like to see Mary. Is that all right?”

Margaret’s hands unclenched as she exhaled through thinned lips.

“Yes,” she said. “Yes, of course. But I do need to check it’s okay with Mary. Just wait here a wee second.”

Alone in the corridor, Sara felt a wave of uncertainty, strong enough to make her hand rest against the wood-panelled wall to steady her. An urge to turn, flee from the home, and back to the house that wasn’t hers. She resisted it.

“Come on,” Margaret said, her head appearing from the doorway, as if suspended there, unattached to her body.

Sara approached the open door, saw the room beyond, bright with sunlight. Mary sat in a chair in the corner, her feet resting on a padded stool. One wrapped in a bandage, gauze wadded on her sole.

“Mary, this is Mrs. Keane,” Margaret said, moving aside.

As Sara stepped inside, Mary looked away from the window and examined her. Her eyes narrowed as she leaned forward in the chair.

“I know you,” she said.

Sara went to the chair at the far corner of the room. “Do you mind if I sit?”

Mary shook her head, still staring. Sara brought the chair close and sat down.

“Let me know if you need anything,” Margaret said before disappearing.

She left the door open. The sound of birds and wind in trees bustled in through the sash window. Net curtains billowed in the breeze that whispered against Sara’s ankles and wrists, cool and gentle.

“I know you,” Mary said again, her eyes hard like flint.

“You came to my house yesterday,” Sara said.

“No,” Mary said. “No.”

“Yes, it was early in the morning.”

Mary’s eyes widened and her hand came to her mouth. She let out a high, breathy laugh.

“Esther?” she said.

Sara felt an uncertain smile on her lips. “No. My name’s Sara. Sara Keane.”