A feeling of revulsion swept over Karen, and she reached out to steady herself against the wall.

Why had such a horrible memory come back to haunt her after all these years?

Striving to regain her composure, she contemplated the closed door of the sitting room.

She didn’t go in there much any more. Not since Jack had died. It was too full of memories. Plus Jack had been the one to light the fire and Karen couldn’t bring herself to do that. So she’d taken up permanent residence in the kitchen by the oil-fired range.

‘Don’t be a fool, Karen,’ she said out loud. ‘You have to check.’

Steeling herself, she reached for the handle.

The sitting room didn’t get the sun at this time of day. Also, being at the gable end of the house, it was rarely warm, even in midsummer. Nevertheless, Karen was perturbed to find that the air that rushed out to greet her was cold. Icily so.

Had she opened a window sometime earlier to air the room and forgotten to shut it again?

Glancing around, she noted that the window was closed and there was no immediate sighting of a trapped bird.

Jack’s voice suddenly came to her.

Remember when a pair of crows fell down our chimney? Lucky the fire wasn’t on.

Emboldened by Jack’s internal reminder, Karen decided to check out the fireplace.

It was at that moment she had the strong sense she was being watched. The feeling was so powerful it stopped Karen in her tracks.

Someone or something was in there with her.

Forcing herself to turn, she found a pair of beady black eyes glaring at her from the back of the sofa.

The image of the crow was as threatening as in her earlier memory, and the resulting scream froze in Karen’s throat.

Okay, she tried to reason, her heart pounding her chest so hard that she could scarcely breathe. Jack had been right. A bird had fallen down the chimney and that bird just happened to be a crow. She turned back to the window and, releasing the lock, pushed it wide open. She would need to find a way to shoo the crow out, that was all.

It was then the cat appeared round the side of the house to cross the drive in front of her. Big-bodied, jet-black with a white splash on its chest, there was no doubt it was Toby.

Stunned, she released the window and it immediately shut with a bang. Expecting the noise to startle the crow into cawing, she turned to find the bird no longer there.

In that moment Karen knew the reason for the torrent of memories, the images of white dresses, the appearance of the black crow and the sighting of her dead cat Toby.

It was all about Mary. It had to be.

2

The resurfacing of memories, the imagined crow and the vision of Toby marching across her path had all happened for a reason. What that reason was, Karen had no idea. If Jack had been here, he would have made sense of it all.