‘Mum, this looks silly. Why have I got a black bin bag for my wizard outfit when Jack’s got a proper cloak?’

‘Because Jack’s mum is a natural seamstress and I’m hopeless. Granny was going to do it before she left but then she didn’t have time. But it looks great, Jamie!’ Fiona leant back and looked her son up and down. ‘And I bet Jack doesn’t have a brilliant broomstick like this one!’

Jamie turned the old-fashioned broom round in his hand. ‘What are these spiky bits called again?’

‘Bristles. They’re made from long birch twigs. I think the handle’s made from hazel wood. Pa said it’s been in the shed for decades.’

Fiona opened the box of face paints. ‘So, do you want to look really scary? All white with only big black eyebrows?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Okay, close your eyes.’ Fiona daubed white paint across Jamie’s face, ignoring his cries that it tickled. Once she was finished, she gave his brow one last thick black line and smiled. ‘There we are, go check yourself out in the mirror. I think you’ll find your cloak’s just as good as Jack’s!’

Jamie ran upstairs and she tidied away the scissors and black bags. What a palaver guising was. She couldn’t remember everything taking so long when she was a girl.

Jamie ran back downstairs, beaming. ‘So, what do I take to put the treats in?’

‘That other bin bag. You can take yours and Jack’s things. I presume the bigger boys’ll have their own bags.’

Jamie nodded.

‘So, you’ve remembered your jokes?’

Jamie giggled. ‘Yes.’

‘And the song?’

‘Yeah, I hope we don’t have to do that though. Jack’s rubbish at singing.’

He skipped to the door, turned around and gave a sudden lunge at Fiona with the broomstick. She jumped back and laughed. ‘Looking good, Jamie, looking good.’

She bent down to kiss his cheek then crouched down so they were face to face. ‘Now remember,’ she said, staring into his eyes. ‘It is really, really important to stay with the big boys. Jack’s cousins are old enough to keep you right. You have to stick with them all the time. Any nonsense and you won’t be going to the football with Martha tomorrow, and you certainly won’t ever go guising again!’

Jamie nodded then rushed to fling the door open before setting off down the path. She watched him running towards the gate, his broomstick held up high like a trophy. Fiona shut the door behind him and sat down at the table. She picked up the face paints and arranged them back in their box then sniffed. What a horrible smell, why had she not noticed before. It was a kind of musky, off smell. She slammed the lid down and headed for the fridge to pour herself a well-earned glass of wine.

CHAPTER 37

Chapter 37

Tuesday 6 January 1880