That night, Ann lay in bed, the phial on her bedside table. She unstopped the stopper and sniffed – the smell was horrid. She would take only one drop tonight; she wanted to sleep well, but not too deeply. If it worked, she could try more the following night. She thought of the children; would they have nightmares or indeed be sad at all? She had sat them down at suppertime and told them that Pappa would not be coming home and that they must not be sad for he was in Heaven now. That had been difficult to say, since she now knew he was on his way to Australia with some serving maid. She loathed him so much, she hoped he would burn in Hell some day. But now her priority was the children; she would do anything to protect them.

She took the tincture – just one little shake in the water glass – then blew out the candle by her bed and soon fell into a deep sleep. Some time during the night, she shivered and pulled the blanket round her. Then she became aware of something; she felt there was someone in the room, she was sure of it. She clasped her hands tight together under the sheets. How had she woken, had the sleeping potion not worked? It was still the middle of the night, it was pitch black.

Ann looked around as her eyes adjusted to the dark. She saw nothing at all, but she felt a presence. And there was an icy draft. She looked towards the door and could just make out the gleam of the brass handle; the door was ajar. She looked down the bedclothes, without moving her head, and made out something at the end of the bed. Terrified, she did not move but watched as something – was it a figure? – moved in the dark towards the door.

In the morning, she awoke and looked around in the dim light. She turned towards the door which was firmly shut and shuddered as she recalled her dream. It had been horrid, she had truly believed someone had been in her bedroom. Perhaps she would not take the sleeping potion any more. She had enough to worry about without also having nightmares.

CHAPTER 38

Chapter 38

2015

Fiona rushed to pick up the phone, knowing who it would be.

‘Hi, Mum.’

‘How did you know it was me?’

‘I’m psychic!’

The conversation followed the same pattern every time Dorothy phoned Fiona out of the blue.

‘How’s the holiday going?’

‘Not bad, we’re still on Harris but heading for Skye tomorrow. That’s unless you need me home. Sure everything’s okay? Jamie fine?’

Fiona could hear a noise of muttering in the background. ‘Ignore your father, he thinks I’m mad. I’ve got this feeling, sweetheart, I just feel something’s going to happen.’

‘What are you talking about, Mum?’