Nola knew better than to disturb her when she was communing with the spirits. This time when she made her tea, she put extra sugar in without having to be told, to make sure the leaves stuck to the side of the cup. Her eyes never left Bridget’s face, but she knew. ‘It’s Shona, isn’t it?’

Bridget looked up and met Nola’s gaze. ‘She hasn’t been here since the day she died. I don’t know what’s going on, but I see her here, in your cup. She’s outside Angela’s cottage and there’s someone with her – I can’t see who, but I think I can have a guess.’

The air became still and cold and both women felt it; something or someone neither of them wanted was standing in Nola’s kitchen. Bridget had called up Annie, but it was Shona who’d answered; the wicked gypsy whose curses had blighted the Malones for generations.

‘Angela’s cottage?’ whispered Nola, not liking to mention out loud the home of Sarah’s mother, the home of the woman who’d been murdered in cold blood in one of the wildest storms known to the Atlantic coast by a gunshot fired by her own madman of a husband. McGuffey, Mary Kate’s paternal grandfather.

Bridget swallowed hard, stared unflinchingly at the ghost of Shona and hissed under her breath, ‘You don’t scare me.’

‘Who doesn’t?’ asked Nola, pouring out more whiskey, which they both downed in one gulp.

There was a vibration in the air, a shifting of dimensions, and then she was gone. Both women breathed a sigh of relief. Shona had come, had hovered near the fire and had left. Bridget had seen her clearly, but she kept that to herself.

‘Angela’s cottage? Why would Shona be there?’

Bridget shook her head. ‘I’ve no idea, but she’s brought me the sight of it. Hush a minute, Annie’s coming now – she’s here. Sit back and close your eyes.’

There was no need to tell Nola twice; she did exactly as she was bid. She didn’t have to wait long. She felt it as keenly as if she’d stuck her hand in the fire, as the air turned from chilled to warm in a heartbeat.

Bridget let out a long sigh. ‘Pour me another cup of that Powers, would you? Calling up Annie was hard work. She’s restored the balance, seen Shona on her way.’

Nola filled Bridget’s cup almost to the rim. ‘Why did Shona come to you?’

‘I wish I knew, but one thing’s for sure – she’s back for a reason. The dead don’t go making all that effort to take in the view or warm their arses on the fire. We are going to need eyes in the backs of our heads. It’s no coincidence she’s returned on the same day as Mary Kate and that’s a fact.’

Both women blessed themselves. Ghosts were everywhere in Tarabeg and no one was surprised at the mention of a dead villager returning to the place they had once lived. But Shona had never even visited the farm, had never been welcome; she had hated the Malones and blamed them every day of her life for her family’s eviction from the seven acres all those years ago.