‘Don’t be asking me then, it’s Mother’s stuff. What’s brought this on, Netta?’ he replied.

‘Nothing, only it’s about time I took some more snaps back with me to put on my own mantelpiece. Tell me where to look?’

‘That’s Peg’s department, she had a clear out a while back. She did say the drawers needed sifting through. She’s awful sensitive on that score. Best not to bother her with it. I’m sure they’re put away safe somewhere.’ Angus slurped his tea quickly and returned to his job, not looking at his daughter.

Why did she always have to tiptoe around her own home on eggshells in case she cracked the fragile veneer of welcome? Why did she have to behave like a visitor or a prisoner on parole? All she was asking for was some blessed snapshots, but Netta could feel her heart thudding at the thought of facing Peg with the real demands of her mission. It felt like asking for the Crown Jewels. Why did her courage always fail her at the last? Was it because all her past was shut away in some press, out of sight in a neat box labelled: DO NOT OPEN?

Early on Friday Morning

Netta woke with a start from a dream. Mother was still drifting away from her, far out to sea on a boat, bobbing on the waves while she was left alone on the shore, trying to keep the misty figure in sight. Netta stumbled out of bed half asleep, fumbling for the light, crying out as she stubbed her toe. Why were there always these same dreams, yearnings for the sound of beloved voices and shapes? This dawn half-light promised only shadows and echoes, silhouettes on the wall made by lamplight. She felt as small as in that school snapshot, a child again in a Fair Isle jumper and tartan kilt.

One morning Netta had gone to school in sunshine, rushed out of the door to catch the school charabanc which stopped for her at the end of the track and returned home to only tears, silence and darkness. Mother was asleep on the bed, cold and different. ‘Say goodbye to your mammy, hen,’ urged Peg MacBain gently, but Netta turned away in disgust. ‘That’s no my mammy!’ she cried, rushing down the stairs and into the darkness. The sky was flushed with autumn constellations and she had searched in vain for a shooting star to wish her mother back home again.