Dr Goldberg assured her that the shock treatment was working. It had, however, taken much longer than anyone had expected to get her back on an even keel. There were great gaps in her memory, holes which the past had slipped through somehow, but she trusted him when he said that she was now fit to go before the Panel Board for assessment.

He shoved a newspaper in her hand and told Netta to read up about what was happening in the world outside. She was sent on day trips into Dumfries to find out the prices of post-war rationing, get used to traffic and the crowds milling around her. It had been a worry to be so out of touch with the real world. She looked for Drew but he had vanished. The thought of a winter journey back to Stratharvar made her feel faint with anticipation. How would it feel to see the pram and baby in it? How would it all work out?

*

She sat nervously before a line of worthies; some with kindly faces, others who never looked up from their paperwork.

‘What’s your name?’

‘Jeanette Hunter.’

‘Your mother’s maiden name?’

‘Jean Kirkpatrick.’

‘What is today’s date?’

‘December fifteenth, 1945. I was nineteen on the tenth of June last,’ she added for good measure.

‘The reports before me state that this woman is said to be fit to leave subject to the usual regulations. She must see her doctor on release.’

‘I just want to go home and see my baby.’ Netta smiled at the assembly.

‘All in good time, Mrs Hunter. We don’t want to rush things. You will be under strict supervision. The little mite’s managed fine without you so far, don’t want to upset his routine. Take it slowly, let yourself into it gently. Your family doctor… er… Dr Begg will want to see you first. Don’t go making a fuss. Remember, you’ve been away for eight months and the war’s over now.’

‘I just want to see my baby!’ Netta could feel her throat tightening with fear. Were they going to send her away from Stratharvar?’ She bowed her head and shifted the rising panic.

‘That’s better. Mother mustn’t fuss so. We don’t want any relapses, do we?’ His words did not register with Netta. Once she arrived on the doorstep of the farm all would be well, she knew.

May 1949, Saturday Morning

A plane flew overhead, jolting Netta from her half dream. Was she hurtling backwards or forwards to Griseley? She must stir herself off this bench and get on her way if she wanted to arrive back before dark. She took one last lingering look at Park Royal. You served me well, dear green place, but you couldn’t prepare me for what was to come.

Hogmanay, 1945