‘Bridget,’ I screamed, but Greer turned to me and shook her head. Her hand went to mine and passed something. Looking down, I saw in my palm what she had given me and I gazed at her wonderingly.

Above us the grasses whistled and the moon dipped out of cloud and I was aware of a strange, other-worldly certainty about what I was to do. Slowly, I lifted it to my lips. Its texture was soft, and as it lay upon my mouth, seemed to adjust to my own skin. For a pause, the edges of the world’s limits stretched and shivered on the night’s breath.

I blew.

The sound was familiar, thin and reedy, but this time, seemed to come from deep inside me as if the widows’ whistle were a mere appendage and the calling back of Hettie was a plea from my own soul. I felt the essence of her on my flesh, the scent of her in my nostrils, and the imprint of her heart laid itself over mine. In that moment, I saw her inside out – the flaws and the strengths. I experienced the tearing of her loss and the burning of her love. She had not been wicked, only human. Only human. Like me.

Greer began to scramble down the rocks.

I followed her down. We were near the water now and the boat, disrobed momentarily from the fog, was revealed – Bridget at the bow, Mary at the other end.

‘Mary,’ I made to jump but Greer gripped me hard and pulled me back.

‘Don’t be a fool. You’ll drown. Look –’

And as I watched, the mist swelled again and rolled like smoke until the boat was hidden.

‘Mary,’ I tried to launch myself once more.

‘Don’t be an idiot,’ she spat. ‘You’ll die on the rocks first and it will all be for nothing.’ She grasped my arm and we clambered further along.

Lower down, the silence deepened and I recalled the strange quietness of Hettie’s lullaby, the sense of the physical world being twisted slightly out of kilter, the instinct that other forces had taken a hand. I felt it again.

There was a splash and my heart froze, and then the sound of the boat returning, but mist hugged the vessel and there was nothing to see.

‘It’s coming back,’ Greer said, and we were running along the rocks and to the beach, the sound of oars growing louder. I dreaded what I might witness and I stood, terrified that only Bridget would return.

The shreds of cloud parted and for an instant, I believed there was a pair of slim arms upon the oars, but the sea fret fell again and then the vessel hit the lip of sand and we were wading in to drag it on to the beach. Mary sat alone.