‘We all do that occasionally,’ Naomi laughs, an effort at normality, before her face turns serious again. ‘Al, what really is the problem? You seem a little … I don’t know. Off. On edge. Have you seen something again?’

‘No. Nothing. I had a late night, that’s all.’ I don’t say anything about the witch’s ladder. Not in front of Mina. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to overreact. I wasn’t expecting you to be here, that’s all.’

‘It’s fine, I understand.’ Naomi holds her arms out to Mina for a goodbye hug. ‘I’m your friend, Al. I’m here to help you. I told you, you can always ask me, and I’ll do whatever you need.’

There is a look on her face that I can’t quite read, and I feel prickly and irritable again. ‘It’s fine, honestly. I can manage, time just got away from me today.’

Naomi nods. ‘I’ll see you later, maybe? We’ll catch up properly soon.’ She chucks Mina under the chin and steps past me, walking away in the direction of The Daisy Chain.

‘Naomi,’ I call out, ‘how do you know Tara Newman?’

‘Who?’ she calls back, pausing and turning to face me. She shrugs, raising her palms to the sky and pulling a face, before she waves and walks away.

Mina and I stroll in silence through the village to the outskirts where Avó lives in a house much smaller than ours. No witchcraft attached to hers though, hers is a brand spanking new build, complete with all magnolia walls and a badly laid herringbone paved driveway. Mina is sulky, annoyed that I grabbed her so hard and that I didn’t let her go to the shop with Naomi. I try to push away the shards of guilt I feel at hurting her tiny hand, concentrating instead on the photo on Tara’s Facebook. Maybe it wasn’t Naomi in the photo? She doesn’t seem to know who Tara is. I try to recall the blurred face in the picture, but now I am doubting myself, thinking that perhaps I was seeing things that weren’t really there.

Avó is waiting for me on the doorstep when we turn into her road. She scoops Mina into her arms, and I follow her into the small, white kitchen. The baby snoozes in the pram, and I reach in and pull the blanket lower down. It’s warm in here, the air rich with the scent of spices as something bubbles away on the stove.

‘Thanks for having him, Avó,’ I say, scooping up the empty baby bottles on the draining board and tucking them into the nappy bag that hangs from the handles of the pram.