‘Naomi?’ Rav pulls away and looks down at me. ‘I don’t know. I hope so. I mean, it’s tough isn’t it? Nursing someone you care for.’ I look away, my cheeks warm, even though I know he’s not referring to us, to him taking care of me. ‘And after the way she was when Jason left, well, she’s always been a little fragile, hasn’t she? But, Al, you can’t worry about her, not now. You have to focus on you.’

I lean against him again, breathing in his warmth. He’s right, Naomi has always been fragile. I was always the strong one in our friendship, the one mopping up the tears and fixing things. The coper. Perhaps that’s why part of me couldn’t let myself lean on her no matter how much she offered to help.

‘Come on. It’s late. Let’s go to bed.’ Rav walks into the bedroom and I move to the light switch on the landing to put out the light.

Moonlight streams in through the landing window, and I can’t help it, I go to look out one more time, as I did so many nights before. The leaves on the trees wave silently, the moon shining a fat, white circle on the area where the pond used to be. Rav has finally filled it in. The fox appears, slinking his way along the border and I suppress a smile, pleased and a little comforted to see that my old friend is still here. I turn, ready to join my husband in bed for the first time in six weeks, when I catch movement out of the corner of my eye. A flash of white, a blank oval of a face looking back at me, before it begins to move through the trees, quickly, silently.

Acknowledgements

Pluckley is a real village in the heart of Kent and, according to the Guinness Book of Records, is said to be the most haunted village in Britain. I have taken some liberties with regards to the layout of the village (there isn’t a Co-op, but there is a good butchers), and while the other ghosts mentioned are believed to haunt the village, Agnes Gowdie is a figment of my imagination (I hope). Her sister, Isobel Gowdie, is not – she was a Scottish woman who confessed to being a witch in 1662. So, thank you, residents of Pluckley (both living and not) for lending me your village as the perfect setting for Allie and Rav’s story.

Thanks as ever to Lisa Moylett and Zoe Apostolides – your ability to see the things I can’t (including the ghosts) and pushing me towards them makes for a better book every time.

Thank you to Kate Mills for your insight, and to Becky Heeley for all your hard work. And always, to Lisa Milton.