‘This one is about the pub,’ she says, ‘written by a local author. All about the ghosts you can share a room with if you spend the night.’ She gives a short laugh and I take the book. ‘Have a browse, there are plenty there. There’s a sofa over in the corner, if you want to take the weight off.’ She peers into the pram with a smile. I thank her, and keeping one eye on Mina, I return to the shelf in front of me, hoping to find something about Gowdie Cottage. I browse the books, hoping to find something dedicated to the house, but although there are mentions here and there, there is nothing more than that. Flicking through a book entitled, Pluckley and its Ghostly Residents – not exactly the snappiest title – I find reference to the Pluckley Witch and my fingers still, holding the book open. It must be Agnes, I think as my eyes scan over the page, barely registering the tinkle of the bell as the door to the shop opens. Agnes must be the Pluckley Witch.

I tuck the book under my arm and face the shelf, my eyes returning to the one title that keeps jumping out at me: An Introduction to Witchcraft. Something stirs inside me, and glancing towards the woman behind the till, I pick it up and begin tentatively flicking through the pages, not entirely sure what I am looking for.

‘Oh, hello. Fancy seeing you here,’ a voice says in my ear, making me jump. I shove the book hurriedly under my arm with the others, and turn to see Miranda standing beside me, the scent of sandalwood surrounding her. She wears a thick silver necklace with a moon hanging from it and her lips are painted a vivid purple. ‘How are you?’

‘Good, thank you. What about you?’ I peer around her to check on Mina.

‘Fine.’ Miranda nods, a small, awkward smile on her lips and I get that feeling again, of kinship. I get the sense that we both feel the same, as if we aren’t quite sure we fit in.

‘I was just …’ I hold up Pluckley and its Ghostly Residents.

‘Are you going to buy it?’

I frown, my eyes going back to the sinister-looking cover. ‘I don’t know … I was hoping for a bit more information on my house and Agnes Gowdie, but there’s not much in there. And anyway, it’s all just superstition really, isn’t it? Surely no one believes all that stuff. I’m not sure if this book …’ I push away the flicker of white rushing through the trees that rises in my mind.

‘Only I wrote it.’

‘You wrote it?’