She thought of the woman – Ayesha – and the bag, and went through the consequences of losing it again. Still she couldn’t believe her own stupidity, and Ayesha’s kindness came back to her, as did that sudden revelation of her terrible wound – a wound that now seemed frightening, for it reminded her how easily a child is lost.

‘Will I ever be the same?’

That’s what Ayesha had asked, as if she wanted to go backwards. She’d told her no, and she shouldn’t have done: she should have said yes. The woman wanted reassurance, as everyone did – as she, Maria, did right now so far from home… why hadn’t she offered it? And what was the dead child’s name?

She remembered the guitar, but not the boy’s name, so again he’d been forgotten – and Ayesha would be wide awake, no doubt, aching with a pain only God could take away, if she believed in him. Maria knew that God came to her through dreams, and that when she was most desolate, sleep would bring the kind that didn’t simply nourish and revive: no, they resurrected.

And God had brought her Michael MacMillan.

She prayed for her own family and then for Ayesha. She prayed for the soul of her little brother, and suddenly remembered: his name was Kristin. And Kristin’s ghost stepped into the room and stood looking down at Ayesha, and Ayesha was fast asleep dreaming about him. Morris slept fitfully, aching all over, and Michael found that he was still so, so glad – just to be alive.

He was alive in a bed, not dead in a drawer.

24

‘Through the car park,’ he said. ‘I remember that much.’

‘It says that here,’ said Maria, checking the leaflet. ‘The first bit is easy, and we don’t get lost. Soon we get very lost – but not yet.’

She was laughing already.

‘We can’t,’ said Michael. ‘It’s going to be signposted all the way.’

The red coat was too big, and he felt like a lifeboat man ready for the storm. It had capacious pockets, so he’d folded the waterproof trousers into one of them, and put his packed lunch into his backpack. The hotel had provided that. The boots he’d chosen were a little tight, so he was wearing only his normal socks. He had taken the woollen hat too, and it was already on his head. As for Maria, her waterproof was purple, and it was belted in tight to her waist. The hood was up, and he watched as she secured it with flaps under her nose. The rain was on its way, and the wind was rising. It had pounded all night, rehearsing for a day of wild storms.

‘Okay,’ said Michael, smiling. ‘Follow me!’