The woman examined Bailey with her steely grey eyes, the gaze cutting through her like the blade of a knife. She had presence, that was for sure. But there was something else. Something about her that tugged at Bailey on some deep instinctual level.

‘You came alone.’ It was a statement rather than a question. The woman spoke brusquely in a neutral accent.

Bailey nodded in affirmation. ‘I recognise your voice,’ she said. ‘It was you I talked to on the phone, wasn’t it?’

The woman inclined her head fractionally, confirming to Bailey that her supposition was correct.

‘But you’re not Mister Snigiss,’ said Bailey. ‘I came here to see Mister Snigiss.’

‘You’re looking at Mister Snigiss,’ the woman replied.

Bailey screwed up her face and shook her head. ‘That’s impossible.’

‘Why?’

‘I thought you would be a man. And much older. You’re not at all what I expected.’

The hint of an amused smirk flickered across the woman’s face.

‘And you’re not quite how I expected you to be either,’ she said. ‘Mind you, twenty-four years is a long time.’

It took a few seconds for the implication to sink in, such was the gravity of it. And when it finally did, it was like a nuclear bomb had gone off inside Bailey’s head, instantly decimating the foundations of the entire worldview she’d carefully constructed for herself over the course of the past two decades.

‘Jennifer!’ she gasped.

She staggered on her feet, stunned by the realisation, the world suddenly spinning around her. Forcibly composing herself, she looked at the woman anew, physical recognition now surging up from deep within to hit her square-on with the force of a speeding truck.

Superimposing the cherubic face of her eight-year-old sister onto the features of the woman before her, the traces of resemblance, though very faint, now became apparent – the distinctive small upturned mouth, the pronounced cheekbones, and the grey eyes so similar to Bailey’s own.

Jennifer was a little taller than Bailey. She always had been. And thinner. And more beautiful, in the classic sense. But a Baltic harshness underlay this woman’s beauty, as if it had been honed to a fine edge on cold sharp rocks.

‘You’re alive,’ whispered Bailey. A choked sob issued from her throat and tears came to her eyes. Overcome by emotion, she rushed forwards to embrace Jennifer. But Jennifer stiffened and took a step back, holding up a hand defensively.

Bailey stopped in her tracks, blinking the tears from her eyes to scrutinise the woman standing in front of her. She saw now that there was something cold and stand-offish about her, an aversion to physical contact. But that was okay. After all, they hadn’t seen each for twenty-four years. No need to hurry things. There would surely be time to get to know each other again. Time to catch up. There was so much to talk about, Bailey didn’t know where to start.

And at this very moment, rendered inarticulate by the flood of sentiment overwhelming her, all she could say once again was: ‘You’re alive.’