Tom smiles at me encouragingly. ‘Ready?’

I nod and raise my hand to knock, when it swings open.

A petite woman stands in the doorway, her face framed by long blonde hair. I stare at her, struck by how similar we are – we have the same wide-set eyes, rounded cheeks and thin lips. Apart from our hair and a few lines on her face, we look almost identical. Hope blooms in my chest. I’ve found her. After years of searching, I’ve finally found her – my mum.

For a moment, she doesn’t move or speak. She just stands there, blinking at me. I walk forward, desperately hoping for a sign that she’s pleased to see me, when I notice something glint in her hand: the silver blade of a carving knife. My stomach tightens and I pause, suddenly wary. Unsure what to say, I reach into my coat and lift the butterfly locket from my neck. Her eyes fill with tears and she rushes forward and hugs me.

She speaks in a soft Welsh accent, her voice a breathy whisper. ‘It’s you. It’s really you, my darling Carys.’

‘My name’s Ivy now,’ I say quietly.

‘Of course, sorry. You said in your letter.’ She holds me a moment longer, then draws back, her forehead creasing as she glances down the track. Gripping my shoulders, she stares into my eyes. ‘You shouldn’t have come here. I told you it’s not safe.’

9

She grabs my arm and pulls me into the house, then gestures for Tom to enter. We stand in the hallway and watch as she leans out of the door and checks in both directions. ‘Were you followed?’ she asks. There’s an animal-like nervousness to her – it’s not just her wild eyes and unbrushed hair. Every muscle of her body seems tense, her energy ragged like a creature that’s lived on fear too long.

I glance at Tom, unsure what she means. ‘The boatman brought us, but he left.’

‘The shadows – have they found you?’

Bile rises to my throat. Part of me had been hoping the shadow I saw was an optical illusion, but it must have been real. How else would she know to ask about them?

She locks the door, sliding across several heavy iron bolts, and then tucks the knife into the waistband of her skirt. ‘You’ve seen them, haven’t you?’ I nod and she holds my shoulders, her eyes flashing. ‘Think. Have you seen any on the island?’

I shake my head and she lets out a breath then turns her attention to Tom. He looks ridiculously tall under the low ceiling, and more than a little rattled. I can’t imagine what he must be thinking.

‘This is my friend, Tom.’

He smiles warily. ‘Hello. I hope you don’t mind me coming along.’

‘Has he been infected?’ she asks.

Tom coughs. ‘Excuse me?’

‘Have the shadows entered him? Is he showing any signs?’

I’m desperate to ask her what the shadows are, but I can’t with Tom here. I try to sound reassuring, concerned that she might make him leave. ‘No. He’s fine.’