‘Sure.’

Tom rubs his cheek. ‘If it’s OK, I’ll get washed up and join you in a bit.’

My mum nods and gives me a hopeful smile. ‘See you in the kitchen.’

Once she closes the door, Tom flops onto the bed by the bookcase. He sweeps his fringe from his eyes and I know he’s going to ask me questions I can’t answer.

‘How much do you know about your m—’

I speak at the same time. ‘Thanks for giving us some time alone.’

He shrugs. ‘No worries. I’m sure I’ll find something to keep me entertained.’ He surveys the bookshelves next to him and pulls out a hardback and turns it over. ‘A Shadowbook of Spells.’ He frowns as he reads out more titles. ‘Celtic Lore and Spellcraft of the Dark Goddess, Protection Against Black Magick. Yup, sounds like my kind of thing.’

He turns on the bed to face me. ‘I know it’s not my place to say anything, but you can see why I’m not comfortable staying here, can’t you?’ I nod and he muses, ‘I thought it was weird how the boatman didn’t want you to come here on your own, but it makes sense now.’ He takes a moment then adds, ‘You know how your mum was going on about shadows?’

‘Yes?’ I answer, hoping he might have seen something before. If he’s seen them too, then maybe he can help me make sense of things.

‘Didn’t you say the old lady talked about shadows trying to get inside her?’

I nod and he looks relieved. ‘Well, that explains it. You probably misheard what she said because of the weird ideas your mum’s been putting in your head. You said you’ve only spoken to her on the phone. I mean, how much do you know about her really?’

‘She didn’t mention anything about shadows on the phone.’

‘I thought she told you some weird stuff?’

I draw in a sharp breath. ‘She did, but …’

He must be able to sense my frustration, as he softens his voice. ‘I’m just worried you don’t know anything about her.’ He looks at me expectantly then frowns. ‘You’re not saying much. I mean, her behaviour isn’t exactly normal, is it?’

I know what he’s thinking, but however strange my mother seems I know she’s not delusional. I’ve seen the shadows too. Even if I tell him, he’s not going to believe me – I’m not sure I would believe me.

He sighs as if sensing I’m not going to answer. ‘Right, I’m going to get washed up.’

I watch as he takes off his coat, then grabs his bag and stands up, forgetting the low ceiling. ‘Ow! I don’t think this house likes me very much.’ I laugh and he comes over and rests his forearm on my head like he used to at work sometimes. ‘Don’t be mean, you know I bruise easy. Good luck with your mum, yeah?’

‘Thanks.’

Once he goes out of the door, I open the wardrobe and search through the rail of clothes. I take out a long woollen skirt and black jumper, and then find some thick tights and socks in a drawer. It’s a relief to put on something that fits, even if it does reek of mothballs. Pushing up the sleeves of the shapeless jumper, I realise I’m dressed identically to my mum.