‘And you never tried to find me? I mean, over the years?’

She reaches across the table and takes my hand. ‘Not a day has gone by when I haven’t thought about you. I’ve missed you so much.’ She starts to say something, then rubs her head as if she’s changed her mind. ‘When I read your letter, I sensed the shadows stirring in me again. It was the same feeling I had all those years ago. I realised that once I knew where you were, they would too. That’s why I phoned to warn you.’

I glance around the smoky room with its eerie red glow, wishing I understood. Aside from the fact they don’t exist, why would witches want to hurt me?

‘What about other family – your parents, my father?’ I ask.

‘Mam died when I was small and my dad passed a few weeks after you were born; his heart gave out.’ She sniffs sadly and adds, ‘My sister Gwen took off to the mainland soon after. We haven’t spoken since. As for your father, I barely knew him. He was here on holiday and we had a fling. I don’t know his surname or where he lives.’

I nod, feeling disappointed. It would’ve been nice to have had a big family, but maybe there’s a way I can track down Gwen and her daughters. I’d like to meet them at least.

‘What about you?’ she asks.

I stare into my empty mug and she says in a quiet voice, ‘You hear about couples who can’t have children and want a baby. I hope you were adopted by a nice family?’

I raise my gaze, trying not to get angry and refusing to feel sorry for myself when I know so many other kids have it much harder than me. ‘No, I wasn’t adopted. I’ve lived in care homes and with different foster families. Some of them were OK.’

Her face falls and I feel bad for telling her. She stares into space and rubs her forehead again. There’s something odd about the way her finger moves back and forth, the motion jerky and pronounced.

‘Are you OK?’

She doesn’t respond.

‘Mum?’

She lifts her chin and stares at me with empty eyes.

I leap to my feet, my heart racing.

She looks straight through me, her expression rigid. And then she shakes her head and the muscles of her face relax. ‘Sorry, I lost my train of thought.’ She glances at the stove. ‘Dinner will be ready soon. Do you want to call Tom down?’

11

My legs feel unsteady as I walk along the passageway and call up the stairs. The voice that comes from my mouth is weak and raspy and doesn’t sound like me at all. I shout for Tom again, louder this time, and a moment later he appears on the landing.

He bounds down with a grin. ‘I take it dinner’s ready. What is it?’

‘I don’t know – some kind of casserole, I think.’