That was the truth, all right. God, I hoped so.

But Maddie was shaking her head, her dark hair swishing against her knobbly spine. I felt the heat of her breath through my top. There was something strangely intimate and uncomfortable about the whole thing, something I could not put my finger on, and all of a sudden I very much wanted her to let go, but mindful of Sandra’s presence, I did not prize Maddie’s fingers away. Instead, I smiled and tightened my arms around her momentarily, returning her hug. As I did, she made a little sound, almost a whimper.

“Maddie? Is something wrong?”

“Don’t come here,” she whispered, still refusing to look at me. “It’s not safe.”

“It’s not safe?” I gave a little laugh. “Maddie, what do you mean?”

“It’s not safe,” she repeated, with a little angry sob, shaking her head harder so that her words were almost lost. “They wouldn’t like it.”

“Who wouldn’t like it?”

But with that, she tore herself away, and then she was running barefoot across the grass, shouting something over her shoulder.

“Maddie!” I called after her. “Maddie, wait!”

“Don’t worry,” Sandra said with a laugh. She came round to my side of the car. It was plain that she had not seen anything apart from Maddie’s sudden hug and her subsequent flight. “That’s Maddie, I’m afraid. Just let her go, she’ll be back for lunch. But she must have liked you—I’m not sure she’s ever voluntarily hugged a stranger before!”

“Thank you,” I said, rather unsettled, and I let Sandra see me into the car and slam the door shut.

It was only as we began to wind slowly down the drive, while I kept one eye out for a fleeting child among the trees, that I found myself replaying Maddie’s final remark, wondering if she had really said what I thought I’d heard.

For the thing she had called over her shoulder seemed almost too preposterous to be true—and yet the more I brooded over it, the more I was sure of what I’d heard.

The ghosts, she had sobbed. The ghosts wouldn’t like it.

“Well, seems it’s goodbye for now,” Jack said. He stood at the barrier to the station, holding my bag in one hand, his other outstretched. I took it and shook it. There was oil deeply ground in around the nails from yesterday, but his skin was clean and warm, and the odd intimacy of the contact gave me a little shiver I couldn’t explain.

“Nice to meet you,” I said, a little awkwardly, and then, with a feeling that I might as well because I’d regret it if I didn’t, I added, a little rashly, “Sorry I didn’t get to meet Bill. Or . . . or Jean.”

“Jean?” Jack said, looking a little puzzled. “She’s not about much in the day. Goes home to her dad.”

“Is she . . . is she young, then?”

“No!” He gave that grin again, the sides of his mouth curving into an expression of such beguiling amusement that I felt my own mouth curve in helpless sympathy, even though I didn’t really understand the joke. “She’s fifty if she’s a day, maybe more, though I’d never dare ask her age. No, she’s a—what’s the word. A carer. Her father lives down in the village; he has Alzheimer’s, I think. He can’t be left alone for more than an hour or two. She comes up in the morning before he’s awake and then again first thing in the afternoon. Does the dishes and that.”

“Oh!” I felt my face flush, and I smiled, absurdly, and gave a little laugh. “Oh, I see. I thought . . . never mind. It doesn’t matter.”

I did not have time to analyze the relief I felt, but it gave me a strange sense of being off-balance, struck by something I had not expected to encounter.

“Well, good to meet you, Rowan.”

“Good to meet you too—Jack.” The name came off my tongue a little awkwardly, and I blushed again. Up the valley I heard the sound of the approaching train. “Goodbye.”

“Goodbye.” He held out the case, and I took it, still echoing his curving, beguiling smile, and began to walk to the platform, giving myself a stern injunction not to look back. When at last the train had drawn in and I had climbed aboard and settled myself in a carriage, I did risk one last glance out the window, to where he had been standing. But he was gone. And so, as the train pulled out of the station, my last glimpse of Carn Bridge was of an empty platform, crisply clean and sun-soaked, awaiting my return.

* * *

Back in London, I prepared myself for an agonizing wait. Very soon, Sandra had said. But what did that mean? She’d clearly liked me—unless I was deluding myself. But I’d done enough interviews to be able to pinpoint the feeling in the air as I left. In recent months I’d experienced both the triumph of having done myself justice and the furious disappointment of having let myself down. I’d felt much closer to the first one on the train back down to London.

Did they have other people to interview? She had seemed so very desperate to have someone start soon, and she must know that every day that ticked past without me giving notice was a day I couldn’t work for her. But what if one of the other candidates could start immediately . . . ?

Given Sandra’s emphasis on very soon, I had dared to hope for something on my phone by the time I got home, but there was nothing that evening, nor the next day when I left for work. We had to leave our phones turned off in our lockers at Little Nippers, so I resigned myself to a long morning, listening to Janine rattling on about her boring boyfriend and bossing Hayley and me about, while all the time my head was elsewhere.

My lunch shift wasn’t until one, but when the clock ticked over I hastily finished the nappy I was changing and stood up, handing the baby to Hayley.

“Sorry, Hales, can you take him? I’ve got an emergency I need to sort out.”

I pulled off the plastic disposable apron and virtually ran to the staff room. There, I grabbed my bag from my locker and escaped out the back entrance, into the little concrete yard—far away from the gaze of the children and parents—that we used for smoking, phone calls, and other activities that we weren’t supposed to do on clock. It seemed to take an age for the phone to switch on and go through the endless start-up screen—but at last the lock screen came up, and I typed in my passcode with shaking fingers and pressed refresh on my emails, reaching as I did for my necklace, my fingers tracing the loops and ridges as the messages downloaded.

One . . . two . . . three came through . . . all either spam or completely unimportant, and I felt my heart sink—until I noticed the little icon in the corner of the screen. I had a message.

My stomach was turning over and over, and I felt a kind of fluttering nausea as I dialed into voice mail and waited impatiently through the automated prompts. If this didn’t work out . . . If this didn’t work out . . .

The truth was, I didn’t know what I’d do if it didn’t work out. And before I could finish the thought there was a beep and I heard Sandra’s clipped plummy accent, sounding tinny through the little speaker.

“Oh, hello, Rowan. Sorry not to speak to you in person—I expect you’re at work. Well, I’m delighted to say that I’ve discussed it with Bill and we’d be happy to offer you the job if you can start on June seventeenth at the absolute latest, earlier if you can. I realize that we didn’t discuss the exact terms and the bonus I mentioned in the letter. The plan would be for us to issue you with an allowance of a thousand pounds a month, with the remainder of the salary to come at year-end in the form of a completion bonus. I hope that’s acceptable—I realize it’s a little unconventional, but given you’ll be living with us you won’t have many day-to-day expenses. If you could let me know as soon as possible if you’d like to accept, and oh, yes, lovely to meet you the other day. I was very impressed with how the children warmed to you, particularly Maddie. She’s not always the easiest child, and—well, I’m rambling, so I’d better cut this short, but we’d be happy to have you on board. Looking forward to hearing back from you.”