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She went to fill the kettle and switched it on for a bedtime cup of tea. She was peckish, so she slotted two slices of bread into the toaster and got out the butter and jam. A knock on the door caused her to pause. A glance at the clock told her it was after midnight. Another insistent, quick-fireknock-knock-knock.

‘Damn.’ She stared out the window into the inky darkness. Though it was June, and warm, the sky was dark, starless. Mightbe rain tomorrow. What else could she expect? A typical summer in Ireland.

At the door of the rented holiday cottage, she leaned in to listen. There was no spyhole like in her Dublin apartment. But she was safe here, wasn’t she? Nothing bad happened in Connemara. Bad things only happened in the past.

‘Who’s there?’ she asked.

‘Assumpta Feeney. Let me in.’

‘Who?’ It was hard to hear through the thick wood. Imelda pulled back the bolt and twisted the handle. As she did so, the door burst inwards and a woman almost fell in on top of her.

‘Jesus, Imelda, you’d think I was a murderer the way you’re looking at me.’

‘I… I don’t know…’ She wasn’t sure if she recognised the woman.

‘Assumpta Feeney? Remember? You spoke with me. On the phone and at my house.’

She knew then who her late-night visitor was. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘To warn you that you’re in danger. I want to stop you from making the biggest mistake of your life.’ The woman paused, breathless. ‘Then again, depending on what you make of it, I could be giving you the scoop of a lifetime.’

With those words, Assumpta sat on a chair and took a bottle of wine from her bag. ‘Corkscrew?’

‘I’m sure there’s one somewhere.’ Imelda went to the kitchen, getting ready to record the conversation. Once she had their wine poured, she sat back and waited for whatever Assumpta had to tell her. She was intrigued by her intrusion. ‘I’m ready when you are.’

‘Before we start, tell me a bit about yourself.’ Assumpta drained her glass and reached for the bottle.

Imelda cringed. She never talked about herself to anyone. She kept her life private while invading the privacy of others. But her quest for the truth did not fill her with guilt.

‘Honestly, there’s not much to relate. You know I do this for a living, but I’m thinking I might have to take up a new job. It’s a struggle to secure funding.’

‘When I reveal my story, you’ll make a fortune. You’ll have Netflix breaking down your door.’

‘I doubt that,’ Imelda said. ‘This is a radio documentary, not television. I don’t see how they’d be interested.’

‘Perhaps you should make a podcast. Podcasts are huge at the moment.’

She thought it was an idea worth pursuing if the promised finance did not materialise. Assumpta’s second glass of wine was almost finished, and though Imelda herself had consumed very little, she felt drunk with anticipation.

‘We can start again, if this is new information. Where are you from, Assumpta?’

‘I’ve travelled the world for most of my life, so I hardly know where I’m from or who I am any more. Life has been good to me in recent years. Before that… well, I’d buried it all. I told you some of it already, but I think the time is right to reveal the truth.’

Half an hour in, Assumpta was on her third glass of wine and Imelda was getting antsy and tired because the woman still had to reach the crux of her story. She went to the kitchen and poured her own wine down the sink, then switched on the kettle again.

She went back to the other room. ‘I’m making a cuppa. Would you like one?’ As she said the words, she froze. Something white, for all the world like a face, had flashed by the window. ‘Did you see that?’

‘See what?’ Assumpta twisted round awkwardly on the chair, spilling wine on the upholstery. ‘Oops.’

‘There was someone at the window, I’m sure of it. I saw a face. It had to be a face. Did you not see it?’

‘It’s the wind. The shadow of branches blowing. It’s always been spooky out this way. I’m surprised they get anyone to rent these holiday homes.’

‘The other two cottages are unoccupied.’ Imelda looked out the window, thinking just how isolated they were.

A gate banged.

Gravel crunched.