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‘Rob knows,’ Tony went on, ‘Rob can tell too. It’s a thing with them.

The locals. And the Guild keeps tabs and pays back for what happened all those years ago.

’ He was slurring, and sat back to drain his beer.

‘Things were all right before we came here. Izzy was just a bossy woman who organised me. I liked that. She laughed about this place. Talked about escape. I assumed she meant from the whole provincial thing. Then she was summoned back.’

‘Summoned?’

‘I thought it was all a game at first, secret societies for women. Bit of a laugh, I called them a coven, that sort of thing. Then I realised Iseult wasn’t laughing anymore.

Our little girl, our little girl would have been at school with Rob’s little girl.

Did you know that? Tragic that. Tragic. But at least Rob’s daughter won’t grow up trained by the sisterhood.

Although they probably wouldn’t have …’ he trailed off and drained his beer, his eyes, now raised to meet hers, unfocussed.

Putting his glass down, he got up and weaved his way to the outside as the others came back to the table. ‘Scuse me, need some fresh air.’

‘Can’t stand a man who can’t take his drink,’ said Simon, picking his jacket off the back of his chair.

‘He only had a pint,’ said Rob, ‘and he said he’d eaten before he came out.’

‘Please tell me he’s not driving,’ said Rose.

‘He said he was getting a taxi,’ said Simon. ‘He was barely coherent when he got here. Although maybe he’s always like that.’

‘It’s the most I’ve ever heard him say,’ said Rob.

They left in silence. Tony outside, swaying slightly as he leaned through a taxi window and fumbling with the door before falling inside.

‘What was he talking to you about?’ said Simon finally, just as they were about to pull up outside home.

Rose glanced in the rear-view mirror, Rob’s reflection looked at her. Had he shaken his head? Distracted, she frowned, still looking at him.

‘Watch out!’ shouted Simon.

Rose slammed on the brakes and sat with her heart pounding.

‘What?’

They all got out. The only lights were the ones left on in their bungalows and a little from the crescent moon and stars. Rose shook. She got down onto her knees and looked under the car. Nothing. Nothing at all.

She got up and Rob put his arm round her for a second. ‘ It’s all right. It’s all right,’ he whispered into her hair, before letting her go.

‘I could have sworn something flew into the window,’ said Simon. He turned the phone torch on and shone it at the glass. Nothing. He shone it round and the beam was absorbed by the night. From somewhere near, but invisible, they heard a crow.

‘It’s that bloody suicidal bird again,’ said Rob. ‘You’re the naturalist, shouldn’t it be roosting?’

‘It’s deranged like most of the locals, probably,’ said Simon, turning off the torch. ‘Present company excepted. Come on, Posie, get the car up the drive, you can’t leave it out here all night.’

He stalked off to open the door. Rose moved round to the driver’s side.

‘Sensitive as a brick,’ said Rob.

‘I didn’t tell him about the crow. I forgot. Everything was so weird that night, it was just one more weird thing. Only…’

‘Only what?’

‘I had this dream last week, only it was Simon under the wheels and Sky was staring through the windscreen and … I still can’t quite shake it.’

‘Dreams are like that sometimes.’

She started to get into the car. ‘Rob, Tony said…’

‘Tony was under the influence of something. His wife’s from a long line of small-town megalomaniacs who mess with people’s heads and not averse to a bit of herbal experimentation from what I’ve heard. Goodness knows what he’d been taking before he got to the hotel.’

‘Yes but…’

‘We’ve got a gig coming up, remember, get some sleep and forget it all. Tomorrow’s another day. Come round in the evening and we’ll finish that composing. Goodnight.’

Inside, Simon was making coffee. Rose shook her head, putting the keys on the worktop with a trembling hand.

‘Pull yourself together, Posie, there was nothing there.’

‘You frightened me to death, yelling like that.’

‘Yes well, sorry, but there wasn’t. So calm down. Was Tony making any sense to you?’ She shrugged. ‘Anyway, I’m going back to the wolf project on Thursday. Want to come?’

‘I don’t think they want you there.’

‘I don’t give a rat’s arse what they want. I’d like to see Sky again, check she really is getting better, as a wolf that is. Do you think she’ll shift while I’m there?’

‘What in front of Jon and his gang?’

‘Fair point. Although she managed to get round that sort of thing in Denmark.’

‘She’s got a collar now remember. Does Jon know where you live? I mean, exactly. Could he find it on a map?’

‘No.’

‘That’s a relief because then he’d know that’s where she left her collar twice. Look, I’m going to bed. Are you ready to see her?’ She didn’t know why she asked, but he didn’t answer.

Rose lay in bed and thought of Sky, curled up now with her pack presumably, warm from their warmth, companioned.

Tomorrow, she would be somewhere under the quiet trees, sharing thoughts, listening for prey, confident.

And meanwhile, Rose lay under cold covers, lonely, remembering Tony’s blurred glances and Rob’s warning look and Simon’s blank stare and couldn’t read any of them.

On Thursday evening, Rose took her cello to Rob’s.

Simon had gone out early and come home mid afternoon, saying that the pack had been too far away to track down easily and that there had been no sign of Sky but that all reports were good.

He paced, reading notes from his planned projects and checking emails as he walked round the bungalow.

Rose had said, ‘I’m sorry she wasn’t there.’

‘I’m going back out,’ Simon had replied. There had been tears in his eyes. He still hadn’t returned.

Was it simply disappointment making him so edgy? She had messaged Andrew: ‘I think something’s wrong.’ There were still nine days to full moon.

Now, she locked the door and crossed the road.

She was running late, having spent half an hour deciding what to wear and how to do her hair.

In the end, she’d settled for black jeans and the cherry coloured top and french-plaited her hair.

She put lipstick on, remembered Sky’s opinion and scraped most of it off again.

She had swapped her boots for pumps and hoped her feet wouldn’t smell if she kicked them off within ten minutes of starting to play .

And then she forgot about anything but music.

She and Rob composed and discussed it for an hour, arguing and rearranging phrases.

Rose went to the bathroom and loosened her hair.

The weight of the plait was annoying her and strands kept catching on her earrings.

The music was all she could think about, chiselling away the superfluous notes until the true melody revealed itself, till she and Rob could capture what they were trying to say.

She noticed nothing else about herself as she padded back into the studio in bare feet and started again. She played the cello and Rob played guitar and drums and fiddled with the mixing deck and after another hour, they were finished.

‘We’ve nailed it,’ said Rob, bumping knuckles with her. His hand opened and curled round her fingers then slipped away. ‘Come on, let’s celebrate.’

He led her through to the blue sitting room and she sat on the teal sofa and closed her eyes, listening to the music they’d made feeding from the studio, feeling as if she was floating and warm, the rhythms and cadences ebbing and flowing.

Rob sat next to her and handed her a glass of wine.

Their fingers touched and she felt her pulse quicken.

His leg was against hers and when he’d let go of her glass he lay his arm across the back of the sofa against her shoulders.

‘Cheers.’

‘Cheers.’

They clinked glasses and looked at each other as they sipped. Rose brushed her hair back with her left hand and took another sip. She was at once tense yet felt her limbs loosen.

‘We did good,’ said Rob.

‘Yes, we did.’

‘I couldn’t have done it without you.’

‘I wouldn’t have done it without you. Thank you.’

‘I need to tell you something,’ he said.

He sat back. His right arm had settled around her shoulders and he indicated with his left. ‘This room: it’s Saoirse’s room. This was how she liked it. How she left it, seven years ago. I was never that fond of it to be honest, but these are her colours.’

Rose felt her cheeks warm. ‘But you haven’t changed them, because you miss her?’

‘At first,’ he said, ‘but then I left it because I felt guilty.’

‘It wasn’t your fault what happened. ’

‘I didn’t protect her. Those women drove her mad, they wanted Saoirse out the way just like they want Simon out, like they would want Sky out.

I told you that our last conversation was a bit of a tiff, but actually it was a full blown row.

I wanted Seren’s nursery to be neutral and calm and I wanted to spend money on the studio, not on more furnishing.

Saoirse… well look at this room! She liked vibrancy, clashing colours.

She was like a rainbow compared to Hester.

Half the time, I swear she did it just to wind up the good ladies of the Guild.

She would drive to town in as many clashing flowing clothes as she could think of, loads of jewellery, with her hair a different colour every few months.

Anyway, as you can imagine, she’d given up on Higgins soon after we married.

When word got round she was pregnant, the pressure to join the Guild got ridiculous.

You’ve seen the gang that meet up for coffee? ’

‘The ones who look as if there ought to be knives wedged into the wheels of their pushchairs?’

‘That’s them.’

He was stroking her hair, the edges of her ears. Had he forgotten she was Rose and not Saoirse?