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Studying herself, made up and unmade up for a moment Rose thought Even this side doesn’t look like Hester. I am never going to look like Hester. I can have make-up on or not, but I don’t look as awful as she does.

She finished her face and readjusted the shoulders of her blouse then went to look at the clothes in her wardrobe.

This afternoon I’m going to go through all my clothes and take a ton to the charity shop.

She noticed that something was missing from the corner and remembered her cello, which she’d left in the sitting room the previous night.

In her mind, the melody came back, the grief, the anger, the despair, the yearning for comfort. Her fingers flexed.

In the sitting room, she sat down and picked the cello up again. Then she put it back and opened up her laptop.

Simon came in. ‘How’s the edit going?’ he asked.

‘It’s on the shared drive, you can check it if you like,’ she answered. ‘I’m doing my own thing now.’

‘What thing? You haven’t got a thing.’

‘Yeah well, maybe I do.’

Rose set the music transcription programme running. ‘Go and shave,’ she said. ‘You look like you could sand wood with that face.’

She sat down and started to play while the notes transcribed onto the laptop.

She couldn’t remember everything she’d played before but she closed her eyes, adapting and adjusting, incorporating the night and the tears and the emptiness of her bed.

When Simon returned to the room, she was sitting there with an intense frown, crafting Sky’s song with the bow.

‘Someone’s coming to the front door,’ he said.

‘Oh no, not them again,’ groaned Rose, opening her eyes.

‘Is either of them six foot two and looks like a Viking with a beard and a lot of longish hair?’

’Not unless they’ve had a makeover and put on some serious heels.’

‘I suppose I’d better see who it is,’ he said.

‘Well, if the butler’s busy with the housekeeper, I guess you’d better,’ Rose replied.

Sighing, she laid the bow down and saved the transcription.

She was looking back over the score, reading it back through in her head and singing it under her breath when Simon returned and said: ‘…and this is my sister Rose.’

Rose looked up to see Simon standing with someone who looked vaguely familiar.

It was the shape of him, rather than his face, which she’d never seen before.

She bit her lip and reached to touch her hair.

The man was as tall as Simon and while Simon filled a room with confidence, this man seemed to fill it with nonchalance.

His hands were in his jeans pockets and his smile was wry and open.

His thick hair just touched the collar of his shirt which was in a moss green and picked out something in his eyes.

She had imagined a big hairy man from Simon’s description but his beard was a neat goatee and his hair was wild rather than long.

Realising she’d been drinking him in, she said. ‘Oh you’re my saviour!’ before she could stop herself. Simon goggled.

‘I mean, you’re the man from across the road,’ she gabbled. ‘Last night, you rescued me from Emmeline and Hester. I’m sorry, can we start again?’

The man laughed and held out his right hand. The nails were extremely long.

‘Guitarist,’ he said, when he saw she’d noticed. ‘I’m Rob. Happy to be your saviour any day.’

‘Sit down,’ said Rose. ‘Sit down, would you like a coffee or something…’

‘Or beer,’ offered Simon.

Rob sat on the sofa and looked round the room. For the second time in two days, Rose looked round too and looked at the dingy walls and drab curtains, the dust, the mantlepiece clear of all but one wedding photograph which Rob took in before looking back at Rose.

‘Always wondered what it looked like in here. But it’s been a holiday let for as long as I can remember. Sorry I haven’t been round before,’ he said. ‘I’m supposed to bring sugar aren’t it? Or is it a casserole nowadays.’

‘A casserole would be good, Rose can’t cook.’ said Simon.

‘Do you do it all then?’ asked Rob. ‘I love cooking.’

Touché , thought Rose, my hero to the rescue again .

‘Simon thinks food is just fuel,’ she said. ‘He doesn’t really care what you dish up. If you leave it to him, you’d live on toasted cheese. But honestly, about last night, Emmeline and Hester just turned up out of the blue and I didn’t want …. I mean, when you… ’

‘Distracted them?’

‘Yes… I’m sorry, that makes me sound really antisocial. It’s just that… I was really tired and Simon was in bed with a migraine and… is Hester your relation? You seem familiar.’

‘God no!’ exclaimed Rob, pulling a face.

‘I went to school with her, that’s all. Hester Straun.

She was nicknamed Hamster because of the way she used to eat her sandwiches, you know, nibble nibble nibble as if someone was going to snatch them from her.

Yeah I know, it wasn’t nice, but that’s kids for you, and she’s not the nicest of people.

The name calling didn’t last, mainly because she didn’t react and bullies like a reaction.

Or at least I think that’s why it didn’t last.’ He paused with a frown.

‘Anyway, I’ve been away, only just got back yesterday and it was a bit late to call round and say hello.

I went to the kitchen for some beer and saw them out of the window, standing on your doorstep.

Felt sorry for you, so I ramped up the volume of the music a bit and opened the door.

Happy to come to your rescue. Was it the first time she’d been round? ’

‘Hester yes, Emmeline was round earlier. She was telling me all about the Guild.’

Rob’s jaw clenched then he took a swig of the beer Simon had brought. ‘I’ll bet. Does it appeal?’

‘No. Hard to explain, but no.’

‘Good,’ he said. ‘My life’s mission is to wind the Guild up and actually in the absence of sugar, I did come over with something to ask.’

He nodded at the cello, lying at Rose’s feet.

‘I heard you last night. Emmeline and Hester didn’t stay for longer than it took for them to tell me to turn the music down and get back to practicing reels and square dances.

They thought I had the band there but I didn’t.

It was just me and some ideas. Can’t see what it had to do with her what volume my music was at, there’s only my bungalow and yours for five miles.

Anyway, I turned it down, she drove off and I heard someone calling and then I heard music.

I could have listened for ever. It….reminded me of things I try to forget, but it was good. It was good to remember them.’

He glanced at the wedding photo again. Rose could see no ring or mark of a ring on his left hand, but that meant nothing really.

‘She’s a brilliant composer and player, your sister, isn’t she?’ he said to Simon.

‘Er yeah.’

‘It was your own piece wasn’t it, Rose?’

Rose could feel herself redden and nodded.

‘Yes, just something I’m sort of working on.

But I’m very rusty. I mostly do Simon’s admin and edit his books that sort of thing.

His new book is supposed to be out for Christmas and we really need to crack on with any last minute revisions.

It’s supposed to coincide with his Christmas special. ’

‘Which reminds me,’ said Simon. ‘Have you set up that meeting with production?’

‘Yes, it’s on Friday.’

Rob leaned forward. ‘We could do with something extra in our band. Fancy it?’

Rose felt herself holding the cello against herself.

‘I haven’t really done anything serious for a while.’ she said. ‘I’m really out of practice. I’m not sure I’d be any good.’

‘Well if the playing last night was you being rusty, then you knock spots off most of us. Listen, come over in an hour and have a look at my studio. Both of you, if you like. The band’ll be there and you could meet them and just jam along or just listen, whatever you like.

No pressure. Just thought you might be interested.

’ He added in sepulchral tones, waggling his fingers as quotation marks: ‘If anyone asks, we’re “practising for the ceilidh”. ’

For a while, there was silence but for the washing machine rumbling away with Sky’s borrowed clothes inside.

Simon was standing by the patio doors looking up into the forest and Rose sat cradling her cello and imagining herself playing on a stage again, weaving in and out of other instruments, tangling and untangling, a rhythm, a rhyme, the audience forgotten, she imagined looking up and sharing that thrill with the other musicians and realised she’d been staring at Rob for some time. She blushed but he grinned.

‘I’ll take that as a probably,’ he said. ‘By the way, the forest. Has anyone told you about the forest?’

Simon turned round. ‘The resettlement project you mean? No, they never did. Mrs Mac said something to Rose about it. I think I can guess though,’ he pulled the strands of coarse hair out of his pocket. ‘It’s wolves isn’t it? Danish wolves. They’re reintroducing them.’

‘Och of course, you must think I’m stupid. You’re a naturalist, aren’t you?’ He nodded at the hair. ‘You’ve been up to the fence and found that and worked it out. Not bothered then?’

Simon laughed. ‘Delighted actually. Do you know anything about the pack? How long’s it been here? How’s it settling in? Any problems with the locals?’

‘They’ve been here about six months or maybe a bit less.

I think they adds a bit of atmosphere to the place actually, but the Guild weren’t happy.

Luckily they couldn’t argue wolves aren’t traditional.

Wolves were here before the Guild and before most of the families that pride themselves in their local ancestry.

Not those wolves of course. I wonder what it feels like to them.

They must know they’re in a different place: the smells, the climate, the other animals.

Is it true that the birds and so on have different accents? ’

‘Yes,’ said Simon.

But Sky said the forest felt familiar , thought Rose. Perhaps it’s not like that at all

‘ And sometime they’ll have to bring in another pack I suppose so there’s no interbreeding,’ said Rob.

Simon nodded.

‘Do you ever see them from here?’ asked Rose.

‘No, they keep themselves to themselves. I think from time to time, they come up to the fence. No one’s reported anything amiss.

Of course, there were plenty who complained, not just Emmeline and her little band.

Farmers said their flocks would be spooked, said they were spooked in fact.

But there’s no evidence of any damage or destruction.

The only co-incidence is a couple of sightings of a naked woman running about from time to time.

Wishful thinking if you ask me. Anyway, I’m off to set up.

See you and your cello soon. You know you want to,’ he said to Rose as she saw him out.

She shrugged and grinned, closing the door behind him and returned to the sitting room.

‘What do you reckon?’ she said.

Simon grabbed her in a bear hug. ‘I think it’s fantastic!’

‘Blimey, really, you’ve never been this excited about my music before.’

‘No not that,’ Simon waved it aside. ‘Tell me again why Sky said she couldn’t stay.’

‘It was something like, “I can only come today and the next today.” I have no idea what she meant.’

‘It’s obvious,’ said Simon.

‘Is it?’

‘Of course. People have been seeing a naked woman at full-moon since the wolf pack got here. Something happened to her too. She can only shift at full-moon. She’ll be back at the next full-moon.

Only…’ his face dropped. ‘I won’t be able to speak to her, will I?

Right go and get Andrew Ford on the phone, we’ll get him up on Friday, see where he’s got to with everything. Maybe he can work something out.’

Rose felt her heart sink. In the light from the patio window, she saw that the grey was in Simon’s hair too and that deep lines were showing on his face.

It was not her imagination, they had not been there before.

She tried to recall their parents at the same age.

They had both been dead so long. But when they had been in their early thirties, she’d just have been been six or so and Simon would have been nearly eight.

Poking about in one of the boxes by the bookcase, she found a photograph they hadn’t yet got round to putting up.

It was a snapshot, taken by a cousin. There she and Simon were, two dark-haired children on a beach with their dark-haired parents.

Mum and Dad must have been in their mid thirties but there was not a grey hair between them.

She compared her parents with her brother, now around the same age as they had been in the photograph.

She had had her suspicions and now she was sure.

‘I already arranged for him to come up,’ she told him. ‘Look, about the music. If you don’t want me to leave you, I can stay and go through the editing with you.’

Simon looked blank for a second. ‘Oh yes, the music. No, go for it, people seem to want you to join things, so go join things. I want to go for a walk anyway. It’s driving me mad being stuck indoors. I’ve got some ideas for a new series and need to think them out.’

‘Don’t do anything stupid Simon, that fence might be easy to get over if you’re a seven stone woman, but not if you’re a great lump like you.’

‘Rose, I’m not an idiot. Even if I hadn’t lived with that pack for months, I know how they operate. I’m not going to go forcing myself on them. I just want to get my head clear. Go on, go play with the Viking. I’ll see you later.’

Rose watched him stride out into the fields again, talking into his phone. She’d have to turn his thoughts into something comprehensible later.

‘Sorry Mum,’ she said to the family photograph, wiping the dust off with her sleeve and putting it on the mantlepiece. ‘I’m doing my best, but he always did get into scrapes and I can’t always get him back out.’

She packed up her cello then paused. Should she just put it back in her room and hang out the washing or should she ignore the washing and go and make a fool of herself with total strangers?

Thinking of Simon’s strong back and determined gait as he lumbered up towards the forest’s edge, she set her jaw, hefted her cello and walked out of the house and across the road. She might as well be a fool in public as a fool in hiding.