“A golden summer,” said Becca, in a non-committal tone.

I looked at her. “Yes. Yes it was. It didn’t matter so much to me, growing up without a mother, you know, because I had Jessica and her family. That was why–“ my voice failed for a second. I coughed. “That was why it was so terrible, what happened. It ripped us all apart.”

“What happened?”

“I’m coming to that.” I took a deep breath. “There was an – an ancient place near the cottages. An ancient place of worship for the druids, or the Celts – there’s similar places all over Cornwall. Not exactly a stone circle, but there’s this one stone with a hole in it, and another you can see through...  Jessica and I – I don’t know – we just got obsessed by it. There was lots of folklore about it, you know. There still is. In the old days, the villagers used to take their sick children down to the Men-an-Tol at midnight and pass them through the hole, to heal them.”

“The what?”

“The Men-an-Tol. It means ‘stone with a hole’. Jessica and I made our own folklore up, except we kind of forgot we’d made it up and I think we almost believed it. She did believe it. Jessica said that when it was full moon, at midnight you could climb through the Men-an-Tol and you would go back in time.” I saw Becca smile and smiled myself, unwillingly. “Oh, I know it sounds ridiculous now, but you know what kids are like. We were so romantic, we just yearned for it to be true. I think we did honestly believe it.”

I stopped talking for a second. The bar had become very crowded, people pressing in on our tiny table from both sides. People shouted and called across the room to one another and laughed loudly. I was glad of the tumult; it made me feel safer. I was too close to the story; I felt as if I could be pulled back into the past at any time.

“What happened?” said Becca. She leant across the table towards me, frowning.

I took another sip of wine. My tongue felt as if it were coated in glue. There was a part to this story that I was going to leave out, I just decided. It didn’t have any bearing on what happened anyway and it was – private.

“That summer we were there, when we were ten... Jessica found out there would be a full moon during our holiday. Well, you can imagine how excited we were. We were going to go to the Men-an-Tol at midnight and climb through the hole. Jessica had planned it all. She was always more of the ringleader. She came up with most of our schemes but, you know, I was happy to go along with her. Anyway, we plotted and planned the whole thing. We were going to meet by the farm, by the hedgerow, and walk up to the circle, just before midnight.”

I stopped talking.

“And? You did?”

I didn’t answer for a moment. “I didn’t. She did.”

“What?”

I felt tears prick at my eyelids. “I meant to,” I said. I pinched my nose to stop myself crying. “I woke up and got dressed and went downstairs. I got to the front door and I – I-”

Becca held my hand again. “It’s alright.”

“I meant to,” I said. My voice wobbled. “I got scared. I didn’t go. I – I told myself that Jessica wouldn’t go, either.”

A teardrop escaped and hit the polished surface of the tabletop. We both looked at it. I smudged it with my finger. I had the image of the front door in my head, slightly open; outside the night frosted with moonlight, the sky filled with ragged clouds and star-specks and behind it all, an abyss ready to pull me in.

“I just got scared,” I said. “I’d never been out at night on my own before. The world just looked too big.”

Becca squeezed my hand. “Well, I don’t think that’s so terrible,” she said. “You were only ten.”

I snatched my hand back. How dare she misunderstand? “Jessica did go.”

Becca raised her eyebrows. “She did?”

“Well, we think she did,” I said. I looked down at the table. “She went somewhere. She disappeared.”

“What?”

“Just that. She disappeared. She was never seen again.”

Becca’s mouth fell open. “What, never?”

“Never.” I clenched my hands together under the table. “I don’t think her mother ever forgave me.”

Becca didn’t appear to hear my last sentence. “But – but – wasn’t there a search? Didn’t they find her?”

“Of course there was a search,” I said. The brandy and wine were mixing uneasily in my stomach. “It even made the news, there were reporters down there and everything. But they never found her or her body. She’d just vanished.”

Becca’s eyes were wide. “My God. That’s – that’s terrible.”

“Yes.”

“My God. They never found her. Never?” I shook my head. “Jesus,” she said, “What do you think happened?”

I pressed a hand to my stomach. I was feeling steadily sicker. I could see the outline of the door in my head, the shadow behind it.

“I don’t know.”

“Are you alright?”

“Not really.” I pushed myself up from my chair. “Sorry, Becca. I’ve got to go.”

“What, now?”

“Yes. Sorry.” I grabbed my bag and coat and pushed my way through the crowded room. I could feel my stomach start to cramp. Bent double, one hand over my mouth, I just made it to the toilet in time.

Chapter Six

“So, how have you been?”

My therapist always opened our sessions with that question. I pondered the answer, looking across at her seated in her sagging leather armchair, her legs neatly crossed. Margaret Greggs had clear, grey eyes and she always wore brightly coloured blouses.

I told her about being alone for the past couple of days while Matt was in Brighton. I told her something of what happened at the funeral. She nodded occasionally but mostly she just sat there, calm as a Buddha statue, letting the words spill out of me. I normally found this room relaxing but today I could feel myself hunching in my chair and biting at a shred of dry skin on my lip.

“You seem anxious, Maudie. Is there something in particular that’s bothering you?”

I was silent. I had been thinking about mentioning the thin, blonde woman, the woman I’d seen outside the flat.

“You know this room is a safe space, Maudie. There will be no judgement, no pronouncement on you. You can trust me.”

I struggled for a moment and gave in. “I’ve been seeing this – woman,” I began. “I’m not sure – I mean, it’s hard to say–”

“Go on. Take all the time you need.”

“There’s this woman. I keep – seeing her.” I suddenly realised how that sounded. “I don’t mean seeing her. I mean–” I stopped for a moment, flustered. “I don’t mean seeing her as in sleeping with her, or anything. I’m not sexually seeing her. I mean–” I stopped and took a deep breath. “I mean, I’ve been really seeing her. I look, and she’s there. You know.”

Margaret raised her eyebrows encouragingly. “How do you mean, Maudie?”

I swallowed. “I actually see her. In real life. Oh God, I’m not explaining this very well. I mean, I suppose, that I keep noticing this woman. She keeps – turning up. Outside my flat.”

“Mm-hmm?”

“Well, she has once,” I said. “I mean, I’ve seen her once.” I was floundering a little. It all sounded so insignificant. Would I be able to convey to Margaret just how frightened it made me feel?

“It’s just – it’s that - I’m not sure if she exists or not.”

There was a moment’s silence. I replayed the conversation in my head and clenched my teeth. “Sorry, it’s just that I’ve seen her standing in the street. And – oh, I don’t know – it’s as if she... hates me – or something. Some really strong emotion. She has this intense stare.”

Margaret said nothing. She sat there, inscrutable in her shabby chair, fixing me with her gaze, nodding slightly every time I paused.

“I thought I saw her at the funeral, but I didn’t – I thought it was someone else but actually, it was me–”