The tall, strongly-built young man standing next to the capstan has already smiled in response to Niamh’s precocious body language.

“Not my type,” I maintain, but before I can embellish this statement I realise that I know who he is...

The last Lore Keeper of the Weres disappeared without a trace, now thirty years later his legacy returns in the form of a young man named Michael Williams.

The receptionist is holding the door open. Trisha smiles at her, then leans forward to place her lips by my ear.

“The woman in that room,” she hisses. “She’s not my mother.”

Kerrie’s hand has moved to cover mine. Her face is full of concern.

“Are you unwell, sweetheart? You’ve gone very pale.”

“You said three people died. Helen Sutton. Bob Hodgson.” And now my mouth’s so dry I can scarcely move my tongue. “Who…who was the third?”

We walk back to Redheugh Close in silence. The feeling that something isn’t quite right is impossible to escape.

Because Helen Sutton died the same night as Bob Hodgson, that’s why.

If only I could wrap my head around the implications of that one simple sentence.

“There’s no need to pull a face like you’ve just swallowed a bluebottle, sweetheart. Your name only came up after I happened to mention that as I hoped to do a spot of amateur sleuthing while I was here, it would be nice if I could hire a trusty sidekick to help me out for a day or two. Norah says a break like that will do you a power of good, so consider yourself roped in.”

The girl on the other side of the dressing-table mirror returns the world-weary smile I throw at her. We’ll see this out somehow.

If only I didn’t identify with her more and more completely with each day that goes by. How long do I have left before I’m unable to imagine any reflection but the one in front of me now?

Scary? I’ll say.

And there isn’t a thing I can do about it.