Even after hearing that, Stella is the most relaxed I’ve seen her, smiling at the end of the table, looking out at each of the girls. And I see that to her, all of them are her daughters: surrogates for what she lost? Some have been here for years.

It’s later that I find out that Ellie is an avid gardener, and she is delighted that the flowers on the cake were copies of ones she’d planted in the garden last summer. And there is a little swirl of jealousy inside.

CHAPTER TWELVE

* * *

The next morning as Madison and I step outside to catch the bus into Keswick, it finally happens: it’s snowing.

I dance about on the way, holding my arms up to the sky.

‘You’re mad,’ she says.

‘I just really love snow. I don’t know why.’

She shrugs. ‘Mostly I tolerate it. But it’d be excellent today if it snows really, really hard, and they cancel this stupid walk.’

‘I thought you wanted to go?’

She doesn’t answer, and I look back at her. ‘Oh, I see: not so keen on walking; more keen on Finley.’

She scowls. Then laughs. ‘Maybe.’

‘What’s up with you two?’

She shrugs. ‘It’s hard to say. He’s Finley.’ As if that says it all.

‘And…?’

‘He’s not known for having girlfriends for longer than five minutes. He’s Finley the flirt.’

We reach the road and stop to wait for the bus.

‘You’re wrong,’ I say. ‘That may be the way he has been before, but he really likes you. It’s in his eyes when he looks at you.’

The pink of her cheeks deepens, but she doesn’t answer, and holds up an arm to flag down the approaching bus.

When we get into town we go the Moot Hall. There is a small cluster of people dressed like us, in warm walking gear. Finley is there, and a man identified as John with a clipboard writing down names of each arrival.

Finley sees us and waves. He gets our names put on John’s list, then walks over. ‘Well, look here: it’s Shorty and Extra Shorty. You both better stick close to me.’

‘Why’s that?’ Madison asks.

‘If it keeps snowing you might disappear in a snowdrift. We don’t want to lose you up there.’

It is snowing great heavy flakes, and there is a little discussion about that and the weather forecast. They decide to wait and consult with the fell checker, due along any moment.

‘What’s a fell checker?’ I ask Finley. He turns to me, raises an eyebrow. ‘That is the sort of thing you should know if you want to work for Parks. He is just what it says on the tin.’

‘Let me guess: he checks fells?’ Madison says.

‘You got it, Einstein. Len goes up Helvellyn every day and checks conditions on Striding Edge. He takes a few photos up top. They post his report so walkers can decide whether to go up,’ Finley says, gesturing at a cabinet on the front of the Moot Hall. I walk over to look. Inside is yesterday’s report on conditions and weather on Helvellyn. Icy: experienced walkers with winter survival gear only. Crampons essential. And a photo: a thin icy path winding on a ridge, steep drop off both sides.

‘Not for the faint-hearted,’ Finley says.

‘Not for me!’ Madison adds.

‘Exactly,’ Finley says, and she punches him in the arm. But I’m ignoring them both, staring, transfixed at the image in the cabinet. I’ve been up on that ridge, many times. I’m sure of it! With Danny the Dreamer.

‘Judging by that smile, you’re not faint-hearted,’ another voice says, and I turn. It’s John; he must have walked over and listened in without my noticing.

‘No. Can we go up there today instead?’

John laughs. ‘No way. Too many beginners here.’

‘I don’t get it,’ Madison says. ‘Why do they have some guy go up there to check stuff every day? Why don’t they just have a camera installed, and some weather sensors?’

Finley shakes his head at Madison. I jump in before anyone else can answer: ‘It’s conservation. National Parks can’t put equipment up there, it’s against their mandate.’ John nods.

Len the fell checker appears. He’s older than I expect, long grey hair tied back, a wild grey beard and a crazy glint in his eyes. He chats with John, and it is decided we’re still on for Catbells. As Len strides off I stare longingly at his back, feet itching to chase after him and ask if I can go up Helvellyn with him instead.

‘You coming?’ Finley calls out, and I see our group is starting off. John is leading the way, with Finley as back marker, bringing up the rear.

We walk through Keswick to the river, then down the side of it onto a footpath along fields, into woods, and climbing to the turn to Catbells. There is soon more snow on the ground as we start up a steep hill. Madison is gasping, slowing down, and Finley laughing and pushing her from behind. Then holding her hand. The way they are with each other pulls inside, finds the ache that is always there.

Imagine if Ben were here. Holding my hand as we walk up the hill. Imagine we were alone instead of in this straggling line of walkers.

I speed up and let Finley and Madison drop behind. Giving them some alone time, I tell myself, or is it just that I can’t watch them any more? I push my legs and muscles and one by one overtake the others who are slowing as the path steepens. Before long I reach John at the front.

‘Slow down there,’ he says cheerfully. ‘I can’t let you disappear ahead, and I can’t speed up and let the others drop behind.’

‘How about if I go ahead, but stay in sight? I ask, itching to just see open path in front of me.

‘Go on then. But don’t get too far ahead,’ he says. ‘Wait every now and then for us to catch up.’

I head out front. The snow has slowed like the weather report said it would, and the sky is lightening: the view opens up ahead.

The open path at my feet calls me forwards; every step I feel I’m getting closer to something without knowing what. I force myself to wait now and then for the others to catch up as promised, then take off again. The cloud gradually lifts, and one by one the surrounding peaks reveal themselves. Something inside is letting go, untwisting bit by bit. This is where I belong.

I reach some rocks; the wind has swept the snow away from this exposed place, leaving the glimmer of ice behind. A short scramble up is needed. Stella’s right: I am part mountain goat. I climb the rocks easily and wait at the top for the others at John’s wave. Most get up without much difficulty, but Madison looks alarmed and it doesn’t look like an act designed to get Finley’s attention. I scramble back down again and help her up before he notices.

Across the first ridge, another scramble, and then I’m alone on top of the world. The lake stretches out below, Keswick beyond. The other way, higher fells and steeper climbs call out to me, and I promise myself: another day.

Up here you can believe anything; you can be anything. Words whispered inside: Danny the Dreamer. I repeat them out loud.

Steps come up behind me; John stands next to me. Did he hear? ‘True. And these mountains and lakes have been here a long time, longer than people have. They’ll be here when we’re all gone.’

We say nothing else. The world below, and its Lorders and problems, seems remote, of no consequence.

The others catch up, and before long we must leave to make it down in daylight. Back to reality.

That evening at dinner Stella tells us that an inspector is coming for lunch tomorrow: a JCO. All must attend, no excuses, and be on best behaviour. She doesn’t say a name: is this my grandmother, the one Madison mentioned? The one whose photos are hidden away inside a box in a locked wardrobe? Glances are exchanged, nothing else said, but the mood is dampened down, as if she’d just thrown a bucket of cold water over the room.

Madison follows me to my room after dinner in a total black mood.

She flops down on my bed.

‘I really can’t believe this.’

‘What?’

‘That that witch has to pick this Sunday, my only one off in an entire month, to come for a stupid lunch. And all must attend. Some of us might have lives of our own. Things to do.’

‘Like what?’

She scowls furiously, but her face wars between that and the edge of a smile.

‘Finley?’

She nods. ‘Yep. He finally asked me out this afternoon; we were going to meet in town, go out for lunch, and whatever. And now—’

‘Whatever? What is whatever?’

‘What does it matter? I’ve tried to call but no one is answering. He’s going to think I’m coming up with an excuse to get out of it. He’ll never believe we’re not allowed to miss this stupid lunch. It’s this stupid house. None of the others are like this.’

‘Is it Stella’s mother coming for lunch? The Juvenile Control Officer for all of England that you told me about?’

She nods. ‘Every few months or so she comes. Stella never refers to her as “mother”, but that’s who it is: Astrid Connor, the smiling assassin.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Oh, you’ll find out soon enough.’ She sighs tragically. ‘I can’t believe this is happening to me.’

‘I told you so.’

‘What?’

‘That Finley really likes you.’

‘Maybe.’ She smiles then it falls away. ‘Not that it’ll matter after tomorrow.’

‘Call again tomorrow, tell him you’ll meet him later. It’ll be fine.’

‘Sure it will: I bet he’ll just go off with some other girl.’

‘I doubt it!’

‘What makes you so wise in the ways of guys, anyhow?’

I don’t answer.

‘Okay, I’ve told you mine; now tell me yours. Is there someone? There is, isn’t there. Tell me!’

I can feel the shadow cross my face. ‘There was.’

‘What happened? Did you stand him up and then he went off and—’

‘No.’ I fling a pillow at her. ‘No, because he really cared so he wouldn’t be so daft. Just like Finley really cares.’

‘So why aren’t you together then? If the path of true love is really all forgiving like that, where is he? Why did you leave him behind? Why didn’t he follow you to Keswick?’

‘He couldn’t, that’s all,’ I say, and refuse to say more. Eventually Madison sees I’m really upset, apologises and leaves.

I sigh and turn the lights off, get into bed and pull the blankets around me. If Ben really loved me…shouldn’t that survive everything? Shouldn’t he still feel the same way, deep down inside, even though Lorders have wiped all memory of me from his mind?

It is romantic nonsense to think so. A wave of sadness creeps over me, bit by bit, so deep that it feels as if heavy weights are holding me still, that I’m paralysed. Later I hear a light tap on my door: Stella? But my eyes stay shut when it opens, my body unmoving, breathing deep, unable to reach out or say anything. Moments later it shuts again and footsteps retreat.

Underlying the grief, an uneasy sense of disquiet remains. Tomorrow, I meet my grandmother.

What would she do if she knew I was here? Would she be happy to have her long lost granddaughter back, or is she Lorder through and through?

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

* * *

‘There are a few new faces here today, I see.’ She smiles, and her eyes twinkle behind glasses that look a little like mine. ‘I’m Astrid Connor, and your lovely house mother here is my daughter. Bet she didn’t tell you.’ She looks at Stella and then smiles again. ‘Daughters!’ she says, and shakes her head. Like the last photo I saw of her, her hair is silvery grey, swept up. She wears ordinary clothes, nothing says Lorder in how she looks or acts, but there is something about her. The hackles are raised on the back of my neck. Every eye is drawn forwards. Some people you don’t want to turn your back on.