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interrupted him. ‘And she died in her bed. Nothing particularly bad about that, really: she had just run out of life. But she lay there for two months before anyone wondered what had happened. They are a bit strange over in Slice. The worst part of it was that her cats couldn’t get out and started eating her; I mean, she was cat-mad and probably would not have minded, but one of them had kittens in her bed. In her actual bed. It was really very difficult to find the kittens homes in places where people hadn’t already heard the story. They were beautiful kittens too, lovely blue eyes.’
    ‘Er,’ her father began. ‘When you say “in her bed”, you mean …’
    ‘With her still in it, yes,’ said Tiffany. ‘I’ve had to deal with dead people, yes. You throw up a bit first time, and then you just realize that death is, well, part of life. It is not so bad if you think of it as a list of things to do, and do them one at a time. You might have a bit of a cry as well, but that’s all part of it.’
    ‘Didn’t anyone help you?’
    ‘Oh, a couple of ladies helped me when I knocked on their doors, but really she was nobody’s business. It can happen like that. People disappear in the cracks.’ She paused. ‘Dad, we’re still not using the old stone barn, are we? Can you get some of the lads to clean it out for me?’
    ‘Of course,’ said her father. ‘Do you mind if I ask why?’
    Tiffany heard his politeness; he was talking to a witch. ‘I think I’m having a kind of idea,’ she said. ‘And I think I can make good use of that barn. It’s only a thought, and it won’t do any harm to have it tidied up in any case.’
    ‘Well, I still feel mightily proud when I see you rushing all over the place on that broomstick of yours,’ said her father. ‘That’s magic, isn’t it?’
    Everyone wants magic to exist, Tiffany thought to herself, and what can you say? No, there isn’t? Or: Yes, there is, but it’s not what you think? Everyone wants to believe that we can change the world by snapping our fingers. ‘The dwarfs make them,’ she said. ‘I don’t have a clue how they work. Staying on them, that’s the trick.’
    The rough music had died down now, possibly because there was nothing for it to do, or perhaps because – and this was quite likely – if the rough musicians got back to the pub soon, there might be time for another drink before it closed.
    Mr Aching stood up. ‘I think we should take this girl home, don’t you?’
    ‘Young woman,’ corrected Tiffany, leaning over her.
    ‘What?’
    ‘Young woman,’ said Tiffany. ‘She deserves that, at least. And I think I should take her somewhere else first. She needs more help than I can give her. Can you please go and scrounge some rope? I’ve got a leather strap on the broomstick, of course, but I don’t think it will be enough.’ She heard a rustling from the hayloft above, and smiled. Some friends could be so reliable.
    But Mr Aching looked shocked. ‘You are taking her away?’
    ‘Not far. I have to. But look, don’t worry. If Mum makes up an extra bed I’ll soon have her back.’
    Her father lowered his voice. ‘It’s them, isn’t it? Do they still follow you?’
    ‘Well,’ Tiffany said, ‘they say they don’t, but you know what little liars the Nac Mac Feegle are!’
    It had been a long day, and not a good one, otherwise she would not have been so unfair, but – strangely – there was no giveaway reply from above. To her surprise, a lack of Feegle was suddenly almost as distressing as an overdose.
    And then, to her delight, a small voice said, ‘Ha ha ha, she didnae catch us oot that time, aye, lads? We kept as quiet as little mices! The big wee hag didnae suspect a thing! Lads? Lads?’
    ‘Daft Wullie, I swear ye dinnae have enough brains to blow your nose,’ said a similar but angry voice. ‘What part o’ “nae one is tae say one wee word” did ye nae understand? Och, crivens!’
    This last remark was followed