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Molly told Dev everything that she’d been doing. Well, not quite everything. And Dev told her all about his physics and the sort of work he’d been doing - not quite everything. They both had a secret and neither of them knew just how to explain it.
    *
    Father Tom sat in a small corner of the Church and sighed heavily. He was nursing a whopping black eye on the left side of his face; the swelling stretching halfway down his cheek. It hurt and he was losing concentration. He turned to the young woman sitting by his side and shook his head.
    â€œJenny, Jenny,” he began, “all this grief is quite normal, you mustn’t think that it is odd to want something so much that you can almost imagine it.” He shook his head. He had heard the story many, many times over the past four months. His life was for his parishioners, but here he felt he wasn’t helping at all; making no headway. “Losing a child is a terrible loss, one that may seem bigger than you are, so big that...”
    â€œFather, do you believe in ghosts, or spirits?” she suddenly interrupted. “I mean, souls, walking souls?” She seemed anxious and wrung her hands as she spoke.
    Father Tom frowned; why such an odd question? “Of course not,” he said, “They are the fantasies of writers and filmmakers.”
    She nodded, but her gaze was distant.
    â€œJenny, there is no such thing,” he went on gently. “It’s all nonsense. Once someone is dead, they are dead and with the Lord. I don’t believe in palm readers or psychics or mediums or anyone else who claims to speak with the dead. The dead are dead and their souls are in God’s hands...”
    â€œBut what if they’re not...” Jenny said urgently, “What if they’re nowhere and trapped and...”
    â€œThe dead are dead,” he said again, “and their souls are in God’s hands.”
    Jenny nodded and dropped her head down. Father Tom looked away and as he did he caught sight of the far end of the wall where he had found the symbols etched into the plaster.
    â€œIn God’s hands...” He murmured under his voice. And he shivered, as if a mouse had run over his grave.

CHAPTER 4 - London
    Jenny lay on the settee that evening and wrestled with her disappointment. Her meeting with Father Tom hadn’t gone quite as she had hoped, but then what had she expected? He was a man bound to honour his faith, he wasn’t going to suddenly admit to a belief in ghosts and spirits, was he? What he had said made sense. She was being fanciful, ridiculous. Perhaps the grief was disturbing Sophie as well, perhaps they both needed to see someone.
    Jenny stood up and walked out into the hall. She called up the stairs to Sophie; “Sweetheart? Would you like to go out and have some ice-cream?”
    Jenny felt that she needed to take more care of Sophie, protect her more. She had been so involved in her own grief that she’d been neglecting Sophie. She went up the stairs.
    â€œSophie?” Walking across the landing, she stopped outside Sophie’s room. The door was open and she could hear Sophie talking in a soft voice to her dolls. She smiled and stood there for a moment listening.
    Suddenly she stepped abruptly into the room. ”Who are you talking to Sophie?” she snapped sharply.
    Sophie sat on the cushioned window seat. There were no dolls or toys around the room. She turned and looked at her mother.
    â€œNo-one,” she said nervously.
    Jenny crossed to her. She knelt down. “Is there someone in the room with you?” she asked.
    Sophie stared at her mother and then slowly she shook her head. “I was just talking to myself,” she said. Jenny put her arms around her daughter and hugged her in close. “What did you mean? I think Mummy should know.” she said gently, “What was that about Sophie?”
    â€œNothing,” Sophie whispered. She stopped for a