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“I’d like to talk to him next time your ghost appears, if you’d be willing to be the interpreter.”

“Really?”

Oh no. This is not a good idea.

The whole idea made me uncomfortable. The truth was, I felt possessive. I didn’t understand why Tristan only appeared to me, but I reveled in the exclusivity. I wasn’t ready to share him.

“That might be difficult.”

“Why?”

“I don’t want you to frighten him off.” Deep down, I didn’t think this was a possibility, but it sounded a more plausible excuse than the real one.

“He’s much more likely to frighten me off, Emily,” Dylan said, his tone laced with irony. “You know if you hadn’t been as high as a kite yesterday, you probably wouldn’t have told me, would you?” he added.

“No,” I whispered.

“I just want to know that you’re safe around him. That’s all, Emily. I’ve seen what he can do to my dining chairs. What could he do to a seventeen-year-old girl?”

My already inflamed face flamed some more. “I feel very safe when he’s here.”

“Are you really the best judge of that, especially at the moment?”

I stared at him. How could I answer that question?

“He’s not around all the time, is he?” Dylan looked alarmed.

“No.”

“Good. Come on, let’s go get the supplies you need for school and then I need to get back for the glazier who’s coming in half an hour to repair the broken window. Oh, by the way, I made an appointment for you to see a doctor at the local practice later this morning. In all the excitement I forgot to tell you.”

Dr. Byrne reminded me of my mother—so much so that I paused, blindsided at the sight of her, before I went into her sparse, utilitarian office. She was tall and slim, with long brown hair and a wicked smile. I remembered Dylan talking about how the turn of someone’s head or the way their hair curled reminded him of my mum.

“Emily Beauchamp?” She beamed as I recovered from my shock. “Hi, please sit. I’m going to run through some questions since you’re a new patient, but is there anything specific I can do for you?” she asked in her lilting Irish accent.

“My period is about a month or so late.” Keep it simple.

“I see. Is there any possibility you might be pregnant?”

“No.”

Dr. Byrne handed me a small plastic cup. “Can you go pee in this for me please?” she asked. “Loo is out the door to the left.”

So it begins, I thought and went to find the lavatory.

On my return, she proceeded to do a wealth of tests while gently extracting my family and medical history. I realized that I had no idea if I’d had chicken pox or mumps or vaccinations. My mother had been the custodian of this information. Those records should be somewhere back at home in Bekesbourne.

It wasn’t home anymore.

“Sounds like you’ve had a rather hideous time of it, Emily. No wonder your periods are suspended,” she said.

“I’m seeing a bereavement counselor.”

“Good. So, your uncle’s a doctor?” she asked as she took blood.

“He’s my guardian, uncle in name only. He and my mother weren’t related.” I tried to look anywhere but at the needle in my arm.

“I see. Doctors are the worst. They either worry too much or not at all.” She winked. “Is he here?”