I fall asleep somewhere between the end of Ondine’s story, and the sound of her voice calling my name softly. I rub my eyes and ask her where we are.

“Almost there. I thought you’d want to see the village as we approach. It’s kind of amazing.”

I’m half-way between the dream world and the waking one, blinking my eyes so that I don’t miss the first sight of the village. “I’m sorry I fell asleep. That’s not very polite when you’re driving alone at night.”

“It was likely for the best – it’s just one winding road after another around here. I know how car-sick you get.”

My cheeks flush. Again. The one time I forgot to take an anti-motion-sickness tablet, I was travelling with Dr. Pendle and Ondine to an interview. She had to stop the car eight times on the way. I’m about to make a joke about it, when Ballaig looms into view and I am, briefly, speechless.

The sun is rising in the east, flashing pink and coral stripes on the windows of the houses facing us as we approach. The row of houses is crescent-shaped. The houses sit atop a huge cliff, with the sea far, far below. As we drive nearer, we pass a huge garden at the edge of the village, more like a small farm. It’s green and lush with plants.

“That’s the community garden,” Ondine tells me. “There’s been one here since the village was built. Everyone pitches in, and everyone benefits. No one wants for food here – or at least not fruit and veg, anyway.”

She drives past, slowly, and I see the huge curly tops of cabbages, broccoli, and cauliflower, and the tall, dark green stalks of leeks. There are frothy, ferny-looking carrot tops, and tall tomato plants and corn stalks. Scarecrows made out of corn stalks sit in between every row, adorned with wigs of long black or green hair.

“They know how to take the piss out of themselves,” Ondine says, smiling. She drives the length of the main street, and parks the car in front of the last house in the row. A light is on somewhere within the house, casting a golden glow through the front window. “We’re here.”

We get out of the car, and I stamp my rubbery legs several times, trying to wake them up. Ondine does a couple of graceful side-stretches, looking like she’s finishing a yoga class, and not at all like she’s just driven for more than six hours. I am too busy looking at her to notice the front door of the house swing open.

“What a sight for sore eyes,” a soft voice calls out, and I turn to see a tall, willowy woman with long grey hair holding her arms out to Ondine.

“You got my message that we were coming?”

“I did, yes. The best message I’ve had in a very long time.”

“Elena, this is Thom.”

Elena releases Ondine, and pulls me in for a hug. “Thom – what a pleasure.”

I hug her back awkwardly, feeling crumpled from the long car journey, and acutely aware that I’m not freshly-washed. I take a step back, and take her hand, shaking it. “How do you do?”

Ondine laughs. “He’s Canadian, what can I say?”

“I imagine you’re both hungry. Come in and have some breakfast.” She turns and looks over her shoulder at Ondine. “You drove through the night?”

Ondine nods. “I could eat a horse.”

“I’ve got a pot of porridge on the go, and I’ve just made some fresh blueberry compote.”

My nose picks up the scent of the compote, making my stomach rumble. Elena wastes no time in serving us heaping bowls of porridge, which we top with mounds of the blueberry sauce. My bowl’s gone in seconds, and Elena refills it. She makes a pot of tea, and sticks thick slices of bread in the toaster. As I wolf down my breakfast, Elena asks Ondine about her life, and I realize she knows all about Ondine’s work and studies with MFIT. Clearly, they keep in close contact.

Ondine clears her throat and says, “We’re here because something’s happened to Thom.”

They’re both looking at me, kindly, and I know I should probably say something but I don’t know where to begin. Elena asks, “Can you tell me about it?”

Her eyes are so wise, and her voice so gentle, that I relax a bit – enough to start talking. It’s like I’m in robotic mode, recounting what happened yesterday from the minute Ondine said she’d go to the beach with me. I’m surprised by how flat my voice sounds, how emotionless. But then, when I get to the end of the story – about running away, back to the house – my voice breaks.

I chug the two-thirds of a cup of tea that’s now tepid, as Elena says, “These things are never easy to talk about. Thank you for sharing it with me. Now, I’m going to ask you a few questions, which I hope won’t be too uncomfortable to answer. If so, you can refuse.”

I nod, and she asks, “You said that you raised your hands, and flicked your fingers, which was what caused the reaction in the water. Did any words come into your head when you did that?”

I shake my head. “And had you ever done anything like that before? Moved anything at a distance?”

I shake my head again, and she asks to see my fingers. She inspects them closely, running her smooth fingers along them, and along my palms and the backs of my hands.

“You also said your lower back tingled – has that ever happened before?”

“It’s happened a few times in Scotland, but not before I moved here.” She asks if she can look at my back, and I stand up, turn around, and lift up my t-shirt. Ondine and I are careful not to make eye contact; in fact, Ondine is doing her best to stare out the window while this inspection of my back is going on.

I want to run out of the room when Elena asks if she can take a photograph of my back, but she says, “It’s for my eyes only – so that I can use it to research what it might be.”

“It’s just a birthmark,” I say, but weakly, before agreeing that she can take a photo.

Ondine says, “There’s more – Thom had an encounter with a sea beast, back in his hometown.”

Elena’s blue eyes are piercing as she asks, “Can you tell me about that, too?”

Ondine’s never heard the story in full. Dr. Pendle is, until this moment, the only person to hear it and, as I tell it again after all these years, I find it no easier. I tell them all of the details that I can still remember so clearly – the green glow, the strange smell as the creature rose up out of The Wash, the hitched way she had of walking, the way she put a wedge between Rufus and I that summer, before stealing him away completely.

When I finish, Ondine’s eyes are glassy with tears, and Elena’s face is the epitome of empathetic kindness.

“I’m sorry, Thom. I had no idea what you’ve been through.” I think about Ondine’s past, about everything I learned about her during the journey, the years of sustained neglect and abuse.

Elena’s voice cuts through the sadness. “From where I’m sitting, you are both incredibly strong people, who have been through so much. Thom – you must be physically and emotionally exhausted after everything that happened yesterday. And Ondine – you’ve been awake all night. I’m going to suggest that you both get some sleep. I’ve got the spare bedrooms all made up for you. In the meantime, I’m going to make a start on looking for any information I can find about what you’ve told me today, Thom.”

“Elena’s got a huge library, with access to texts you won’t find in other places.”

Intrigued, I look at Elena, who is smiling. “It’s a huge archive, so it will take time to find what we need to know.”

“Maybe we should help,” Ondine says.

“You can help, but not right now. You’ll both be much more able to do so once you’ve had some sleep. There’s plenty of food in the house if you wake up before I’m back. If time gets away from me, like it so often does, you know where to find me.”

Ondine nods. “Okay, I’m not going to fight you on this one. The thought of a nice, comfy bed outweighs anything else at this moment in time.” She stands up, and hugs Elena. “Thank you. For everything.”

“Thank you. I needed a new project, something to keep my mind nimble.”

“She’s the smartest person you’ll ever meet in your entire life,” Ondine says to me.

“Reserve your judgement until you see if I can come up with any useful information,” Elena says. “Now go and get some sleep.”