The phone rang while Uncle Christian was in the garden, and at first, Saffron was just going to let it ring. She knew what to say on the phone- Mum had taught her- but that didn’t mean she liked doing it. You picked it up and got some strange adult’s voice on the other end, asking you questions you didn’t know the answer to. But the phone carried on ringing and Saffron started to wonder if it was someone with an emergency. Maybe even Mum, calling from London. Somebody she’d feel bad ignoring, anyway. Saffron picked up the phone. “Hello?”

“Octavia Lambton,” said the voice on the other end.

“What? I’m not…”

“I want to speak to Octavia Lambton.” It was a scratchy old-lady voice, and Saffron didn’t think she’d ever heard it before. “Now, please.”

Saffron finally came up with an answer. “Um, she’s not at home.”

There was a huff on the other end. “Who am I speaking to?”

“Saffron.” She shifted the phone from one hand to the other. “I’m her daughter.”

“Saffron.” She said it in the same way teachers said the names of kids they wanted to send to the headteacher , and even though they weren’t even in the same room, Saffron felt like trying to hide behind something. “Do you know a man called Christian Ashley?”

“Yes! Do you want to talk to him instead?” Uncle Christian could deal with her, no problem. Whatever she wanted, she could tell it to him instead of Saffron.

“Certainly not!” snapped the old lady, “I’m calling to warn you about him!”

And Saffron couldn’t reply to that, because she was too busy thinking about that sentence again and again in the hope that it would eventually make sense.

(To be continued)