The house is different today, newer. The cracks in the walls have disappeared, and the photos are no longer faded. Like I told Izzy, the doctors gave us good news the other day. Could the house be getting better because Mum is? It is alive after all.

And maybe, just maybe, me playing this game is helping her.

The more I visit, the better Mum seems to be doing.

The tap is running in the bathroom next to the kitchen. I notice it right away, almost like the sound is amplified across the entire house. But I ignore it. Instead I run up, up, up the stairs, all the way to the top of the house. I need to see Mum again, need to try to get to her.

By the time I’m standing in front of her bedroom door I’m out of breath.

The silver branches grow thick up here. I was so distracted last time that I hadn’t noticed. And blooming right above Mum’s bedroom door is another yellow flower, just like the one in the courtyard. I seem to notice a new one each time I visit.

The crack on the door is gone, so I can no longer see Mum asleep on her bed. But that’s OK, because it’s the keyhole I’m looking for. I walk to the door and inspect the golden handle. It has intricately patterned carvings that wind all the way round it.

That’s when I realize there’s no keyhole. But then, how is it locked?

‘Mum?’ I call, knocking. ‘Mum, open the door!’

Nothing.

I bend down and try to peer through the crack beneath the door. I can see the room, same as before, but from this vantage point I can’t get a glimpse of Mum.

I try a few more times to open the door, but it doesn’t budge.

Think, Safiya, think.

Could it be magic, like everything else that seems to control the house? Silver branches growing on walls, cats that lead humans to secret hideaways, and swirls of smoke shaped like birds.

I know now this place is magic. And I know it’s real. But it’s not the sort of magic that comes from wands and spells. It’s perfume that holds memories; it’s being closer to Mum, and talking to Dad. So then, what is the key to the door?

That’s when I feel it, and it’s as if the house is answering my question. The damp.

It starts at my toes and works its way up my legs.

I stand up and gasp when I see it. The house is filling up with water. Fast.

The stairs below have turned into a pool. The water comes up quickly, threatening to fill the entire house. How is this happening? There are open windows and doors all over. This doesn’t make any sense.