Lou followed them. Taking the lead from everyone else, she pulled on her coat. As they were about to leave, her mum took a brown envelope from the hallstand. ‘I almost forgot,’ she said, handing the envelope to Lou, ‘this arrived yesterday. Looks official.’

Lou pushed the letter into her coat pocket.

They left the house, and Lou slipped her arm through her mum’s. They walked along the road, Dean and Stephen dragging up the rear, Mum and Rebecca chatting about nursery furniture and colours of wool. Lou stared at the side of her mum’s face. She couldn’t let go of her. This might all be a dream. At any moment, her mum might be snatched away from her again.

They stopped at the green to admire the decorations the residents’ association had arranged. They were joined by neighbours who had moved out months, sometimes years earlier, all greeting each other with, ‘Merry Christmas!’ Everybody behaved as though this were all perfectly normal. Nobody batted an eyelid at the usually unkempt gardens cleared of upturned plant pots and discarded children’s toys, the broken fences miraculously mended with new wooden posts and panels, and the potholes in the road that had been filled.

Lou looked at the multicoloured bulbs strung around the bare branches of the trees on the green and the illuminated reindeers arranged at the base of their trunks. She had lived here her whole life but had never heard of a resident’s association. And the Council had cut the trees down years before. All around her, everything looked almost familiar. Almost, but not quite. As though the world had shifted on its axis, knocking everything ever so slightly off kilter, making everything just a bit … nicer.

The crowd that had converged on the green began to move off. Lou buried her face in her mum’s shoulder, walking without knowing where they were going. When she did eventually look up, she gripped her mum’s arm tighter.

The momentum of the crowd carried them along, up and over the footbridge. The pavement on the other side was clear of rubbish and abandoned mattresses. The walls were free of graffiti. The gates had been fixed. They were back on their hinges, the filigree freshly painted, the gold lions shining at the top. Lou faltered. But she couldn’t stop now. She couldn’t turn back. She had to see this through. She had to make sense of this world that had somehow transformed overnight.

Side by side with her mum, Lou crossed the boundary. And there, at the end of the drive, stood Hill House. Its pale Portland stone gleamed and smoke billowed from the tall chimneystacks. Hill House was alive again.

‘Lou … Lou …’

She heard her mum’s voice as though from a distance.

‘You’re shaking, love. I really think you’re coming down with something. Maybe I should take you home.’

‘I’m all right, really.’

‘If you’re sure?’ Mum smiled. ‘I’m glad. It wouldn’t feel right for any of us to miss out on Hill House Christmas carols.’