There were three more doors, all closed. Opening the first, Prue found a sumptuous, shiny-white bathroom. From the empty holder attached to the tiles above the sink it looked as if the only thing Madi had taken with her was her toothbrush. Everything else had been left behind, with several half-empty shampoo and bubble-bath bottles lined up along the side of the bath and a small cupboard on the wall revealing a selection of hairsprays, headache tablets, cough medicines and plasters. There was an unopened packet of ash blonde hair dye too, which provided the first clue to what Madi might look like or wanted to look like at least. Two fresh towels, in a pretty lemon colour with a scalloped edge, had been left for her on a chair next to the radiator, which, like the water when she tried the tap, was wonderfully hot.

The second door led her into a small double bedroom, simply furnished and clearly not in use, although there was an old teddy lying on the pillows and a handful of old Rupert annuals and a lamp shaped like a car on a shelf by the bed. The third door took her into what must be Madi’s room. For the first time since she had arrived, Prue felt like an intruder. This was no hotel room. This was Madi’s private space. The bed was a large king size, with a pretty rose-patterned duvet and heaps of small pink cushions, most of which Prue knew she would have to chuck onto the floor in order to get into bed. She half expected to lift a pillow and find Madi’s pyjamas hiding underneath. Posh satin ones, if the rest of the flat was anything to go by. A book sat on the bedside cabinet with a bookmark sticking out of it, as if its reader had just left the room and would be back at any minute. How could anyone do that? Know they were going away for a month and leave a book behind, unfinished? Prue certainly couldn’t, and had brought a good six or seven new novels with her, as well as the romance she had been so engrossed in on the train and couldn’t wait to get back to.

On the top of the chest of drawers, Madi’s perfumes and various items of jewellery, some laid out on a flower-painted china tray, some curled into trinket boxes with no lids, had been pushed aside, making room for a vase of purple tulips whose petals were already starting to droop, and providing space for Prue to put some of her own things. The perfume bottles were all expensive brands. She took the lid off one and sprayed some onto her wrist, lifting it to her nose and enjoying the fresh citrusy aroma that reminded her, just briefly, of her gran, standing in the kitchen years ago, leaning over a bubbling pan of lemon marmalade as a young Prue sat at the table, sticking labels onto the waiting jars. She still missed her gran every day and couldn’t imagine a time when that would ever stop.