Juliette’s phone dinged, loud enough to echo in the attic. Her laugh barked out of the hole I was standing below. Her face appeared above me. ‘Katherine’s planning the next reunion,’ she said. She was on the family WhatsApp chat: I know, big steps. ‘Wants suggestions.’

‘Somewhere warm.’

She laughed again and clunked off to toss around more boxes. I turned back to my bag, pulling out a crumpled, mouldy jacket. It had still been damp when I’d shoved it in, hurrying to leave. The smell was foul. That decided it; I’d toss the whole bag. There was nothing in there I needed and I didn’t have the stamina to sift through it. I checked the pockets just to be sure, and pulled out a folded piece of paper. Sofia’s bingo card.

I looked at Michael’s edit: Ernest ruins fixes something.

And I had. Despite everything that it represented, I still felt a warmth as I took out a pen and crossed through the square. It wasn’t enough for a bingo, but it was pretty damn satisfying.

That was when I realised I hadn’t been taking my own advice.

I took out my new phone (battery: 4%; I’m ashamed it was lower here than during a mountain-top snowstorm). I downloaded a magnifying app, which wasn’t as good as a loupe, but I figured it would be enough.

I remembered Michael had taken a moment of thought before writing on the card. Or maybe he’d spent those few quick seconds, his contact lens case beside him (I knew he hadn’t worn contacts!), fiddling with something else. Something small enough that my father had to use a needle to handle . . . but I supposed the tip of a pen would do. Don’t lose that, he’d said, holding his thumb down firmly as he handed the bingo card back to me, as if pressing the ink in. I’m trusting you. He’d written some words, but he’d also added the full stop. I told you: in a mystery, there are clues in every word – hell, in every piece of punctuation . . .

My heart pounded in my throat with the sense of discovery. I scanned my phone camera (battery: 2%), magnifying app running, over Michael’s added full stop. Photos. Sixteen of them, in a 4x4 grid.