‘No,’ Claire said. ‘It’s okay. I just—’ She swallowed the words, hate this room, and said, ‘just didn’t expect it to be quite that much. I should have asked.’

‘I should have warned you,’ Elizabeth said. She sat down on the bed next to Claire and bounced up and down, which strained the old springs to their limits. ‘Sorry, I just thought – I guess I was scared you’d say no. And I couldn’t stand it if you said no, Claire. I just – it’s so nice to have somebody from the old life, you know? Someone who knows me. Really knows the real me.’

‘Isn’t this the real you now?’ Claire gestured at – all of it. The outfit, the hair, everything.

‘I guess so. I just – sometimes it feels so strange, and I wish I could go back to being … a kid, you know? A kid at home, with nothing to worry about.’ Elizabeth sighed and stopped bouncing. ‘I spent so long wanting to be on my own and now it’s – it feels weird. And pretty frightening, to be in charge. Right?’

Claire didn’t answer this time. She put her arm around her friend, and they sat together in a suddenly comfortable silence for a few long seconds, before Elizabeth – practically a Ritalin kid, with all her energy to burn – wiggled free and grabbed Claire’s hand to haul her to her feet. ‘You have to see my room!’ Elizabeth said brightly. ‘You’ll love it, we can fix yours up too, make it really yours …’

She kept talking as she pulled Claire toward the door, and to be honest Claire wasn’t really listening until Elizabeth, midway down the stairs, finished up a sentence with, ‘and the ghost.’

‘Wait.’ Claire pulled her to a full halt. ‘What did you just say? Ghost?’

‘Sure! The house is haunted; isn’t that the coolest ever?’

Claire waited a second. She had always been able to tell, in Morganville, if something paranormally weird was going on around her, but here it just felt like a draughty, creaking old house. ‘You’re sure?’

‘Well, yeah, of course! I’ve seen her. It’s a lady in white, I think, and she drifts around on the stairs sometimes. Cool, right? I think she probably died here. Maybe she was gruesomely murdered!’

Maybe it was a Morganville thing, but Claire was reasonably certain she’d never thought of someone being horribly murdered with quite so much enthusiasm. She’d seen too many examples of it in real life. That, she realised, was the real gap between her and Elizabeth now … life experience. Elizabeth still lived in a world where the worst that could happen was a stolen wallet or a minor accident. She didn’t know how fragile things were, or how hard you had to fight to hold them together when the world spun out of control.