‘I’ll pause it while you go up,’ Zara said, slipping off the couch and reaching towards the video recorder.

Fran put her finger to her lips, head cocked, listening. ‘She sometimes goes quiet after a minute …’

Zara shrugged and moved to a mahogany cabinet on the other side of the fireplace.

‘What’s in here, I wonder,’ she said, opening a door. Fran shook her head. Zara knew exactly what was in there.

‘Leave it, Zara.’

‘Bacardi. God, aren’t they fancy with their Bacardi?’ She unscrewed the cap.

‘Ah, Zara, stop, will you?’

Zara took a mouthful, scrunching her eyes closed as she swallowed. She coughed and took another swig.

‘Come on! Like, we’re in charge of a child.’

‘You’re in charge of a child. And doing a questionable job, I’d say,’ she said, pointing towards the ceiling, through which they could still hear Lily’s intermittent wails.

‘Please just put it back. What if they smell it on you when they get home?’

‘I won’t breathe on them. I promise I’ll stay at least three feet away from Robbie all the way home.’

‘What are you talking about “all the way home”?’

‘When he’s walking me back to my house. He’ll have to, right? I mean, you’re only next door, but I’m a good ten-minute walk away.’

Fran rolled her eyes. ‘You can stay in my house.’

‘Nah, I’d better go home. Robbie won’t mind walking me. It won’t be the first time. And I’m great company. I’d say I’m a lot more craic than Mary anyway.’ She picked up a bottle of whiskey just as Lily broke into an almighty roar. ‘I wonder what this is like?’

‘Don’t you dare,’ Fran hissed, as she left the living room. Between raiding the drinks cabinet and simpering over Robbie, Zara was well on her way to getting Fran fired. Next time, she was coming on her own.

12

June 2018

IT’S MONDAY MORNING AND the bed linen needs changing and I’m trying not to think about Lily Murphy, but she’s everywhere. The new house – the forever home – feels big. Too big, and too quiet, and as I walk from room to room, it’s almost eerie. Like the ghosts in the cracks in the walls are listening too.

I move through the silent landing to Sophie’s room. Lily’s room. I’m sure of it, though I can’t say why. It’s colder in here – maybe because the window is smaller and west-facing, with no morning sun. Embossed wallpaper, beige curtains and a cream wardrobe suggest the previous owner used it as a guest bedroom. I stand in the centre, looking around, wondering what I can do to make it more Sophie. A few pictures would help, and a new lampshade. And maybe it wouldn’t be a huge job to strip the walls and paint the room? I kneel and tug at a corner of the wallpaper, down by the skirting board where no one will notice. It comes away easily, but underneath there is more wallpaper. A wave of nostalgia sweeps over me as I spot the familiar Holly Hobbie illustrations. I remember the same wallpaper from my own childhood – a friend’s bedroom, I think. Not mine. My bedroom had bare, cream walls; no pictures or posters allowed.