It took Lizzie a few moments for her eyes to adjust to the sudden darkness. There was a dim light inside the shed, emanating from a single electric pendant light hanging from the ceiling, but it took a while for it to be bright enough to make out her surroundings.

‘These are what’s been hammered to Mum’s front door,’ she declared, pointing to the items laid out.

Lizzie’s gaze followed, and for a split second she thought she was imagining it – seeing what wasn’t really there. But then her body reacted: her palms becoming hot, her armpits clammy. Tears sprang to her eyes, tears she tried but failed to swallow down, the lump in her throat preventing it.

She stared at the doll’s head, unable to tear her eyes from it.

Her breath stuttered and caught in her lungs, trapped. Her trachea tightened. She was going to choke.

It looked just like Polly.

The last doll her mum had given her. Could it be her? She thought she’d taken the doll with her when she’d been taken into care. But now, staring down at it, she felt sure it was Polly. Not just the head, but the leg and arm also resembled her beloved doll. The only doll she’d never ripped apart. But now, it appeared someone else had.

She was aware of sounds – slowed-down speech, like a record playing at the wrong speed, coming from her right. An arm on hers: the touch light, unreal. It was as though she were experiencing an out-of-body episode. There she was, hovering above herself and Anna, each of them looking down at the surface of the wooden cupboard – at the head, arm and leg lying harmlessly, still. Inanimate. No need to be afraid, she told herself.

Only there was a reason to be afraid.

Someone was messing with her, playing around with her emotions, tossing her life into turmoil. Why was someone hammering parts of Polly to Muriel’s door?

Lizzie had the sensation she was moving. Air swept around her body, her face. Anna was talking. She could hear more clearly now – not in slow motion, not as though she had cotton wool in her ears.

‘Lizzie! God, are you okay? I think you fainted.’

Lizzie gasped air, trying to force as much of it in and out of her lungs as she could manage without hyperventilating. She was reassured when her breathing became easier, less painful, steady. She wasn’t going to die.

‘It … it was a panic … attack,’ she managed to say.

‘Shit, it was scary. I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have taken you in there. I didn’t think it would have that effect.’

‘No. It’s fine.’ Lizzie sank fully to the ground, sitting cross-legged, her hands on the grass. ‘It was claustrophobic in there, and so hot – just got to me. It was so sudden I didn’t have time to get out.’

‘I’m glad you’re okay now. I’ll get you a drink,’ Anna said, and disappeared into the kitchen.