I stand in the dimly lit hallway, trying to catch my breath and make sense of everything, when I notice blood on my jacket, my gloves. It wasn’t a dream. I stabbed someone. A man.

The masked killer is a man, and I stabbed him.

Yes.

Yes.

And there are only three men here at Drummondale House.

But it can’t be Thomas, or Dad – it can’t be my lovely dad, and anyway he’s hurt his leg.

There’s only one person it can be, and I desperately pray I’m wrong.

‘You’re covered in blood,’ Julia says, as I step into the light of the lounge. ‘Oh God, are you hurt?’

I shake my head. ‘No, but someone attacked me. There’s someone out there, Julia.’ I’m talking too fast. ‘And someone’s killed Maddie.’ Oh God, none of this feels real.

‘Maddie?’ She sits on the edge of the sofa, and points the remote at the TV. Turns it off. Looks back at me.

‘Thomas’s carer.’

‘The pretty American? Oh God, that’s awful.’

‘You don’t sound remotely shocked.’ I’m still out of breath, and press my bloodied glove against my chest.

She narrows her eyes. ‘Of course I’m shocked, Amelia. I’m practising my calming techniques, is all. It won’t do any of us any good if we all act like crazy people.’

‘Like me, you mean?’

‘I never said that.’

I bite down on my bottom lip hard, determined not to lose it with her. Knowing it won’t help. ‘Someone was sitting on the bench,’ I say, trying for calm. ‘Wearing a mask.’

‘Kyla’s bench?’

‘Yes.’

She splashes red wine into a glass in front of her. ‘Who was it?’

Finn. Finn. I think it was Finn. ‘Christ, Julia, I don’t know – but whoever it was is the killer.’

‘Do you know who Kyla was, Amelia?’ she says, taking a gulp of her wine, and I realise she’s trembling, nowhere near as calm as she pretends.

‘Christ sake, Julia, is that important right now?’ I say, heading for the window. I pull back the curtains to reveal snow stretching towards a copse.

‘She was Finn’s half-sister.’ A pause. ‘My half-sister.’

‘What?’ I turn. ‘I don’t understand.’

The lights dip, and chills run down my back.

‘She died twenty-six years ago.’

‘Kyla?’

She nods. ‘She was only fifteen, and her death had a dreadful effect on Ruth, left her mentally scarred – unstable. Poor Finn had a hard time of it as a kid.’ She takes a sip of her wine. ‘Ruth became possessive of him – scared she might lose him too.’ She pauses. ‘Of course this was before I was born, but I saw the outcome, what it did to poor Finn.’

My eyes flash from Julia to the window and back to Julia. ‘But you said she was your half-sister too.’