I reached the top of the stairs and dropped my head between my knees, but that made the pain worse. I lurched into the bathroom and threw up in the peach sink, my whole body shaking, head spinning.

‘Mirabelle! Are you all right?’

‘Am I dying now, Mother?’ I croaked.

‘No. Hush now, Little Doll. You’re not ready to go. I’m not ready for you to go yet. Remember our little rhyme?’ she said, placing a gentle kiss on my head. ‘If dolly has a headache, or breaks an arm or two, just kiss the place to make it well, that’s all you have to do.’

I breathed. The pain withdrew its claws.

It was Mother at my side. Mother who was concerned about me. Mother who was rubbing my back and whispering reassuring words and unlocking the medicine cabinet and giving me painkillers and removing my make-up and helping me undress and running me a bath and tucking me up in bed and smoothing my hair back from my hot, damp forehead.

Mother loves me.

Yes, she does. She really, really does.

After a while, Mother closed my bedroom door softly and I shut my eyes against the pain, which was dying much more quickly than I thought it would. I remembered Mother’s reassuring words and soft touch. Her worried eyes.

I slept.

Chapter 3

A mewling sound woke me. I sat up straight in bed and strained my ears. Someone was crying. Someone young. Clarabelle.

My head ached but the horrific pain from last night had gone. I got out of bed and crept towards the door of my bedroom. I tried the door handle, relieved to find it unlocked. Sometimes Mother locked me in without any explanation. Usually I heard nothing and remained in my bedroom studying for hours before she came to let me out. The longest she had ever left me was six hours. The little gold clock on my desk had told me so. She had apologized that time and given me a big hug, which had made it all better.

The mewling sound was still there so I crept out onto the landing and tiptoed past more of Mother’s psychedelic prints towards the spare room. I felt sure that Mother would be angry if I spoke to Clarabelle without permission, but the temptation was too great. Mother was the only person I had ever spoken to and here was a living, breathing, different person. If I didn’t take this opportunity, I knew I’d go mad with curiosity.

I hesitated halfway across the landing and listened, training my ears in the direction of downstairs. Nothing. Not even a whisper of Mother.

Go for it.

The brown carpet ate up my footsteps as I tiptoed the next couple of steps to the spare room. Ever so quietly, I knelt down and put my ear to the door.

‘Clarabelle?’ I whispered.