I walked back to my bedroom and turned to watch Mother pick up Clarabelle then take her back into the spare room. Mother was so kind, so good to rescue poor Clarabelle. She had taken it upon herself to take care of a broken doll and fix her, and the extra burden was clearly taking its toll on Mother.

At my desk, I tried to concentrate on subordinate clauses, but something niggled and gnawed away at my concentration. I wanted to know about Mother’s sister and I had more questions about Clarabelle. The questions were attacking my brain and hurting my tummy. I tried and failed to crush them. Finally, I got up and did one hundred star jumps, part of my daily fitness routine. The surge of adrenaline boosted my mood a little and I did another hundred and twenty, stopping when my heart felt like it was going to burst. I went into the bathroom to use the toilet then ran downstairs to grab a glass of water. When I returned to the landing, glass in hand, I heard a quiet voice from the spare room.

‘Hello?’

It was Clarabelle. She was awake. Her voice sounded wobbly but at least she wasn’t crying.

I hesitated. Mother wanted me to stay away from Clarabelle. She had said ‘too many new faces will confuse her’. That meant that, as long as Clarabelle didn’t see me, I might be able to help her feel better without confusing her and making her feel worse.

‘Hi. It’s me again – Mirabelle. How are you feeling?’

There was a long pause. I knelt down next to the door.

‘Clarabelle?’

‘My name’s not Clarabelle,’ she stumbled a little over the name. ‘My name’s Emma. Emma Hedges.’

I frowned. She sounded so convinced. Mother was right. The little girl was very confused.

‘Help me,’ she said, beginning to cry, ‘I want my my my mu-u-mmy.’

I couldn’t stop myself from asking, ‘Your mummy? Where is she?’

‘I don’t kn-know.’

‘You’re safe here. No one will hurt you any more. Mother will take care of you like she takes care of me.’

Clarabelle’s crying grew louder. My heart hurt; I hated hearing her so upset.

‘We’re going to be a bit like sisters,’ I said, trying to sound excited.

‘I do-do-don’t want you to be my sister. I want my mu-u-mmy! I want my mu-u-mmy!’

She began to scream the phrase over and over again. I tried to calm her down but her cries became more and more frantic. Feeling like I’d made her worse, I backed away from the door and shut myself in my room. I sat on my bed, hugged my knees and covered my ears, desperate not to hear the little girl’s terrible screams and terrified that Mother would come home any second and realize what I’d done.

After about twenty minutes, the little girl went quiet.