Panic and fear tore at my throat and I raced upstairs. Clarabelle’s sandwich flew off the plate and landed in a mess on the landing. I knew I would be in trouble, but I had to get away from the light. I jumped onto my bed and grappled with my bedcovers, pulling them over myself until I was submerged in darkness. My body shook and my head pounded. The pain was killing me. I was too hot under the covers. I threw them off and lay back in bed. Nausea swept up my throat but the sick feeling hovered there and my mouth did not turn to liquid so I knew I wasn’t going to be sick this time.

Staring at the rough, white ceiling, I counted down from one hundred, slowing my breathing to match every other number. I could hear something downstairs, something amazing. I listened for a while and the pain lessened. Curiosity seemed to make the pain go away and my inner cat won.

Still feeling shaky, I padded out onto the landing and hastily gathered up the ruined sandwich. Tearing it into pieces, I flushed it down the toilet then went downstairs, trying to ignore a nasty stab of guilt.

Mother was in the living room dancing in front of a huge machine I’d never seen before. The machine seemed to produce the incredible sounds filling the house. The sounds coming out of the machine sounded like the tunes Mother hummed. So this is what music sounds like.

Mother had her eyes closed and her head thrown back. A dreamy smile played at her lips as she swayed her long, thin body to the music. I watched, mesmerized by her, transfixed by the peaceful look on her face. For a second, I almost didn’t recognize my own mother.

‘What’s that?’ I blurted before I could stop myself, pointing at the machine.

Mother laughed and opened her eyes. ‘It’s a record player, silly. I got it dirt cheap at the car boot. Got a load of records for it too. Thought the music might cheer me up a bit. Help Clarabelle relax. I’d forgotten how great it feels to dance. I only listen to music in the car these days.’

She showed me a bag full of huge black discs.

‘These are records. They have music recorded onto them, then they go in the record player, which makes the music come out. It’s the bee’s knees, isn’t it?’

I nodded. I tried to move my body to the music like Mother, but I felt too stiff.

‘How do you do that?’ I asked.

‘Do what? Dance?’ she laughed and grabbed my arms, ‘Like this, silly doll!’