I stood on tiptoe and reached up to the small brass knob. My fingers skimmed cold metal. I was too short, which was hardly surprising. I had nothing to compare myself to, but I only reached up to Mother’s chin and Mother told me that dolls usually stopped growing at about thirteen years old. Mother measured me every year. When she last measured me I had been exactly five foot tall. I did not know Mother’s precise height. And I never asked.

My tummy started to hurt, low down, and I laid my hand on it. It felt rock hard. I wasn’t used to betraying Mother’s trust. I knew better than to be so stupid and yet here I was, standing beneath the attic, about to do something I knew deep down was against Mother’s wishes. But I had to know more. There were things I needed to know and if Mother was not willing to tell me … well, if I was going to die soon anyway, did it matter if I disobeyed one unspoken rule?

The sick, unthinkable feeling that always flooded me when I thought about dying erupted in my chest. It was overwhelming. Terrifying. This fear was worse than the fear of what Mother might do to me, should she ever find out, which I was determined wouldn’t happen. If I stopped dilly-dallying, I would be up and out of the attic before Mother came home. I was wasting time. There was a perfect word for what I was doing. It began with a ‘p’ and hovered on the tip of my tongue and mind. I was p … pr … pro … procrastinating! I was dragging my heels – no – more than that – I was putting off the inevitable. I had already made up my mind. I was going up there.

I dragged the chair out of my room and placed it in the centre of the landing, directly underneath the attic door.

Cramps roiled in my tummy. I ignored them and stepped up onto the chair. I could easily reach the brass knob, so I turned and pulled. The door opened with a loud creak. I glanced at Clarabelle’s door and strained my ears; all remained quiet. The end of a ladder was in reach, so I pulled at it tentatively and it slid down and out of the darkness like an uncoiling snake. I jumped off the chair, ladder still in my hands, and nudged the chair out of the way with my shoulder. It promptly fell over, thudding onto the carpet. My heart thundered, but there was no noise from Clarabelle’s room; she was heavily asleep. Thank goodness.