My heart skittered. The thought of leaving the cottage was scary but exciting. For so long, I had dreamed about the outside world. About the wonderful, beautiful, colourful things I would be able to see and touch and smell. I might even see a robin. And the idea of seeing my parents made my heart leap with anticipation and joy one moment then shrink with fear the next. What if they didn’t remember me? What if they’d moved on with their lives and wanted nothing to do with me? What if they were just like her?

Mother’s voice drifted into the room from the living room, its edges spiky. ‘You can’t go outside, Clarabelle, Little Doll. It’s far too dangerous.’

‘Why?’

‘I’ve already told you this. You’re poorly, Little Doll, just like your pretend mother. That’s why she gave you to me. But don’t worry. Mother will protect you. Mother will keep you safe. Mother will never let anything bad happen to you. Mother loves you.’

‘Oh yeah – I forgot,’ Emma said.

‘Good little doll. Come, let’s have a boogie together.’

‘What’s a boogie?’

The Eagles blasted into the cottage. I pulled a tin of beans out of the cupboard. I dropped it into a laundry basket then grabbed a tin of sweetcorn. Laughter reached my ears and my heart burned. I kept putting tin after tin into the basket. When I had eight tins, I picked up the basket and crept over to the kitchen door. The hallway was clear. Another track started to play. This one was about someone’s lying eyes. I dashed past the open living room doorway and caught sight of Mother and Emma holding hands and dancing together. Emma saw me and frowned. My heart leapt into my throat and I turned and bounded upstairs, arms burning from the weight of the tins. I kicked open my bedroom door and pushed the laundry basket under my bed. Pulling the covers over the edge of the bed, I turned to see Mother standing in the doorway.

Her face was red, hair wild. Her small eyes took in my unmade bed and messy appearance. I wore her favourite dress but it was uncomfortably tight across my chest and stomach. I had not brushed my hair and wore no make-up. She had not painted my face for a while, preferring to focus her artistic efforts on Clarabelle rather than me these days.

‘What were you doing just now? Were you spying on us?’ she snapped.

I said nothing. I didn’t know what to say. My brain felt like a scrambled egg.

‘I suppose you feel left out, do you?’ she said, stepping into the room.

I didn’t reply.

‘Poor Mirabelle. I know it’s been hard on you since I rescued Clarabelle, but you can’t let jealousy ruin you. Jealousy killed the cat, you know.’

‘Curiosity killed the cat,’ I said.