She disappeared upstairs and I began to polish the dining room table, all the while puzzling over the bag issue. The trunks in the attic were far too large and bulky, so those were out. There were no bags in any of the other rooms in the cottage, except, maybe, in Mother’s room. I remembered the big black holdall she had brought Emma home in. That would be perfect. I would have to go into her bedroom a second time.

Chapter 21

I wore the plain, brown, sack-like dress Mother had left out on my bed. I had changed out of my doll dress into the brown one just before she left the cottage. Now I looked like the little slave girl I had recently become. The material of the dress – if you could call it a dress – was scratchy and coarse against my skin, and the fabric smelled musty. Despite the roughness of the dress, there was something wonderful about not having to wear one of my doll dresses, because that’s what they were. They were dresses for dolls, not human beings. Mother did not wear silly dresses like that; she wore jeans and floaty blouses. She had left the house dressed in faded bell-bottom jeans and an orange-and-white striped blouse.

I touched the dress, stroked my finger down my cheek. Mother put me in doll dresses and painted my face because she wanted me to be perfect, just like a doll. A perfect, silent little doll that could not answer back. A doll-like girl she could control.

I couldn’t believe I had been so blind to her strangeness for so long.

I thought about her car. If only I could drive, I could whisk Emma and myself far away with speed and ease. If we could get out of the cottage, that was. Also, if I could drive, we could avoid any wolves that might be lurking outside. Huge, vicious wolves with yellow, blood-stained teeth.

I swallowed. Told myself there wouldn’t be any wolves.

I forced myself to refocus on searching for the holdall. I glanced around quickly but the bag didn’t seem to be in the bedroom. I knew it wasn’t in the wardrobe, which was a relief because I didn’t want to see her crazy doll display ever again.

I sighed and stumbled away from the bed as the unmistakable sound of a knock on the front door penetrated the cottage. Rushing towards the window, I grabbed the sill and peered out – a man stood down there. A man! A real-life other person! The man wore a green T-shirt. His brown, straggly hair hung around his broad shoulders. A heavy-looking bag was strapped to his back. He knocked again and I hesitated, wanting to call out to him, but unsure whether to trust this stranger. What if he was as crazy as her?