Eleven more nails to go and we’d be free.

I began to smile but my face froze; Patrick, Emma and I turned in the direction of the front door at the sound of it being unlocked. Before any of us could move, Mother slammed the door shut and locked it. She pocketed the key and looked at us with a triumphant smile on her face.

Chapter 24

Blood poured from her knees, soaking through the denim of her jeans. Strands of short blond hair clung like yellow spiders’ legs to her sweaty cheeks and her hands were grazed. She smiled but the smile did not meet her eyes, which were wider than normal and distant, like they were not quite in this moment, or even like they were not quite human. Those wide, crazed eyes burned into mine and I took an involuntary step back as Patrick stepped in front of me and Emma, his arms relaxed by his sides, the hammer left on the edge of the window sill. He was only an inch or so taller than Mother, but far broader, far stronger. If it came to it – which I desperately hoped it wouldn’t – he would beat her in a fight.

The silence stretched on, infinite and strangely deafening. I thought about speaking, just to break the tension, but I couldn’t find the right words. Words seemed to have shrivelled up and rolled deep down into the fuzzy dark part of my mind. Emma’s hand slipped into mine and I drew her close, stroking her hair. I wanted to whisper something reassuring to her but again words ran from me, spiralling down, down, down …

It was Patrick who finally spoke. ‘Let’s all calm down and talk, shall we?’

Mother’s eyes shifted from mine to his, remaining oddly wide. She tilted her head to the side and smiled sweetly, smoothing down her wild hair. ‘What’s there to talk about? Mirabelle played a silly little prank because she was trying to show off and everything’s got out of hand. Why don’t I go and cook us a lovely roast dinner, crackling and all?’

‘My name’s not Mirabelle,’ I said, trying to keep the wobble out of my voice. ‘It’s Polly. Polly Dalton.’