She places the Hermit, the obstacle, next to the High Priestess on the window ledge and turns the final card. A hand reaching out of cloud, clutching an upright, shining sword, from which golden leaves or flames fall. The tip of the sword meets with a small gold crown and drooping wreaths. Lauren flicks again through the pages of the notebook. Written in another sloping hand are the words The Ace of Swords signifies clarity, raw power, triumph.

Thick flakes of snow float down diagonally outside her bedroom window, increasing in speed.

She places the card next to the others before reaching down and tucking her knife inside her rucksack.

There is the dripping sound again. When she goes to take a look downstairs, the dripping speeds up, faster and louder. She looks around the kitchen and at the ceiling to make sure nothing is wrong. There is a rank smell coming from the utility room that gets stronger when she opens its dark door. She switches on the top light and it sparks. She jumps, and backs towards the door. In a dark, far corner she can make out what looks like blood, spattering down from a crack in the utility-room ceiling. Water doesn’t fall that way.

Lauren’s chest feels like a deflated balloon. She tries to breathe. The blood is falling into the bucket her dad has put out to catch the drips. She notices the smell of iron. The blood pools on the top of the chest freezer, the colour so dark it is almost black. She runs without turning to see if it was really there. When she closes her eyes she can see the woman, protecting her. Her face placid, like the tarot card.

Lauren sits in the sagging armchair and watches an Italian cookery show blankly for an hour on the TV. At the closing credits she realizes the windows have turned black. She texts her father: ‘Where are you? @ home.’

Next up is a game show, but Lauren can’t answer any of the questions.

‘In which city would you find the Bridge of Sighs?’

‘Glasgow,’ says Lauren in a spaced-out monotone.

‘Let me repeat that. In which city would you find the Bridge. Of. Sighs.’

‘Glasgow,’ says the contestant.

‘The answer is, in fact, Venice. Sorry about that – you’re going to go home this evening.’

Lauren leaves the game show on and makes toast. She tries to imagine what her father might be doing, but everything she thinks of seems ridiculous.

She picks up the heavy Bakelite phone and calls Kirsty, who tells her to come over for dinner, she has made spaghetti.

‘I was watching a show about spaghetti,’ says Lauren.

‘I saw that,’ says Kirsty. ‘It’s what made me think. So you don’t know where your dad is?’

‘No.’