Lauren can see that she is spooked and trying not to show it. ‘The quiet feels calm, though.’ She stops in her tracks and gestures for Ann-Marie to stop too. ‘Just stand here.’ It is so quiet she can hear Ann-Marie breathing in the cold. ‘Your eyes can see better than you think, if you let them. The dark is a good thing. My dad says the dark is useful. It’s useful for rabbits and the little animals, as well as the big ones. The worst you can do is try and run away from it. Then you’ll really feel scared.’

Her father often walks the dog in the dark, when the moon and stars are so bright they can shine the way. Even when they don’t, she knows he lets his eyes open up and he never ever runs. Now she lets her body melt into the dark and lets the other senses – hearing, smell – work harder. It feels somehow relaxing to be hidden away in the night. The air is dry and clear as glass. It cuts through her gloves to the bones of her fingers. Her nose begins to run. ‘Come on,’ Ann-Marie says and they walk up the drive.

The wide hall grows thick with heat from the open fire Ann-Marie has made. The only other light comes from a Tiffany lamp. There is a thin bench with red leather padding in front of the hearth. Years of smoke from moss-covered logs and peat has sunk into the oak panels and velvet. The particular smell is as comforting to Lauren as her father’s stew.

‘I know what we can do!’ says Ann-Marie. They go down into the huge kitchen and Ann-Marie takes out a clear package from a cupboard in the island. ‘Have you ever toasted marshmallows before?’

‘No! Can we?’

‘Of course we can!’

Ann-Marie finds sharp iron skewers. Lauren enjoys driving them through the pink flesh of the marshmallows. She lines up the white ones, thinking about the white of the young woman’s dressing gown, the girls talking behind her back at school. She pushes the thoughts away, not wanting to break the spell of this happy moment.

Back upstairs, the two girls draw the bench close to the hallway fire and Ann-Marie shows Lauren how to hold the skewer just above the flames, to toast it without burning. Lauren copies her movements carefully and the marshmallows begin to soften and bubble brown.

‘We’ll text your dad, won’t we? Will you text him? Don’t want him wondering where you are when he comes home.’

‘Yes. OK. He’s going to be annoyed.’

‘Why?’