The nursery is full of lace. Lace over the brass bed, lace curtains. Lace on the dresses of the dolls that sit on a rocking chair with teddy bears. The walls are cream and there is a white enamel sink in one corner. A grey dolls’ house sits under the window. The floors, like most of the floors in the house, are polished wood, covered here and there with old rugs. In this room, by the bed, is a large sheepskin. Lauren kneels down to touch it. It is softer than any sheep she has met.

She reaches around in the cavernous wardrobe and finds the blanket. Then she wraps it around her, sitting cross-legged on the edge of the white bed. Under the counterpane is a grey quilt. It’s so quiet. She looks at the rocking chair of toys and they look back at her. A bald baby in a long christening gown, its skin the colour of a peeled apple. There is a little girl with black ringlets under a straw bonnet and a teddy bear with glinting buttons for eyes. A light, the porch light, comes on outside. She gets up to look. Below, a dog shoots into the dark. Lauren tries to see out. Through the single-glazed glass, she hears Ann-Marie calling ‘Rowland!’ Then, more quietly, ‘Oh. Oh my God.’ A bush obscures the porch light, but she can see the edge of a female figure and, when she looks more closely, the bunched white towelling of a dressing gown.

‘Are you …?’ Ann-Marie’s voice rises.

The back of the woman’s head is nodding. She spreads out her arms to each side, the palms facing away, and shakes her head.

‘What? I’m sorry … You look so cold.’

The woman turns, her arms still half stretched, and begins to walk away. Lauren notices the porch light shines in a different way upon her. She is solid but not quite opaque.

‘Where are you going? Hello?’ Ann-Marie sounds frightened. As the woman turns, she raises her head to look straight up at Lauren in the window. She smiles and Lauren ducks down out of sight. The photograph from the bathroom glimmers in her memory.

Frightened, she slides under the cold counterpane and switches off the lumpy bedside lamp.

The outside door clicks shut. There are footsteps on the stairs and snatches of a familiar song. ‘Where have you been all the day …’ Lauren shrinks down into the bed covers. ‘Where have you been all the day, bonnie …’ The bedroom door creaks open.

‘Hello, Lauren? Are you asleep?’ Ann-Marie whispers.

‘No,’ Lauren breathes back.

‘Are you all right?’ Before Lauren has a chance to answer, Ann-Marie begins to sing in a low, lullaby voice.

‘Up a hill and doon a brae,

Bonnie Lauren, Bonnie Lauren,

Up a hill and doon a brae,

Bonnie daughter Lauren.’

Lauren sits bolt upright. ‘What?’ She switches on the bedside lamp. She realizes the base is covered in seashells.