I turn on to the cobbled street hemmed in by terraced houses either side and, in spite of the warmth of the day, I wrap my shawl more tightly about me, shielding my face. Longsight had said I wasn’t a prisoner, but he had me under control then – what would happen if he saw me walking freely? I need to see Mel, though.

Wilting flowers outside the florist offer a pungent punch as I enter the town square. Everyone is queuing to have their family’s skin books taken into the care of the government. Arms are weighed down by boxes and bags, which are filled with the souls of their loved ones; hearts are heavy and shoulders droop. Every one of them will be feeling sicker and sadder the closer they get to incarcerating their family.

Tear-filled eyes don’t see a girl with her scarf wrapped high at her neck as she scales the steps to the museum. My confident gait doesn’t attract attention – all staff are focused on the books arriving and I walk past the reception desk without being noticed or stopped. It’s as easy as looking purposeful.

I knock on Mel’s door, waiting for her call to enter, but there is no answer and I let myself in, thinking that she must be assisting with the book amnesty and intending to wait a while. But when I step into the study, I know something is wrong.

Her chair has been tipped on its side and there is an upturned teacup on her desk, dregs of tea spilled across a book.

“Mel?” I call gently, shutting the door behind me. I check her bathroom, but it’s empty. I cross the room and enter her bedroom; her covers are neat, her bag from our travels on the floor at the foot of her bed. And on her bed is the notebook with the marbled cover. My stomach plunges. I grab the notebook. Mel’s gold pen is tucked between the pages, and I pause. I sit on her bed and open the notebook where the pen marks the page. A list – neat bullet points that speak of someone with plans and trouble sleeping.

•Book a meeting with Mayor Longsight re: support from Moreton

•Found someone’s ring, must remember to pass on to lost property

•Was I meant to be doing a school visit soon?? Check with Mrs Oldham

•Seen a couple of books on wrong shelves recently – talk to librarian

•Look for suitable candidates for the mayor’s new marking protocol

•Down to my last working pen – must get more

It’s just a list, but my eyes run down it again – the first word of each line is underlined, ever so faintly. Again, I scour the page … until it clicks.

Book found. Was seen. Look down.