The girls are all the same in the book. They all have long, flowing hair, bright blue eyes and waists so slim that they dissolve into nothing at all. The girl checks her own waist. She cannot reach her fingers all the way around so they meet comfortably like the woman tells her she ought to, but the distance is short and, if she breathes in, she is more or less there.

The woman is not like the fairy godmother in the book, the girl knows this. Sometimes the woman pretends to be. She tells the girl she is not her mother, and the girl is not her responsibility and she wants to help the girl. But she never does. The next day, the woman is cold and distant.

Sometimes, the girl can hear the woman and the man talking.

There is a vent at the foot of the wall the size of a letter box. There must be some system of pipework in the wall connected to another room because, when the wind is still, the girl can hear the man and woman’s muffled voices drift through to the room. If she places her ear right against the vent, she can just about make out their conversation.

The girl shuts the book – the vent is calling to her. She can hear them. She gets down on all fours like a cat stretching in the sun. Listens. The sound is faint and she has no idea where it comes from – it might as well be from another world.

‘You’re drinking too much,’ says the woman’s voice, unsteady.

‘What does it matter?’ the man replies.

‘You’re a liability.’

He coughs and splutters. Calms. Rasps, ‘There’s no one for miles. What we do in here is our business.’

She snorts. There is silence for a while, except a shuffling sound, like paper being moved around. Then she says, ‘Someone will come looking for her one day, you know.’

‘No. They won’t.’

‘How can you be so sure?’

The girl holds her breath. They mean her – they’re talking about her. It is the first time she has heard them talk about her, acknowledge her.

Her heart skips a beat.

‘Because her bitch of a mother had no one, and now she’s dead,’ he says. ‘No one knows the girl exists. And she doesn’t. Exist, I mean.’

‘She’s real enough when I go and see her.’

‘Well then let her out!’ he shouts, angry. The girl pulls away, startled. ‘Open the door and watch her leave if you’re so fucking bothered.’ There is silence for a short while. ‘No. Not that easy, is it?’

There is silence for a moment. The girl strains to hear.

‘There are others, aren’t there.’ She says it quietly. Her voice is laced with venom.

He is indignant, retorts instantly: ‘What do you mean?’

‘You know what I mean. Others.’