No. She was still annoyed with him, with all of them, really, Nell and her mum, too. All of them going on as if she was to blame, as if nothing had changed. The way they kept telling her she had to be grown up now, a proper big sister now her mum had finally given birth, and her weekend visits with her and Callum had turned into stupid family days out with baby Leo always in the way. She had her own room at their house, but she could tell they didn’t really want her there, not any more.

The trunk wasn’t heavy, and there were rope handles. She could move it herself; she wanted it closer to the bed anyway. She could use it as a dressing table.

She dragged it into position and climbed on top.

The marks were faint, but quite deliberate, carved into the central beam that formed the ridge of the roof. She had a powerful urge to run her fingers over them, but of course she couldn’t reach. She wondered who had made them, who had seen them last.

Craning her neck, tilting her head back for so long, trying to focus on the marks had made her feel dizzy, and she had to jump down from the trunk before she lost her balance entirely. It was quite pleasant, though, the light-headed rush, the way the room seemed momentarily to dip and swoop around her.

If she took the bunk closest to the cliff, then this was what she’d see when she opened her eyes first thing in the morning, and last thing at night too, half hidden in the dark; jagged peaks, a capital N or M – like an M for Maude – repeated over and over, and circles too, circles overlaying circles, like a flower, or a maze. She didn’t want the big room with the brass bedstead, anyway. It was modern, fake. This was better; this, Maude decided, was hers.

*

Nell found Chris in the living room, his bag and jacket abandoned in the hall; he was sitting on the sofa, frowning at his laptop screen. ‘Are you OK, love? Chris?’

‘Yes. Sorry.’ He looked up. ‘I was just wondering what the Wi-Fi password is.’

‘No idea. It’ll be in the folder, I expect.’

‘Which is . . . ?’

‘I don’t know. Where you left it?’ Nell switched on the lights, then sat next to him, sinking into the cushions. Someone, she realised, should be thinking about dinner; lunch had been a long time and at least three counties ago. ‘You could at least pretend not to be desperate to check your email, you know.’

Chris closed the laptop, then reached out to squeeze her hand. ‘Sorry.’

‘Hmm.’

‘How is she?’

Nell glanced involuntarily at the ceiling. ‘Hard to say. She’s decided she wants to sleep in the attic.’

‘That sounds suitably Dickensian for the poor suffering child.’