‘And maybe a shower later?’

‘My foot—’

‘We’ll work something out. We’ll wrap it in a carrier bag or something.’

‘I’ll think about it.’

‘Maude.’

‘What?’ Her hair was tangled and knotted, her face still smeared with sleep; she looked ridiculously young. There was a book on the floor, half-read, face down, Tales From the North Riding. Wincing, Nell bent and picked it up.

‘Nothing. Come on then, breakfast. And we can try your dad again.’

*

It took far too long to get Maude out of the attic and down the stairs. She was unwilling to trust her full weight to her injured foot and was reduced to half hopping, half hobbling, clutching resentfully at Nell’s arm for support; Nell flinching at every unsteady step. Maude wanted nothing more than cereal, which was a blessing, and Nell made herself a coffee before calling Chris.

When he answered, Nell tried to keep her voice even, calm, as she went through the details of the previous night, the power cut, the fall, Maude’s accident.

‘Will she have a scar?’

‘I don’t know. The doctor didn’t seem worried.’

‘And how did it happen?’

‘I told you, we thought we heard something upstairs, it was dark, she stepped on some broken glass. Everything was very – confusing.’ Nell looked across the table at Maude, who was following the conversation intently.

‘Weren’t you keeping an eye on her?’

‘Of course I was.’

‘There was blood everywhere,’ said Maude, loudly.

‘You should have rung.’

‘I did, it kept going to voicemail and I thought a message would be . . . It was late. I didn’t want to worry you.’

‘You should get your phone fixed.’

‘We’ve been through that. And anyway, what difference would it make?’

‘You should have left a message.’

‘Yes, all right. I’m sorry.’ There was a long silence. ‘We miss you,’ said Nell.

‘I’m – yeah, me too.’ He sounded faint, far away, tired, and Nell wanted to turn the volume up, but she wasn’t sure she could do it without cutting him off entirely. She wanted to tell him about the noises, about the footsteps, she wanted to be sure he would believe her. ‘I know,’ she said. ‘When will you be back?’

‘We’ve got to look again at the plans, the objections are all to do with altering the character of the building—’

‘We?’

‘Me and Sam.’

‘It’s a bloody barn.’ Nell couldn’t help it; this was all so – petty. Besides, didn’t she get a say? Didn’t he need her help too?

‘I know. But this chap – Simeon Lee – he seems to have a lot of friends in various local history groups. And Sam reckons he’s got form for stuff like this. Plus there’s been a problem with some of our payments not going through to suppliers. I spoke to the bank, but I still need to make a few in-person apologies.’