‘Are you particularly interested in the pins? There are a lot more in the collection.’ Mrs Agar gestured towards the double doors that led to the storage room, strictly off-limits to the general public.

‘Are there?’

‘More than we can display. It was such a common way to fasten your clothes.’

‘Right.’ Kym looked at the case again, it wasn’t much, she thought, to leave behind; just a few bits of metal. ‘Actually,’ she said, ‘I was hoping we might be able to do some work here.’ She glanced towards the reference room with its cabinets of rare books. She hadn’t been that keen on the Lit and Phil at the start of her work experience, she’d agreed to do it out of affection for her grandmother more than anything else, but gradually she’d found there was something about the Society that appealed to her, something about the backstage air of the reference room, and the way she could just walk past the front desk, straight into the part of the building the general public were forbidden to enter.

It had taken a bit of effort on her part, to win them over, but once they’d got past her look, the jet black hair and the heavy make-up and the skinny jeans, and realised she wasn’t about to vandalise the whole collection, she’d got there in the end. Like most of the other volunteers these days, Mrs Agar was happy to turn a blind eye to Kym studying in the Lit and Phil. Sometimes she’d even help her look stuff up.

‘Revision, is it?’ said Mrs Agar.

‘Yes,’ said Evie.

‘Not exactly,’ said Kym. ‘Research.’

Mrs Agar regarded them thoughtfully. ‘Well, go on then,’ she said, ‘since we’re so quiet.’

*

Kym’s trainers squeaked as she led the way across the parquet floor to her favourite desk; a small oval table set by one of the windows, offering a view of the rose beds that flanked the museum entrance. The glass-fronted bookcases were locked, but the keys were easily accessible, one set in the desk by the door that also held the computer, the printer and the boxes of catalogue cards, and a spare set in the cubby – the tiny cloakroom in the corner that contained a kettle, a little fridge and a range of chipped and stained mugs. If you made yourself a hot drink, then you had to stay in the cubby until you were done with it.

The first rule of the Lit and Phil, according to Kym’s gran.

Then: no mobile phones; pencils, not pens; and ask permission if you wanted to photocopy anything.

‘Right,’ said Evie, instinctively lowering her voice as she pulled out her chair. ‘What now?’

‘Did you look through my notes?’