She dropped the box on the bed, then pulled the frame away from the wall. Without the bed head to hold it in place, the panel gaped slightly, and – she traced a finger along the crack – the wood looked fresh where it had split. She pulled gently at the panel, opening it as far as she dared, then picked up the – box. It was too big, of course, but Nell found she was strangely reluctant to open it and handle the shoe directly. She tugged at the panel again, widening the gap and tried to force the box in.

She nearly had it, thought she had it, the cardboard buckling, but she couldn’t quite find the shelf. There was a rattle and a scrape, she held onto the box, squeezing it, but the lid sprang open. When she pulled it out again, the shoebox – grubby, with one corner crushed entirely – was empty.

Nell picked up Maude’s phone, found the torch app and shone it inside.

The angle was wrong, she couldn’t see anything. She tried raising the torch, but that only revealed the cross-hatched dressing of the stone shelf, and she wasn’t sure where the shoe had fallen. She could leave it where it was, close the panel and forget about it; but that didn’t feel right. It felt – disrespectful.

She’d have to trust to touch alone.

She dropped the phone back onto the duvet and – sitting right at the top of the bed – she slid her hand into the void.

It was just as bad as last time, even though she knew what to expect, the thick layer of grime, the cold, the damp. Her nails digging into the dirt, her knuckles scraping against the wall, her fingers meeting nothing but stone.

‘Shit.’

She tried again, methodically, tracing out the far corner of the shelf, measuring the depth of it, working her way towards the gap then sweeping her fingers against the stone, but there was nothing there.

She took a breath and tried again, slower this time, standing and reaching as far as she could, fighting the instinct to slam the panel shut and push the bed back against it. In the far corner her fingers caught against something unexpected, something different, something small, dusty and soft. There was the rattle of plastic as something scraped across the top of the shelf and fell.

But that was all.

The shelf was empty and the shoe was out of reach.

Nell pulled the bed to one side. She peeled the wood away from the wall with the tips of her fingers, and peered in. She made a neat enough job of it, first loosening, then pulling the panel free from its grooved setting, placing it carefully to one side, exposing the hidden stone wall entirely. It was coated with dust, but, like the shelf, seemed to be decorated with a simple cross-hatched pattern.