She couldn’t bear it, and she couldn’t think how to put it right; she had messed everything up with Evie when they had barely begun to be friends. ‘Don’t you mind?’ she asked. ‘Being so close?’

‘It’s just a house,’ Gina said. ‘And anyway, it wouldn’t matter where I went, there are some things you can’t get away from.’

‘Would you want to? Get away – from him. I mean?’

Gina turned and looked at her. ‘Probably not,’ she said. ‘What is it, pet? Is something bothering you?’

‘I – no,’ said Kym.

Evie wouldn’t answer and she couldn’t think of a way to tell her. Give Kym my number, Pete Chappell had said to Tyler, tell her to give me a call. She wasn’t even sure she should tell her.

*

Nell sat on the staircase for a long time, her head in her hands, bone weary, too tired even to cry, and waiting for some sort of solution to present itself. After a while she raised her head and listened for signs of life in the attic, but all was still. She pulled the phone out of her pocket and thought about ringing Chris, but she had no idea where she might begin. She stood and slowly, carefully she made her way back upstairs.

*

The bed was a mess, the covers and pillows pulled back and tumbling to the floor. The oak panel was propped up against the wall and the carpet was covered with dust and grime.

Resisting the urge to crawl back into bed, to pull the covers over her head and shut out the world, she did her best to tidy up, tugging the duvet back into place on the bed and smoothing the pillows.

She picked up the discarded panel. She was turning it round, trying to work out the best way to slot it back into place, when she noticed some faint marks, running counter to the grain of the wood, and covered with a thick film of dust.

She took the panel to the window, tilting it to one side.

It was writing.

Checking the door to make sure she was quite alone, Nell swept the rest of the grime away with her hand, exposing the words and their crude but simple sentiment.

Oh Dear God

Nell ran her fingertips over the letters. They were a faded rust red, unevenly formed, but determined.

Oh Dear God God Almighty Help Me

Her heart thudding. One-two, one-two.

Help Me

It was a prayer, a blessing. A bit blunt, perhaps, but that was no reason to . . . It didn’t sound like a prayer. It didn’t sound like the person who had carved it thought anyone was listening.

But it was familiar too.

And there was something else, something to do with the shelf; she couldn’t remember.

God Almighty Help Me