She followed the fence, stumbling slightly as the land rose unevenly. After two or three paces, she glanced to her left and was surprised to see another house, small, self-contained, with a red pantile roof, tucked away behind the cottages opposite; as if it had been forgotten as the yard below it had evolved.

Like Elder House, it was nestled up against the cliff, only it had the luxury of a little garden, constructed in tiers, well tended and bursting with colour.

She carried on, following the fence as it turned right, and just as she was beginning to think there was no way in at all, she more or less stumbled over the gate. It didn’t make sense, she thought as she bent to lift the latch, hiding away the entrance like that.

Nell stepped inside, the long grass was cool and slick and almost immediately she slipped again, her foot catching in a narrow hole – rats, she thought, remembering the tales she and her friends used to tell each other about the bankside when they were kids, rats tunnelling away into the cliff – and only righting herself at the last moment.

From this vantage point all she could see was Elder House looming in front of her, and the little cottage to her right. As she edged forward her feet came in contact with the odd brick or bit of rubble buried in the undergrowth. Shoes might have been a good idea. She stopped and tried not to think about what else might lie broken and rotting out of sight.

She glanced up at the house again, and had the oddest feeling she wasn’t alone.

Time to go back.

She turned, then lost her balance, she took a step and where there should have been solid ground, there was nothing. Her ankle gave way and she collapsed onto her hands and knees, wrenching her foot.

‘Shit.’ The pain was sharp enough to bring tears to her eyes. She’d managed to fall into a patch of nettles too. ‘Shit, shit, shit.’

‘Hello?’

There was a woman standing behind her, on the steps by the corner of the house. She was in her fifties, perhaps, her untidy dark hair streaked with grey, and she was wearing a scarf and a baggy jumper over faded jeans. She was carrying two hemp shopping bags, well-used and bulging.

‘I . . .’ Nell was fighting the urge – foolish, she knew – to claw her fingers into the earth, to stop herself falling any further.

She couldn’t focus, she couldn’t . . .

Breathe.

‘Are you all right?’ The woman stepped onto the patio, and placed her bags carefully on the ground, her expression fixed, determined.

Nell struggled to her feet, took a breath. ‘Fine.’ Her voice was little more than a croak. She coughed, cleared her throat, tried again. ‘I’m fine, thanks.’