Maude was always surprised how quickly the time passed when she was drawing. When she stopped she’d filled a dozen pages, faithfully copying the design on the rafter at first, simple circles overlapping, elegant and precise, but then allowing herself to play, creating ever more complex and elaborate variations on a theme. At some point her music had finished, and she hadn’t bothered to find a new album. She’d written a few things too, bits of sentences, half-formed thoughts, scraps of things she wished she could say out loud. She put her pencil down and yawned; she was tired, hungry too. She closed the pad. She’d look at it later, decide whether or not to show the marks on the beam to her dad.

Downstairs, Nell was in the living room, staring out of the window, a book in her lap. Maude hesitated by the door, not sure if she wanted to speak to her or not. They used to get on all right – but ever since the new baby, Leo, had arrived, Nell had been all moody. Maude didn’t want to think about why that might be. Her mum and Callum were quite happy without her now, they were a new family – new and improved – and she didn’t want them giving her dad and Nell any ideas.

She went into the kitchen and her dad was working at the dining table, just like he always did at home. She leant up against his chair and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. ‘I’m hungry,’ she said.

‘Good grief, Maggot. Where are you putting it?’ He tapped the mouse and the gallery home page appeared onscreen: Clarke Galilee: Fine Art & Jewellery.

‘Can I check my messages?’

‘Maybe later.’

Which meant no. Suppressing a sigh, Maude took herself off to investigate the kitchen, but there wasn’t much left of the welcome pack, and she’d finished the last of the Kit-Kats that morning. ‘We need to go shopping,’ she said.

‘OK. Maybe you and Nell could go, then?’ her father said absently. ‘I just need to do a bit more here.’

‘Do I have to?’

‘Come on, Maude. Play the game.’

Maude gave her father a long stare, before sighing theatrically. ‘Fine,’ she said, ‘I’ll go and tell her.’

*

When Nell was a child there had been a butcher’s, a grocer’s, several fishmongers’, a post office, and a small supermarket on the east side of town, but they had all long gone. If they wanted to eat, they’d have to do their shopping over the bridge, just like everyone else, at the supermarket built on the old dock. Trying to stifle her irritation with Chris, who could at least have offered to help, Nell led the way down the steps and out onto the street. The mist clung to them, dulling the light, blunting the edges of the buildings.

‘Is it far?’

‘No, not far.’