As she fell back into sleep, she thought of lost children in the darkness, trapped between walls and floors, calling to her, asking her to help them. And a girl with scarlet ribbons.

She did not stir until Tony knocked on the spare room’s door just before nine in the morning.

“Can you take me to see Mary at the care home?” Sara asked when she’d finished the breakfast of toast and cereal Tony had made for her. The cutlery rattled in the bowls and plates as a train passed along the track outside. His mother had gone to her job behind the counter of the small corner shop a few streets away.

“Again?” he asked. “Why?”

Sara searched for a truthful answer. Eventually, she said, “She needs me. And I owe her.”

“Owe her what?”

“She reminded me who I am. I know that doesn’t really make any sense, but that’s the best way I can put it. If she hadn’t come to the door that morning, I’d still be scrubbing the floor, trying to wash those stains away.”

Tony stared at her, patient confusion on his face. Sara couldn’t blame him. It made no more sense to her than it did to him.

“Can you take me?” she asked.

“Aye, why not?” he said. “Not much point in me going to the house to work, I suppose, is there? When I don’t show up, Damien will know you’re here, but he’ll work that out sooner or later.”

Sara could see the fear on him even as he tried to hide it by turning his gaze to the window overlooking the small backyard. She understood the risk he was taking.

“Thank you,” she said.

Less than an hour later, the van pulled up once more in front of the care home. Margaret, the receptionist, recognised Sara as soon as she entered.

“Are you here to see Mary again?” she called from behind the desk.

“Yes, please, if that’s all right.”

“Course it is,” Margaret said with a beaming smile. “She was asking about you as soon as she got up this morning, saying you’d be coming by. Can you remember how to get to her room?”

“Yes, I think so,” Sara said, wondering how Mary knew she would come back. She thanked Margaret and climbed the stairs, remembering the doors she’d passed the day before, the turns and the corridors. A shower at Tony’s house had freshened her, and the first proper food and sleep she’d had in days buoyed her, but she was conscious of wearing yesterday’s clothes. Not that Mary would mind or even notice.

She found her waiting exactly where she’d been sitting the day before, by her open window, with the other chair already in place.