She looks out the window; from here she can see all the way up the lane to the willow tree. Maureen and Patrick will be back soon, their blue car will appear down this long straight road. The house feels different without them. Exposed, vulnerable even. Chloe looks towards the room next to her own, the one that is always kept locked, and that’s when she notices – the padlock is missing again.

From the wall, the crucifix watches as she crosses the landing. Surely it would be a wasted opportunity if she didn’t take a peep inside? It’s not really snooping, not if you’re investigating a disappearance. At least, if this were a police investigation, a chance like this would not be overlooked.

She glances over her shoulder, then tiptoes back to the top step to check down the road for Patrick’s car. Nothing. She looks back at the door. Just a look, that’s all she’ll take, a peep inside then she’ll close the door again. No one will know, and why would it matter anyway? It’s just a room. A room that is usually locked. Locked from both doors.

She takes a step closer, then another. The floorboards creak underfoot. She stops, listens. Hears a sound downstairs, a click – she holds her breath – the back door?

No, it’s just the fridge in the kitchen.

She takes another step, then another. The handle is almost within reach. A second later her hand is on it. She takes it within her grasp, turns, feels the click of the lock releasing. She pushes the door, waits to feel it swing open.

Just a look, that’s all.

But it doesn’t budge. She pushes again, harder. Nothing. She turns the handle – perhaps it’s stuck? It turns inside her palm, this way and that, but the door remains tightly shut. How can it be locked from the inside? She rattles it then, leans her shoulder into the wood, tries to push. The door resisting against the weight of her.

That’s when she hears it, a sound from the road, the crack of pebbles under tyres.

Chloe lets go of the handle and rushes to the window in time to see Patrick’s car pulling up on the driveway. She darts into her room and shuts the door behind her. Across the room her eyes fall on the connecting door through to the spare room – the identical padlock still in place. To lock the door to the landing from the inside, someone must have been in here. She scans her room – nothing looks out of place. But then a terrifying thought lands deep in the pit of her stomach. She is down on the floor in a second, searching underneath the bed among the dust and – there it is. Her archive. The panic stills inside her.