She dries quickly with a rough towel, agitating her skin until it stings. She has been in the Kyles’ home for almost five weeks now. The smells of the place have embedded themselves in her clothes; the scent of Maureen’s washing powder is tucked in every cotton weave of her shirt and knitted into her jumpers. She sniffs at her hair. She has her own shampoo but recently she’s preferred to use Maureen’s. Two months ago she wouldn’t even have known the toothpaste brand she uses, now they squeeze from the same tube. But who knows how long this will last? How much longer she can carry on paying rent here without a job? How much longer she can get a bus into town every day for a desk that doesn’t exist? She pushes it to the back of her mind. She thinks instead of the true crime books she’d found under Patrick’s bed. Her work in Elm House is far from done.

Who knows how long it is until she hears footsteps climbing the stairs. They stop outside her door and Chloe puts her magazine down. There’s a knock and then the soft turn of her door handle. Maureen’s head appears around the frame. Chloe sinks against her pillow.

‘I baked today,’ Maureen says. ‘Banana loaf. I thought you might like some?’

‘Oh thanks,’ Chloe says. She shuffles up towards her pillow, still under her duvet.

‘You’re not cold, are you, Chloe?’ Maureen crosses the room to check the radiator and as she does Chloe glances at the floor beside her bed, checking that her pale blue notebook hasn’t been left open.

‘No, no, I’m fine. Just wanted to relax, you know?’

Maureen nods, unconvinced. She hands Chloe the small plate she’s brought up with a slice of cake on it. Chloe takes it, then hesitates for a second. Chloe hasn’t seen this plate before. It has a pattern on it that she knows – tiny brown rabbits chase each other around the edge of the plate. She looks up to see Maureen watching her.

‘I just had some bananas that were past their best and . . .’ Maureen says, sitting at the bottom of Chloe’s bed. She waits for her to take a bite.

Chloe picks up the slice of cake. As she does the image in the centre of the plate reveals itself: it’s a river scene, bunnies in red and blue cardigans bathing in the water and lazing on the riverbank. Chloe knows it so well and yet can’t quite remember . . . Maureen is still watching her. She takes a bite.

‘It’s lovely,’ Chloe says. ‘The cake, I mean.’

‘Banana loaf was Angie’s favourite,’ Maureen says, smoothing out the cover of the duvet as she does.

Then it comes to her. Bunnykins. That’s the design on the plate. She sees Maureen note her moment of recognition.