Maybe it’s the puppets in the attic, I nearly say. But I know I can’t say that because Aunt Verity doesn’t know I go up there to see my puppet friends, and, if she did, she might be cross, and take away the key.

The noise gets louder. Why can’t she hear it?

‘Dinner will be ready in an hour, darling.’ She leaves the room with a wave. ‘I’m going to have a little drink now.’

Tap, tap, tap.

*

When Aunt Verity is flopped on the sofa asleep, with an empty glass in her hand, up the attic steps I go – one, two, three, four, five, seven, eight, nine.

‘Hello,’ I say to the brass dogs that guard the room.

I open the red door, and look inside.

Aunt Verity comes up to the attic lots of times, and one time I saw where she hid the key, and ever since, I’ve been coming too. Aunt Verity doesn’t know I’m here, behind the red door, and neither does Daddy. They have no idea at all.

I sit down, happy here on the grass-green carpet. I like the muddy-brown walls too. It’s like being outside inside. I don’t like the bars at the arch-shaped window, but I love the shelves full of magic tricks. There’s a huge red box that Grandpa Felix used to put ladies inside and cut them into three bits with the saw that’s hanging on the wall. I know he did that, because there are pictures all over the walls downstairs. But it’s OK. It wasn’t real. It was just pretend. Magic.

There’s a top hat too, but no rabbit, and there are lots of sparkly clothes that were my grandmother’s. And then there are the puppets. The puppets are my friends. Not my real friends. I haven’t got any real friends. But I know what friends are from watching children’s television.

I scratch my arm. The blood bubbles are now crusty scabs. I like to pick them off. See the blood again.

At this very moment exactly, I’m going to have a picnic – outside inside – with my puppet friends. I’ve brought them each a fairy cake.

I pour Rosie a cup of tea first because she’s my favourite. I named her after Rosie and Jim on children’s television. Rosie and Jim are puppets and they live on a boat on the river. My Rosie doesn’t live on a boat because she lives in the attic, and she doesn’t look like Rosie on the television either. Rosie on the television has black hair and black eyes, but my friend Rosie has yellow hair and her eyes are blue and her lips are shiny.