Alice takes in the black and white study of a boy and girl. The girl is taller, bigger built than the skinny boy – but they look to be around eight or nine. They are standing, hand in hand, faces pale and solemn. Could the boy be her father?

Another staircase leads to a further floor. Alice grips Faith’s arm. ‘The attic room’s up there,’ she whispers, hearing her voice tremble.

‘That’s right,’ Christine says, her eyes widening behind her glasses. ‘How did you know that?’

‘Kind of obvious, wouldn’t you say?’ Mitch rolls his eyes. ‘It’s at the top of the house. Duh!’

But he’s wrong. Alice knows because she’s been in the attic room. She knows she has. It’s painted muddy brown. The carpet is grass green. Outside inside. Her heart picks up speed, her throat dries. She doesn’t want to go up there, where two brass dogs guard.

‘You’re in for a creepy treat with this room,’ Christine is saying, taking a brass key from her cardigan pocket, and making her way up the stairs. And now Faith is following, pulling Alice with her, and she can see the red door, the door of her nightmares. Mitch is behind Alice, and Alice’s pulse is racing, her legs trembling. What is this feeling? Fear?

‘This room has been left exactly as it was when Mr Patterson bought the house,’ Christine reads from the clipboard. She pushes the key into the lock of the red door. ‘When I first saw it – well I’m not going to lie, it gave me chills,’ she goes on, turning the key, and easing the door open. She reaches in as if searching for the light switch. ‘I can’t wait for you to see it.’

Chapter 17

1981

Verity

Penny and Rowan Campbell were OK. They were in their mid-forties, with no children of their own, but a lot of love to give. In fact, six months after leaving Flynn House, Verity and Hugh’s life was almost bearable, even veering towards normal.

They lived in the couple’s five-bed detached house in Bristol – an alien experience at first. Penny and Rowan could sometimes foster up to six children at a time, and some were quite rowdy. Mealtimes were chaotic, and Verity would hold Hugh’s hand under the table, while the other children bombarded them with questions: So, your dad disappeared? So, you lived on an island? Is it true your dad was on the stage in London? He was a magician? On the TV? Bloody hell, that’s amazing!

Felix still hadn’t been found, and Verity was glad of that. But she understood enough to know his house and money weren’t coming to her and Hugh any time soon. It would be tied up for seven years at least, the solicitor had told her, ‘or until Felix turns up.’