‘“I like kissing my baby brother,”’ Angelica imitated Jahmelia’s voice in a high-pitched squeak. ‘That statement is wrong on so many levels.’

‘Leave her alone.’ Libby linked Jahmelia’s arm. ‘If the security guy hears us, we’ll be in deep shit.’

Angelica shot her a thunderbolt of a look. ‘He’s not due for hours.’

It had been Angelica’s job to work out the security rota, and he came twice a night, checking the perimeter under torchlight before moving on. The house was far from the gate so he wouldn’t be able to see them once they were inside. Bethany and Isobel were tasked with bringing the props and it was Libby’s job to find a way in. There was no way they could get through the thick black brambles, and the iron gate was padlocked. But she had found a place near the back of the outhouses where a barbed wire fence had fallen down.

Under the light of her phone torch, Libby led them to the gap in the fence.

‘Are you sure you want to do this?’ she said, her feet numb as they sank into the cold, wet earth.

‘Go home then, if you’re scared.’ Gripping her carrier bag, Angelica ducked under the wire. ‘I’ll do it by myself.’ Libby believed that she would. Angelica had an underlying current of darkness. She wasn’t just foolhardy, she was angry at life. As if to prove the point, she slipped a baggy from the pocket of her jeans and dangled it before them. ‘For later.’

That was the point where Libby should have gone home. But instead, she held up the wire to allow everyone through. ‘Whatever happens …’ She became breathless as they trudged towards the house. ‘Stick to the cover story, alright?’

‘Yada yada, whatever,’ Angelica said, her steps quickening. ‘Hurry up. It’s ten to.’

Already, Libby felt suffocated by the house before her. She kept her head down, watching her footing on the jagged ground. Her hair was damp with dew and a thick mist curled around the Manor – a protective barrier which only the foolhardy would pass through. She didn’t want to think about the family who died here. Of the man who shot his own children with a gun. Libby inhaled a sharp breath at the crunch of glass breaking underfoot. ‘I hope we don’t have to climb in through the window,’ she said, flashing her torch over the broken pane.

‘No need,’ Angelica whispered as the front door swung open. She pulled down the hood of her coat and looked them all squarely in the eye. ‘Alright, spill your guts. Who organised this?’ But as Angelica handed each girl a candle, she was met with blank stares.

‘We thought it was you,’ Bethany whispered, bug-eyed with fear. But Angelica shook her head. Her smile only faltered for a moment as another thought occurred.