She also told me to use affirmations – ‘repeat “I am safe and secure” twenty times a day, out loud’. I figured this might draw surprised looks from anyone in earshot, but Derry was very persuasive.

With that, she bowed deeply, and I returned to my room.

It had been a week since that first morning walk with Derry and I was slowly being moulded into a kind of Derry disciple. When the occasional early morning start proved too much for me prior to an exhausting day as Coco’s Zimmer frame – she was now attempting to walk – Derry had invited me to join her ‘sunset’ practice of yoga, or her ‘hour of spiritual awakening’, as she called it, which involved ringing a little bell, lighting candles, and lots of breathing and bowing. To my surprise, I was starting to look forward to it.

I had noticed that Maren didn’t like this developing friendship one little bit, and she definitely didn’t like Derry. I had put Maren’s absence during the day down to the busy life of a housekeeper, but more and more I was detecting that the housework simply wasn’t being done. Gaia’s Norwegian lessons didn’t happen either any more, not that Gaia minded. I’ll hold my hands up and say that I had my own demons of slovenliness to battle with. When I was recovering from my suicide attempt the flat virtually fell apart and I didn’t care. But there seemed to be something odd, even pointed, about Maren’s strike. The kitchen floor remained covered in dirt from all the muddy feet that came back and forth for cups of tea. The laundry towered in the bathroom and dishes accumulated beside the sink. The usual groan of the vacuum cleaner was no more. Even the curtains stayed drawn in the living room.

I soon worked out, from the noises filtering through the house, that Maren was spending a lot of time in the attic. One night I crept up there to see what could possibly be holding her attention. The attic was as dusty and forlorn as I’d last seen it, but there was a distinct smell of smoke in the place. After a bit of snooping, I found the cause – a half-empty box of cigars beneath the guest bed. That wasn’t nearly as interesting as the box placed next to it. With a hammering heart, I opened it to find a stack of photographs and letters. At first, I thought all of them were of the same person – Aurelia. There were snapshots of Aurelia and Tom on family outings, indicated by the presence of backpacks, flasks, and photo-bombing sheep; there were even notes apparently written from Aurelia to Maren:

Maren dearest, could you be a star and drop off the dry cleaning today?? Love you incredibly, A xxx