I remembered what Derry had said about Maren being obsessed with Aurelia. And the newspaper clippings I’d found about someone called Ingrid Olsen who looked identical to Aurelia. I typed ‘Ingrid Olsen’ in the search bar. About a million results came up, but after a good long rummage I figured that none of them related to the murdered girl in the newspaper clippings. The clippings dated back to 1983 – before I was born.

That didn’t add up either, but the presence of the diary in my room reminded me of the most urgent issue – Tom was a violent, bullying man. Aurelia had feared for her life, and she had died. And really, I should have known better than to think Tom was all he seemed. I had the misfortune to know that, more often than not, relationships were institutions of abuse, betrayal, and occasionally torture, yet somehow I still held on to the hope that somewhere there existed a family who treated each other with actual kindness, respect, and love. I needed so badly to know it was possible, and it was crushing to consider that maybe it just wasn’t.

Coco’s screams brought me back to the present with a jolt. I had been so absorbed in the diary that I’d forgotten to sterilize the bottles. ‘All right, Coco,’ I murmured, letting her know her milk was on its way. ‘I’m here.’

And as I said those words, I knew what I had to do.

I couldn’t just leave. I had to protect Gaia and Coco.

As I tiptoed along the landing I saw a mouse dart across the floor, but I didn’t care. As far as I was concerned it was earning its right to roam the house by not having already frozen to death. I raced towards the kitchen, reaching for the light switch. Nothing. The kitchen remained grey-dark, the windows all steamed up. I tried again, and again. And then movement by the window caught my eye.

A woman, standing with her back to me. Both arms by her sides. A long dress to her ankles.

Her feet weren’t touching the ground.

I opened my mouth to scream.

She was hovering. Hovering.

No, no, no. I was hallucinating again. I had been doing so well! No hallucinations for weeks. She is not there, I told my brain, but my eyes and my wildly clanging heart said otherwise. She had long, dark hair, flat and damp as though she’d just come in from the rain. She was wearing some kind of jacket in a rough material, like sackcloth, and beneath it I could see a dark grey dress to her ankles. Her feet were very swollen, like blue loaves. Maybe that was why she was hovering. It looked like it’d be quite painful to put any weight on feet as swollen as that.