‘I don’t know,’ I said, and we headed to the kitchen to see what was going on. Tom was there in his work gear. I realized I hadn’t seen him come in last night, so he must have spent all night on the build.

‘It’s done,’ he said, like a man possessed. ‘It’s alive!’

Clive came in through the door behind him then, stamping his boots on the doormat. He was wearing a boiler suit, too. ‘Is Derry back?’ he asked me. I told him I didn’t know.

‘Maren!’ Tom shouted. A few minutes later she emerged, bleary-eyed in her nightie. He paid no heed. ‘We’re all going to see the house.’

Clearly we had no say in the matter, but it was exciting all the same. We all wrapped up in our coats and boots and headed out into the dark.

As we approached the cliff, it looked as though nothing had been built at all. The same chaos of diggers and cement mixers, and remnants of timber joists scattered all over the muddy outcrop. But then Tom shone a light straight ahead of him, and we all gasped – there was a glass lift right at the edge of the cliff.

‘Like Willy Wonka, Daddy,’ Gaia observed.

‘Yes, pudding. But better.’

We all stepped into it. Tom hit a button and we all drew breath as the lift descended slowly down the side of the cliff. The sun was just beginning to rise, bleeding copper light into the fjord, and through the glass floor of the lift we could make out the shape of the house: three round tiers about halfway down, sitting out over the water, glowing gold in the new sun.

The lift descended into an opening within the confines of the house. He hit the button and the door slid cleanly open, allowing us to step inside the cold space.

‘One, two, three.’ Tom switched on the lights, illuminating the house. It was still a shell, and there were bits of wood and metal lying everywhere, but it was finished. Completely sealed in. A spiral staircase spun up from the middle of the floor to the next levels like a giant metallic strand of DNA. Tom saw me staring at it.

‘I know what you’re thinking,’ he said. ‘Coco will have a field day trying to climb it.’

I nodded. She was squirming in my arms, yanking on my clothes and hair to get down, but I wouldn’t let her – the place wasn’t exactly Coco-proof. Tom ran a hand across the dusty silver banister, grinning at the staircase like it was a living object.

‘Doubles up as a ventilation shaft,’ he told me, as though I might have a clue what this meant. ‘Thought we’d have to put in a mechanical ventilation system, but we improvised. Oh, but that’s nothing compared to how we did the insulation.’