He walks out of the room. I hear his footsteps on the stone floor, the slow, laboured gait. I wander into the hallway and see a large walnut sideboard to the left of me. Then something catches my eye. It’s the glass bird, sitting on top of the sideboard. I step towards it, a shiver running through me as I recall how this special talisman, the black glass bird with the yellow bill that the boy, Angus, had to take in his hands to gain entry to the past, has haunted my dreams since I was a little girl.

As I draw closer to it, the bird’s eyes seem to flash and I feel my skin prickle.

‘I don’t think he needs you any more,’ I whisper, taking the bird and slipping it into my bag. ‘Best you come with me.’

I return to the living room and sit down on the edge of the soft armchair, feeling light-headed suddenly. Seeing the bird has brought it all back: the horror of my mother’s death, those long lonely hours sitting in my room lost in the story of this house and its ghosts.

Where can Geoffrey have got to?

I stand up and walk into the hallway and, as I do, a peculiar thing happens: with each step I take I feel myself being drawn further into the story. I’m no longer Vanessa Adams, I am Angus, the lonely, sleepless boy. I gaze at the tapestry. The bloodied deerhounds seem to spring to life. I hear them barking, feel the crunch of leaves under my feet, smell the crisp, winter air. I’m falling under the spell of this house, sinking deeper into its folds.

Time freezes as I follow the hounds through the woods. I hear shouts and screams, a loud bang echoing through the air. Then, suddenly, I’m crouched at the bottom of the stairs.

Geoffrey is lying on the floor at my feet. He’s sprawled at a terrible angle and a pool of blood is gathering at the back of his head. My hand is on his neck.

I leap backwards, my heart lurching inside my chest. What have I done?

The room starts to spin, the deerhounds snarl at me from the tapestry. I feel like I’m going to pass out. I reach out to grab something to steady myself but there’s just empty space.

The next thing I know, I’m running down Hampstead High Street, gasping for breath, the glass bird hidden in my bag, Geoffrey’s blood on my hands.

34. Now

‘I thought I’d give you a little private tour. Isn’t that exciting?’

He bundles me inside the living room. It has been transformed since I was last here. The furniture is covered in plastic sheets, there is yellow-and-black tape stuck to the floor and a layer of what looks like chalk dust clings to every surface.