Marnie went back across the road, to the caretaker’s cottage. She drank some more water. She went into the bathroom, opened her mouth wide and tried to look down her throat in the mirror, to see if it was bleeding or covered in scars, but it was impossible to see; the mirror was dirty, speckled with toothpaste and crusted dots of shaving foam. She pressed her fingertips into the soft skin beneath her jawbone. She tried to think what Denise would tell her to do and she missed her mother so badly that she wanted to cry, only her throat was too sore for that.

Marnie needed help. She crossed the road to the Big House in search of Mrs deVillars, who was always good for a kind word.

She found her in the garden of the Big House, sitting beneath the shade of one of the huge old beech trees, her long legs sliding out from beneath the fringe of a cheesecloth kaftan, a sketch pad on her lap and coloured pencils scattered around her. She was drinking something pink. The drink was long and cool and fruity in a tall glass full of ice. Marnie stared at the ice, coveting it. The grass that used to be the lawn was dried up and dead, yellow like straw. The bushes and shrubs were wilting. All the water collected overwinter was being used to keep the flowerbeds in the holiday park spritely; there was nothing left for the Big House garden.

‘Hello, sweetie,’ said Mrs deVillars. ‘Is everything all right?’

‘I’m hot.’

‘Aren’t we all!’ Mrs deVillars laughed and then she held the cool back of her hand against Marnie’s forehead. ‘Um,’ she said. ‘You are hot. It might be heatstroke.’ She took another drink then offered the glass to Marnie. ‘Hold this against your face.’

Marnie did as she suggested. The glass was blissfully cool. She rolled it along her forehead.

Camille deVillars laughed. ‘Is that better?’

‘Yes.’

‘Heatstroke then.’

Mrs deVillars took Marnie into the Big House, airless and gloomy. Canvas bags and a rucksack were piled in the hall: supplies for a camping trip.

In the cool of the boot room Camille deVillars squeezed sunscreen onto the palm of her hand then patted it onto Marnie’s exposed skin. She found a moth-eaten straw hat for her to wear.

‘That’ll keep the sun off your face,’ she said. ‘You need to keep drinking plenty and stay out of the sun, OK?’