Why can’t her sister understand? If Pearl could contact Mother, she’d have an ally, someone to protect her from the bad spirits and stop her getting sick like this. She longs to feel Mother’s cool hand on her burning brow.

‘I ain’t stopping you from talking to her,’ Myrtle says eventually. Her voice has gone gravelly and she’s got that puffy look, as if she’s about to cry.

‘But you are. I need a circle. I can’t do it alone. I never see ghosts when I’m on my own.’

‘No. I won’t do it, Pearl. Let her rest in peace.’

Pearl slumps. She’s so exhausted and so hot, she hasn’t the strength to fight, but she must. This is the only thing that really matters to her.

Mother’s the only one who can help now.

‘Please, Myrtle. Don’t you think she’d want to meet me? She can be my spirit guide.’

‘You don’t need one.’

‘But I never knew her!’ Pearl bleats.

‘No, you didn’t,’ Myrtle fires back. ‘So you never had to lose her. You can’t even imagine what it’s like. Every day …’ She glances away, trying to hide angry tears. ‘Nobody suffered like I did.’

‘Father lost her too.’

Pearl can’t bear to have her father talked about like he doesn’t count. ‘He loved her,’ she whispers.

‘He killed her!’ Myrtle erupts. Her eyes aren’t beautiful now; they’re frightening. ‘If it wasn’t for him putting a baby in her belly, she’d still be alive. And look what he’s gone and done to himself. I told him we shouldn’t work in a match factory. Now here we are. I’m the mug, busting my guts to cure the man who murdered my own mother.’

Pearl’s still hot, but she’s shaking, furious and heartbroken all at the same time. Maybe it’s true: maybe she’s the offspring of a feckless man and a mother who resents her every bit as much as Myrtle does. But Father didn’t mean for it to happen. He’d never hurt anyone on purpose, and if he’s done wrong, isn’t he paying for it now?

She finds a thread of voice. ‘It’s not Father’s fault. You have to help him, Myrtle. Don’t take your anger out on him. Blame me instead.’

Myrtle’s nostrils flare. She peers down at Pearl, still crumpled on the floor by the chamber pot. ‘D’you know what? Sometimes I do.’

With that parting blow, she strides off and shuts herself in her bedroom.

Pearl’s free hand grips at the carpet. It feels as though the floor is moving. She wants to cry, to really howl and weep, but her head’s just too painful.

Everything hurts so much.

For a moment she sits swaying, utterly hollowed out by her sister’s words.