‘She’s okay,’ Hannah shrugged. She was busy organising bottles of ketchup, relish, and mustard on the worktop, and feeling the weight of Rosie’s stare, refused to make eye contact.

‘Just okay? She’s the best, Hannah. No other mums would let us have this much fun.’ Rosie fell silent for a moment. ‘How come you haven’t come out with us the last couple of days? Do you not like it here?’

Tears pricked at the backs of Hannah’s eyes. She couldn’t let them fall. If Mrs W caught her…

‘You can tell me, Hannah. I promise it’s okay.’

She wanted to tell someone. She wanted to, so badly. Rosie was one of her best friends, but would she even believe her?

‘Out of the way, girls.’

The moment was lost as Mrs W returned to the room. She cleared a space on the worktop before carefully setting down a varnished box with an intrinsic floral pattern carved into the woodwork.

‘What’s in there?’

‘This, young Rosie, is my music box.’

‘Does it really play music?’

‘It does.’

Mrs W undid the clasp at the front, raising the lid, and a tiny figurine ballerina appeared. She twisted a key at the back of the box and a sweet melody began to play as the ballerina started spinning.

Hannah recognised the tune as the one she had been humming.

Inside the box were brooches and beads and other pieces of jewellery, and Rosie was staring in wonderment. ‘This is like a magic box of treasure,’ she breathed.

‘My husband gave this to me.’

‘It’s beautiful.’

‘It really is.’ Mrs W spared a glance in Hannah’s direction. Apparently she had drawn attention to herself by staying quiet. ‘What do you think, Hannah? Has the cat got your tongue?’

She was using a different tone to the one she reserved for Rosie. It was cooler.

‘I… um… I think it’s lovely,’ Hannah stammered, scared to look at the woman.

As Rosie reached for the box, wound it up again, her curious fingers touching the jewellery, Mrs W’s eyes hovered on Hannah.

‘I nearly forgot my special pickled sauce. Hannah, would you mind fetching it for me?’

‘Yes, of course.’ Hannah quickly nodded, glancing round at the cupboards. ‘Where is it?’

When Mrs W didn’t immediately answer, she made the mistake of making eye contact with her, saw the sly smile cross the woman’s face as her glance slid to the closed cellar door.

‘It’s just down in the cellar. Bottom of the stairs. Shelf on the left.’

Hannah froze. ‘You want me to go down there?’

‘It’s not a problem, is it?’

‘I don’t know… I don’t think…’

Rosie was looking at her now, wondering what was going on. ‘What’s wrong, Hannah? Are you scared of Mr Bennett? He’s just a silly story.’