Silent. Morose. Flo. Illumined by silver moonlight. Her small form a crease in the middle of the vast bed. The tiny head propped up amidst plump pillows. Her craggy face turned to the windows, eyes still pining for the garden.

Beside the bed, an easy chair and a side table. Upon the latter the estate agent’s brochure is smoothed out beside Jess’s bag, her phone and a cup of steaming coffee. Only the lambent moon of a small lamp, with the shade angled down, offers light.

Jess stands beside the chair and taps the headrest. ‘I’ll be right here all night, Flo. Just gonna tuck Izzy in.’

* * *

Cowering inside a sleeping bag laid on top of the vintage bed in Charlotte Gardner’s room, Izzy’s wide eyes peer over the head of Bamboo, the panda that she clutches beneath her chin. The moment her mother appears in the doorframe, Izzy beseeches her to adjust the sleeping arrangements. ‘Don’t like it here. Can I sleep with Mummy and Flo?’

Jess pads across the room, sits on the bed and strokes her daughter’s hair. ‘Baby girl. Just an old house. All it is.’

At the merest contact from her mother’s hand, Izzy seizes Jess’s waist as if Mum is buoyant wreckage in a terrifying black sea. ‘There’s . . . shapes. I heard . . . moving.’

‘Mmm? This was another little girl’s room once. Just a happy girl who left it full of sweet dreams.’

Izzy isn’t convinced.

‘I gotta keep an eye on Flo, my love. Old people don’t sleep very well and I don’t want her waking you up all night. But I’ll be in here every ten minutes to check on you.’

‘Five minutes . . . Three.’

‘Promise. And I ain’t going until you’re asleep.’ Jess kisses her daughter’s head. Izzy fights tears. Jess’s eyes drift to the sketch pad and felt-tip pens on the dresser beside the bed.

Izzy’s latest picture features three girls with red faces, running in the foreground of what appears to be a wood. Their mouths are wide and howling, their arms claw for safety. Behind them, a thin form like a stretched person rises tall. A starved thing, inked black, with a water-bird’s beak stabbing outwards from a slender head. The creature’s feet are concealed by the circular body of water, maybe a pond, from which it emerges. About the scene another circle forms a halo as bright as a sun.

* * *

Glancing over her shoulder, through the thin light of the lamp, Jess confirms that Flo sleeps. The frail figure is lying perfectly still beneath the luxurious eiderdown. Satisfied, Jess leaves the room.

On the first-floor landing, she rotates another old key and unlocks a second bedroom. Then fishes a bulb out of her pocket and slips inside the dark room.