This was the last thing I wanted, but Dominic said it was a great idea, and lurched off, cup in hand. Elizabeth scampered after him. We looked in the bathroom, the spare room, Elizabeth’s bedroom, an empty room that was maybe once the son’s. Dominic clunked his cup against the last closed door. ‘What about here?’

‘That’s my parents’ room. We don’t play in there.’

‘Perfect. That’s exactly where she’ll be.’

Elizabeth looked at me in alarm. I shrugged. ‘I thought she didn’t follow any rules?’

I followed Dominic into the bedroom. ‘Watch out,’ he said. He stepped behind the door, thrust it shut, and turned the key in the lock.

‘What happened?’ Elizabeth wailed. ‘What happened?’

Dominic called, ‘Scarlet locked us in!’ Then he went straight to the nightstand and began to open the drawers.

The Harmers’ bedroom was where all their furniture was hiding. A chest of drawers and a dressing table stood jammed together under the window, their surfaces alive with candles, ornaments, toiletries and pots of dead – or paper? – flowers. An ancient TV-VCR faced the bed. Layers of rugs covered the floor, piles of dirty clothes in heaps, a metal ironing board with a rusted iron perched on it, pictureless frames leaning against the skirting boards. Elizabeth was still yelling outside, something about fixing the clock, but the shut door and masses of stuff muffled her voice.

‘Holy shit.’ Dominic was holding up a videotape. ‘This is some old porn. 1970s. Look at that hair.’

The chunky case, orange and pink, showed a woman on the front with her arms flung open. Deep Throat, it said, a phrase I associated only with The X-Files. He put the tape in the VCR, and a scene leapt up, all combed with wavy lines: a man, wearing a yellow shirt, going down on a woman. The man’s fluffy sideburns were like the fluffy reddish hair on the woman’s labia. One of her hands cradled his head, her beige nails gleaming. There was a strange cheery song playing, and a noise in the background like someone blowing through a straw into their Coke. Somehow we were both sitting on the Harmers’ bed. When Dominic mashed his mouth against mine, I wondered who he was kissing. Did it matter? The kiss was happening, I told myself. It was happening and I was inside it. I pulled away.

‘What’s wrong?’

‘Nothing. It’s just … She’s gone quiet. I’m supposed to be looking after her.’

He was so close I could see the spoke of green in the blue wheel of his iris, the tight creamy pinprick of pus in the head of a spot.

‘D’you wanna go out with me,’ he murmured, ‘or what?’ His hand was on my thigh, burning through my jeans.

‘She could be anywhere.’ I looked down. ‘She’s not normal.’ I got up and stopped the tape. ‘She’s got a heart condition.’