“You’ve been asleep forever,” he said, spinning me round and round the chequerboard floor. Black, white, black, white, black . . . I closed my eyes, but that only made things worse, so I clung to whatever I could—the collar of his shirt, his neck, his hair—and willed him to stop. There was no point struggling; I was afraid that if I did, I might fall.

He had no idea, then, that I’d been up and about already, jolting across town to the hospital where his mother wasn’t—apparently—a patient? Certainly, he’d appeared to be deeply asleep when I got back, and he hadn’t stirred all the time I was undressing and sliding back into bed. I’d lain for a long time staring stiffly at his back without daring to touch it, waiting for a wideawake voice to ask where I’d been. The warmth of the duvet and the rhythm of his breathing must have got to me. I don’t remember giving in to sleep; I hadn’t intended to. I’d intended to think.

I shrieked as he flipped me up and caught me—easy-peasy—with one arm under my knees and the other supporting my back. I had to clutch him round the neck—there was nothing else for it—but although I laughed, I couldn’t quite laugh the way he wanted me to.

“Oh, come on, Freya Lyell. Don’t be grumpy.”

Cory hitched me higher until our faces were almost touching, and kissed the tip of my nose.

“What’s up?”

I smiled without meeting his eye.

“Nothing,” I said. “I’m just sleepy.”

He let me slither to my feet and I staggered as the hall floor spun. Lady Caroline and her pop-eyed dog were watching from the back wall, as if they liked me a little less each time they saw me.

“Freya . . . ?”

When he picked up my hand I thought he was going to lead me to the kitchen and a mug of tea—but no. We were heading for one of the big rooms at the front of the house. I dragged my feet, but Cory couldn’t seem to walk like any normal human being. If he wasn’t pacing backward, he was bounding like a puppy or twirling me into a waltz.

“I’ve had the most amazing idea,” he said. “I’ve been thinking about it all morning, while you were asleep.”

“Oh yes?”

I couldn’t take in what he said; I was too distracted by the pulse in my head. B-Y-R-N-E, it went, on and on, round and round. Maggie’s voice seemed to echo between my ears, one letter for every beat, and I saw her frowning at the screen. BYRNE. B-Y-R-N-E. I can’t find that name in the system.

“Freya?”

“Sorry, sorry. You’ve been thinking . . .”

“What’s the first thing you notice about this room?”