I became so lost in thought that I did not at once become aware that Mary was no longer with me. But I was not alarmed – the shallow caves where we often explored were just ahead. After a while, I put down my pail and followed the beach, fully expecting to discover her, but my calls and explorations brought nothing. A little impatient, I made my way back and then noticed how close I was to Gulls Cry and was struck with the conviction that this was where she had strayed.

In the morning sun, the house looked innocent enough, with white paintwork and wide windows, but its pretty face was a facade because I knew that behind the brick it wore another character; it was the place where Hettie had once lived alongside a boy with an appetite for torture. I began running to where the path led up through the dunes and on to the property. I was out of breath as I reached the door and tried the handle. It was unlocked, confirming my instincts.

I stepped into the lobby and the leaking scent of the stale rooms. ‘Mary,’ my tone was wheedling. Vacancy had set the house into fast decay – damp ran from ceilings and the scent of rodents was astringent on the air.

I paused, but a noise from above jarred me out of my reflections. I called Mary’s name again and took the stairs to the first floor. Dust was distilled in the silence and I stopped to listen but did not hear her again. Pushing open a door, I discovered a bathroom – a hip bath, its enamel creped with age. Towels still hung on an ornate stand with the bloom of mould on their surface.

Her parents’ bedroom was empty too but for a grand four-poster, hangings grey with dust, and the furniture that must once have been used daily by Evangeline. It was hard now to imagine the house filled with life or activity. Feet pattered in the hall and I left in search of her once again.