Extra Great Manor was slow and old. Its timbers lagged behind the seasons, a bit like the weather on the coast, which is levelled out by the sea. The summer heat was retained until November, and the July heatwaves were well on their way before a stagnant warmth fell into the rooms. Auntie Annu adapted to the rhythm of the house. She put on a woolly jumper and slowed down. She drove to the shop once a week, chatted to the sheep once a day, drank a cup of cocoa at eleven o’clock. After cocoa, she walked once through the downstairs rooms, standing for a moment in every one. Auntie Annu enjoyed the empty spaces; she didn’t miss furniture. She no longer had to flatten herself against the door of the toilet when someone came to call.

4

4

We were roped in to help, the day Auntie Annu became lady of Extra Great Manor. Even though no one was moving out of the property, we removed more things from it than we carried inside.

All of Auntie’s possessions fitted into one van. But we took out all the furniture that had belonged to the office, the children’s summer camp or the warehouse – and that was a lot. The only things Auntie Annu saved were the upstairs hospital beds. Every bedroom contained one or two metal beds that moved on wheels and had sides you could raise. These made Dad shudder, because he had had his appendix removed when he was nine, but Auntie Annu found them atmospheric.

The evening of moving-in day, Auntie Annu whispered to me, ‘Come, Saara, I’ve got something to show you.’

We climbed the stairs to the first-floor landing. Two passages led in different directions. We went into the west passage. Auntie opened the third door we came to.

Behind the door was an unoccupied bedroom, with a bed and two old wooden chairs. Through the window, you could see the front lawn, the fountain, the van and a pile of cardboard boxes. But Auntie walked to the wall on the left-hand side.

‘Look,’ Auntie Annu said. Gripping the upper edge of the middle section of wall panelling, she gave it a yank.

‘A secret door!’ I whispered.

And indeed, the panelling slid aside soundlessly. There was a small room behind the secret door, large enough to take a person. Auntie let me try opening the door. You could feel the small pin at the top of the board with your fingers. You had to flick this to the left. Then you heard a gentle click and the panel opened.

We entered the secret room. Auntie had put two velvet cushions and a wool rug on the floor, so it was nicer to sit on. The rear wall had a small window in it. It didn’t let in much light, because it was covered by a thick creeper.

‘From the outside, you can only see the creeper,’ Auntie said.