She places the lamps on the chest of drawers, along with the matches she pulls from her skirt, then goes to the wardrobe. The door creaks in complaint as she opens it, releasing an unpleasant waft of mothballs. She takes out some bedlinen and drops a pile onto each bed.

‘The other room is used for storage and doesn’t have any beds. I hope you’re OK to share?’

‘It’s fine. Thank you.’ I smile tightly and glance around.

Maybe it comes from moving around so much, but I’ve always been able to pick up on the emotions of a place. As soon as I walked into a foster placement, I knew if the kids before me had been happy or not; an intuition that proved helpful more than once. Standing here now, the damp-spotted walls and fusty smell don’t bother me – I’ve stayed in worse places – but something feels off. A sour sadness hangs in the air, along with a feverish kind of fear, as if whoever slept here had terrible nightmares.

Tom makes towards the other bed, banging his head on the sloping ceiling. He rubs it and mutters something I can’t quite catch, but was unlikely to be ‘duck’. He throws his stuff down then goes to the window. ‘Is it me, or is the light even redder up here?’ he asks.

My mother steps forward and looks outside, her voice quiet. ‘The light used to be white but they changed it some years ago. Migratory seabirds had a habit of flying into the tower. Thousands of them would die in a single night, their bodies littered over the headland. I remember helping my father pick up the carcasses as a little girl. Scientists couldn’t understand why it was happening. They thought the rotating white optic affected the birds’ navigation somehow, so they changed it to a fixed LED lamp.’

‘And did it work?’ I ask.

‘Not really. But then it wasn’t the light attracting them to begin with.’

Tom coughs awkwardly and changes the subject. ‘And those other buildings, what are they?’

‘The white circular building used to be the engine room to the lighthouse, but it’s run by solar energy now. The other cottage is disused, no one’s lived there for years, and the rest is used for storage.’

I take my phone from my pocket and place it on the bedside table, then empty my work clothes onto the mattress, followed by the contents of my rucksack: hairbrush, some chewing gum and a box of tampons.

My mum glances at my damp clothes, a look of pity on her face. ‘Is that all you have?’

‘I left in a rush.’

She points to the wardrobe. ‘You should find something in there that fits.’

‘OK. Thanks.’

She goes to the dresser and fiddles with the dials of the paraffin lamps, making the flames jump. ‘There’s no electricity, so you’ll need these.’ She picks up one of the lamps and hesitates. ‘You must be hungry. I’ve got something in the oven. I’m sure I can make it stretch.’ Her gaze softens and I have the impression she doesn’t want to leave my side, even for a moment. ‘If you want to come down now, I can make you a hot drink?’