He huffs, evidently realising I’m not going to change my mind, then reaches over my head and rips the board away in one brutal motion. I pick up the hammer and pull out more nails and he tugs at another board, and another. Eventually we remove the last one.

The door creaks as I push it open. Inside is so dark I can’t see a thing.

‘Can you get me an oil lamp, please? There should be one in the kitchen.’

I wait for him to go then peer into the gloom. The passageway feels damp and airless and when I hold out my arms, my fingers touch rough stone walls. I walk forward and something brushes my face. I gasp and pull away a handful of cobwebs, my scalp crawling with the thought of what might be in my hair.

‘Ivy?’

I turn back and Tom is holding up a lamp. His face is contorted in the flickering light, his features a confusion of shades and hollows: his cheeks gaunt and his eye sockets so deep that his head resembles a skull. He looks like the witch from my mum’s drawing. I rub my eyes, relieved when he catches up to me and appears normal. To our left is a green door – this must be the one my mum entered and locked behind her – and a little way ahead is a flight of narrow stone steps.

‘What was that?’ asks Tom.

I glance back the way we came, but I don’t see anything.

‘Can’t you hear it?’ he asks.

I close my eyes and make out a soft rumble of thunder. Only it doesn’t sound like a noise from outside; it seems to be coming from the tower above us. We walk over to the stone steps and look up them.

A high-pitched wail cuts through the air – the cry of the wind or a bird, perhaps. It comes again and this time there’s no mistake – the scream is human and full of fear.

16

I hurriedly climb a dozen or so steps and find myself in an open landing area, a large green metal tube running up the body of the tower. I glance around, certain I’ve been here before. I’ve never seen inside the lighthouse, yet somehow I know that I’ve touched its rough stone walls. I’ve walked up the staircase, my hand on the metal railing, my feet echoing on the concrete steps. Remembering my dream makes me feel faint and I stop to catch my breath when Tom appears behind me. He peers up the dimly lit stairwell and from the look on his face, he doesn’t want to know what’s at the top either.

‘You don’t have to come with me. It’s OK, really.’