At dinner Hessel was silent. A heavy sadness hung about him; no doubt he was worried about his horse. And because he didn’t speak, and I couldn’t speak, and Bette didn’t seem to like starting conversations, no-one spoke. My grandparents didn’t seem remotely surprised by this, or by my own silence. And when the meal was finished Bette said, ‘Anna, your grandfather usually watches the news programs after dinner. Perhaps you’d like to watch with him.’

‘It’s all rubbish,’ Hessel said as he nevertheless sat himself heavily in one of the chairs, pointed the remote at the television like a gun and pumped up the volume. I watched him, suddenly wondering who the hell he was, who Bette was, why the hell I was here, and then I said, ‘I think I might just go to bed.’

The television blared through the crack in the bedroom door as I sat on the bed wrapped in Mum’s crocheted quilt.

It seemed insane to me now. It seemed almost hilarious, actually, that this had been my plan. That this was where I had run to, where I had sent myself. Cathy’s room. Mum’s room, of all places.

After what she had just done, proving to me that she really, really didn’t care about me . . . After that, to come here – I must have been out of my mind. I had been. I had been out of my mind.

The wind lifted and dropped a piece of tin on the roof, sounding a loud bang, and I jumped and then saw against the darkening sky the back legs of a possum dangling down outside. The legs scrambled and then disappeared and I heard the same thump and scratch that had woken me that morning as it ran away across the roof. I crossed the room to reach over the desk and tug at the window, but it was stuck shut. Everything in the room leaned towards me, crept under my feet, scraped against my shoulders.

I would have to stay one more night. One more night.

I pressed my cheek against the glass of the window. Somewhere out there, beautiful, anonymous Melbourne beckoned. But I was already worrying about the cost. If I left the area I’d have to replace the package. And in Melbourne where would I stay? City prices were steep.

Outside, the dark grey land met the dark grey sky. Something flickered at the edge of the pane and through the warped surface of the cheap glass the hulking shape of the old house slipped into view, shimmered into existence as if it wasn’t sure itself whether it did in fact exist. Its wobbliness and its blockishness made it seem both wavering and defiantly solid; as if the old house had just taken a big breath and was holding it in.

I took my cheek from the glass, rubbed it with a warming palm, and picked up an object I found perched on the sill. It was heavy, with delicate little metal teeth and gears, very cold to the touch – the tiny inside mechanism of a music box. As I turned it over in my hand I noticed the handle was missing. I put it back on the sill.