The nurse smiled. ‘Well, if you could start by bringing a few things in for her from home, that would be useful. She needs clean nightclothes and underwear – and her slippers, as she’ll be able to get out of bed soon. I believe you already have a key to her house?’

*

I felt like an intruder as I went up the stairs to Mrs Barley’s bedroom that evening. I had had no previous cause to venture beyond the kitchen and living room, and felt slightly uncomfortable as I rifled through the tall chest of drawers to find the items requested by the hospital.

The room, as I would have expected, was immaculate, although the air smelled musty; the type of odour you might associate with old belongings. It was more conventionally decorated than her living room, making me wonder if this was how things had been in general when Frank was alive. I couldn’t have imagined him approving of spirit balls and pagan symbols, somehow. The furniture was polished mahogany, making everything seem dark and rather gloomy. Faded pink roses adorned the walls. A small vase of dried flowers sat on the windowsill, flanked either side by two porcelain Beatrix Potter figurines – Peter Rabbit and Jemima Puddle-Duck. They made me smile.

On one side of the kidney-shaped dressing table sat an old-fashioned vanity set with hand-mirror, hairbrush and comb; on the other, a threadbare green silk make-up purse, a cream leather jewellery box, and a jar of Pond’s vanishing cream, which I remembered Auntie Jane using. In the centre stood an old sepia photograph in a silver frame of a young, smiling couple, their arms wrapped round one another. I wondered if it was a picture of Mrs Barley’s beloved parents. The only concession in evidence to Mrs Barley’s wiccan leanings was a large lump of rose quartz and one of her small, faceless dolls, propped upright on the bedside cabinet.

The room was stiflingly warm, but a sudden shiver ran up my spine. It was a disquieting sensation. I became convinced that I could feel a presence and, fearful that I was being watched, whipped round, fully expecting to see Frank Barley observing my actions from the doorway. There was no one there. I sighed with relief, my pounding heart rate gradually slowing. My imagination was running wild again.