Cocoa Fiends

By L C Allen

Jessamy Winters is a bit worried about moving into a new house in the middle of an academic year. But with an abusive ex-boyfriend and a treacherous best friend in the background, it seems like a good move. However, the three girls she moves in with are more complicated than they first seem – they are vampires. But vampires are not the threat they often appear in fiction: with blood impossible to store outside the body and an excellent substitute in chocolate, Megan, Becca and Tabitha apparently hold no danger for Jess. The girls fall in together easily, and Jess even begins to have romantic feelings for Raven, a friend of Megan’s.
But when Raven is found dead, Jess is determined to get to the bottom of it. Are there really murderous vampires stalking the streets as well as the reasonable ones she has met? And what is the connection with the mysterious people she has discovered through her research? Jess gradually finds that the link lies closer to home than she ever suspected, and she begins to explore her physical and mental boundaries and to understand her own aptitudes.
With the help of her housemates, a grumpy scholar and an enigmatic martial arts instructor, she begins to plunge into the murky depths of the after-dark world, working towards finding out the truth behind not only the death of their friend but the disappearances that are plaguing the community.
But the past never truly goes away and Jess must face the reality that the most ruthless members of this new world are prepared to use anything, even her own history, against her – including her brutal ex-boyfriend. As she enters the tangled web of deceit and lies that have been laid around her friends, there is only one way Jess can survive... by becoming something she never before imagined.

• Language: English
• Publisher: L C Allen
• Release date: Oct 3, 2017
• ISBN: 9781370040247

L C Allen

Hi! I live in seclusion on Exmoor and spend my time writing, walking and when possible swimming in the sea. Life is always busy and full of interest, narrow roads and crazy dogs...

Book preview

Blown through the world: gas-light-flare blown,

Shivering and damp, plastered on my doorframe.

Searching for sanctuary in the sucking of space.

Searching for nurture in the needy cruelty of night.

Unable to call, to crawl, to breathe for the pull of it.

Will you open the door? Will I feed the flame?

Anonymous, via Nightnet

Chapter 1.

Houses do not become homes until their hearts are complete. A house is as dependent upon its occupants as they are upon its walls, its roof, and its foundation.

Professor Wm. C. Probitts, ‘Philosophe’

The light was lowering as Jess walked nervously down the street. In the shadows of the buildings, everything looked grey and threatening. On upper floors the windows stared at her, blank and hopeless. She looked behind for the hundredth time: there was nobody there. She passed a drab newsagents selling wilted newspapers and dusty bottles, half a dozen looming doors opening directly onto the street, a rustling gang of feral pigeons attacking last night’s abandoned kebab. A car slid past, bass booming, narrowly slaloming through the vehicles parked haphazard along the sides of the road.

The junk shop was tucked into a corner where a side street led off into the dimness of late afternoon. Its window was hazy with neglect, the painted sign above long illegible. The door was half glassed, but the glass itself was obscured by countless yellowing flyers, notices, posters and stickers. She glanced at them as she passed, noting how out of date most of them were. She wondered whether anyone ever actually went in.

She turned the corner hesitantly. There were less cars on this side street, possibly because it was so narrow that passing was virtually impossible. The pavements were constricted and in places the flags had heaved and shifted, leaving jutting edges to trip unwary feet. On either side the houses loomed, seeming to thin the ribbon of grey sky above even further. The nets in the windows were grey and clammy-looking, hanging limp and unloved to hide the interiors from inquisitive passers by, and the noise of the city was eerily cut off by the high confines of concrete and brick cliffs.

The door she was looking for was the first on the right, deeply inset into the wall behind the junk shop. The paint, once a deep maroon, was chipped and peeling. The walls on either side were cheap red bricks. The bell clearly didn’t work; she could see the rusty spring behind the protruding button. The place did not look inviting. And yet, she had to try. She knew she was in the right place, because there was a scrap of paper tacked above the letterbox which read in rainwashed blue biro: ‘Flat One’. She hesitated again, looked over her shoulder again, and then took several deep breaths.

When it came down to it, the house and its location didn’t worry her all that much. The fact of the matter was that Jess wasn’t sure about meeting her new housemates. This was why she stood so nervously on the threshold. This was why she dropped her raised hand yet again, and tried to pull herself together. It wasn’t like last year, when everyone had been in the same position: all strangers together. This time she was the stranger, intruding on their territory, and it had taken all the courage she possessed to get this far.

She braced herself and thought about how she’d arrived here. She’d put adverts on noticeboards, on the back of cubicle doors, on the student webpages. She was terrified, but she was also desperate. There had only been one response in the end, and what remaining shreds of pride she retained demanded that she move out of the other place as soon as possible. So she’d packed up the essentials that weren’t already in boxes and headed out to see the house without letting herself think too much about the consequences.

Jess banged on the door, quickly and without allowing herself to think too much about what she was doing. There was a long, drawn out pause before she heard muttering and the sound of a bolt being drawn. And a key being turned. And a chain rattling. Clearly Flat One was security conscious, and Jess’ heart lifted fractionally.

The door creaked a little as it came a little way open, then a grunt and the door closed again. Jess drooped, but then there was the chain rattle again and the door opened fully. The figure inside didn’t come out into the weak March daylight. All Jess could see was a silhouette, short and dark and baggy. It scratched its head, seeming to dig right inside its skull, and said blearily in a gravelly morning voice,

Jessamy. Megan did say. Come in.

The person backed up and Jess stepped inside. It turned out to be a girl, which she ought to have realised since she’d been quite specific about wanting to be part of an all-female household. She was indeed short and wore loose clothing, but the odd-shaped head was the result of a dark red beany hat over long black hair. The clothes all looked several sizes too big for her, cuffs bagging over shabby slippers that looked like they’d once been supposed to be some form of animal, and tattered sleeves hanging almost all the way over the thin hands. The girl’s face was thin too, long and mournful with the remnants of too much eye make-up smeared around her eyes.

I’m Tabitha, she muttered.

Jess, replied Jess, looking around. They were in a long thin hallway which looked like the entrance to any student house. The wallpaper was an overpowering green and yellow flock. There was a broken bicycle against one wall, limping on one wheel and one handlebar. Pegs shed coats, backpacks and scarves onto the floor. It was a bit of a squash to get through. Jess felt obscurely comforted. It all looked very familiar so far.

It’s not really a flat, said Tabitha. The two doors ahead of them were side by side, at an angle to each another, and the right one had a piece of A4 paper stuck to it. One corner was flapping down, and Tabitha stuck the blue tack back to the paint-flaked wood with a careless hand. There were two letters on the paper: NO.

That’s the shop through there, said Tabitha. Megan keeps forgetting. Jess nodded, and Tabitha pushed open the other door. Jess was a little taken aback by the space beyond. Immediately to her left were stairs leading upwards, but they stood in a wide sitting area with saggy comfy-looking chairs, a sofa covered by a faded blue throw rug and piles and piles of books. There was a long table pushed against the wall, also covered with books and stacks of paper. The wall itself was covered with charts, drawings and printouts, so densely layered that the paint behind was invisible.

Kitchen through there, said Tabitha, whom Jess was beginning to understand didn’t use full sentences. ‘Through there’ was beyond the living room, through an elegant archway. She walked over and peered in. It was long and narrow, with one low window and the blind tight down. It looked remarkably clean to Jess, neat and well-fitted with the minimum of the usual fuss and clutter. She wanted to say something, to say how nice it was, but Tabitha had already started up the stairs.

Jess hurried to follow, though the stair carpet made her wince. It was a pattern of orange and red apparently designed to induce migraines in the most tolerant of heads. The stairs seemed to go all the way to the top of the house. There were two doors off the first minute landing: Me and Becca, said Tabitha; two off the next: Bathroom and you, and one at the very top of the neverending staircase: Megan. They didn’t go up that far. Instead Tabitha opened the bathroom door to reveal the standard uninspiring setup: shower over bath, basin and toilet, all in pale 1970s pink. The window had a slab of plywood tacked over it. Jess looked at it curiously, but all Tabitha said was Privacy, and she had to be content with that.

The vacant room was larger than Jess had expected. The bed was not too narrow and there was a proper desk with drawers under it in one corner. The thick curtains were drawn, but when Jess peeped out of them it was only to see a sort of well between buildings, gloomy and grey, with windows pointing out of all the facing walls. The window would let in very little light. She could see why the curtains were preferable. The room was painted a soothing creamy colour and the furnishings were modern light wood, not the creaky brown melamine she was used to. There was even a headframe to the bed, which did not make a sound when she sat on it for a second.

There’s a chair. Tabitha pointed out the worn brown corduroy armchair behind the door as though it were the room’s major selling point, but Jess was already sold. If the place had been a dump she would have thought twice about it, though it would have been hard to find a worse situation than the one she was in. As it was, she was more than happy to make a quick decision.

I’ll take it, she said. When can I move in?

You sure? Tabitha looked doubtful, as though she was surprised.

Will the others want to meet me first? I suppose that would be polite. Are they around? We could… Jess was embarrassed, but Tabitha cut her off.

No need, she said. We need someone to help with the rent. Move in now if you like. She fumbled in a deep and capacious pocket. Keys, she pronounced, withdrawing a ring of five or six. These two for the front, this one for the room.

And the others? Jess’ eyes widened at the size of the bunch.

Tabitha shrugged. Attic, shop door, shop rear, back door. I never use ‘em. Attic’s the half-door up by Megan. In case you need storage.

Do you need me to sign anything? asked Jess.

Megan has that. She’ll be around later. So will Becca.

Okay. Jess smiled, a little warily, at the girl. I’ve brought a few bits with me, just in case, but I’ve got to borrow a car to get the rest. I sort of need to get out of the old place.

Tabitha suddenly smiled, and her thin, pinched face lit up. The black-ringed eyes crinkled and nearly disappeared. Thought so, she said. That’s why we offered. See you later then. She backed out of the door, shutting it almost silently behind her and not giving a Jess a chance to say another word, though her mouth hung open.

Jess sat on the bed for a moment longer, a bit overwhelmed. It had all happened so fast. There hadn’t been much information in the one email she’d received in the specially set up account: just the rent details, address, directions to the door and the name Megan. No surname. Nothing on the other inhabitants. She was quietly relieved to find that they were all female after all, and the whole set up so much nicer than she had, in her heart of hearts, been anticipating.

Tabitha had also been remarkably considerate of her privacy. She’d thought she would be overwhelmed with a barrage of curiosity and obvious questions, awkward things at the best of times and worse now. She was relieved at her reception here and curious to meet the other girls. Perhaps this was some kind of refuge, and they were all in a similar situation to herself. She hesitated over putting Tabitha into that category though: she had been so unguarded and easy to deal with, despite her paucity of words. Jess was curious to see if the other two girls were as straightforward.

It didn’t take long to unpack her rucksack. Sleeping bag, change of clothes, toothbrush and hairbrush, phone charger, copy of American Gods. She sat and thought for a bit, then texted Mel to see if she could help with transport. Can you help: moving tonight?

The reply was pretty instant: No can do busy. Moving? Where? Jess swore to herself, quietly but fervently. If Melissa was busy, then she was stuck. And if she didn’t move tonight or tomorrow, then… she didn’t want to think of the consequences. And there wasn’t anyone else she felt she could count on right now.

All around her, the house was quiet, enveloping her in a kind of peace that was as welcome as it was unfamiliar. There wasn’t even any music from the other rooms. She guessed that Megan and the other girl were at classes. Distantly, she heard the wail of a siren and somewhere a car alarm keened dismally, but otherwise there was silence. She was in the middle of a city full of several million people, but she felt just for a moment as though she were the only person on the entire planet. Nobody was shouting or demanding. There was no thump, thump of bass from the next house along or the next room along. The house felt old and secret and very, very private. Jess curled into the battered chair and picked up her book. She didn’t expect to get far before…

Several chapters later she looked up. Nothing had happened. Nobody had shouted at her, or phoned her, or interrupted her at all. She stretched and smiled, and realised to her surprise that she actually felt safe. Calm. Not happy, not quite, but unflustered. Content. She went quietly downstairs, astounded at her own confidence in the unfamiliar surroundings. The sitting room was warm and silent. The kitchen was clean and peaceful. She found teabags and milk and made a cup of tea in a white mug with the slogan ‘Mudwrestling is a Messy Job, But Somebody’s got to do it’ on the side.

Jess wandered over to the busy-looking wall above the long table. There were intricate doodles and drawings filling up most of the blank spaces on the paper. Some pages almost looked like black-and white illustrated manuscripts. It was fascinating, but Jess could understand very little of it. She could see that quantities of the writing was in a Cyrillic alphabet or something very like it, and very little of the English made sense either. She didn’t like to look at the papers on the table, but picked up a book from one of the numerous stacks that lined the edges of the room. She was thumbing through a worn illustrated copy of John Donne’s Devotions and sipping hot tea when she caught a movement out of the corner of her eye.

There was a girl in pyjamas coming down the stairs, rubbing her eyes and shuffling but never misstepping on the violently patterned treads. She stopped at the bottom and peered blearily at Jess, guiltily frozen in position. She looked as though she were a biologist examining a new and interesting specimen at the bottom of a petri dish. Jess couldn’t help but feel that she looked as though she should be wearing large round glasses, particularly when she rubbed a finger up her nose distractedly. Her hair was brownish and pulled messily back, and she would have been called plain if it were not for the remarkable size and clarity of those brown eyes; now fixed on Jess.

Hi, said Jess, a little nervously, I’m… but the interrupted before she could go on.

Jessamy, yes, I realised. I am glad you decided to stay. It’s a good house. It’s called a flat, but it isn’t really.

I noticed, said Jess lamely, and it’s just Jess, if that’s okay.

That’s fine, said the girl, smiling suddenly. We all shorten too, except Tabitha, and I quite often call her Tabs or Tabby or something to annoy her. It works. I am actually Rebecca Annalisa but people mostly call me Becca, which is okay. It is less formal, I suppose. And I’m not even going to tell you Megan’s full name because to be honest with you I don’t think I actually remember all of it. I’m sure she will tell you at some point, since you are living here. It will be nice to have someone else in the house. Have you moved your things in? You must have been very quiet; I have not heard anything. I see you have found the tea, I made sure that there was fresh milk when Megan told us you would be coming. We so often drink only black coffee that that the milk is not always good. I think I’ll make some coffee now.

Jess was a little taken aback at the flood of words, especially after Tabitha’s reticence. As she watched Becca’s straight back head for the kitchen she heard a snort behind her.

Never stops, said Tabitha from the foot of the stairs. Jess jumped. She hadn’t heard anyone approach. Without raising her voice, Tabitha said: Me too, Becca. Black, and Jess heard Becca’s quiet acknowledgement from the kitchen. She almost smiled. It was so nice not to have shouting.

Jess heard the juddering whirr of a machine, and Becca came out with two steaming mugs. Jess could smell the caffeine from where she stood.

I have not made Megan’s coffee yet, said Becca, she won’t be ready for it, so there is not any point. Tabitha, I have added a little sugar because you are looking tired to me. She threw herself into an armchair and lounged one leg over the arm, coffee balanced carefully all the while.

So, you are the Jessamy, sorry, the Jess who is to live with us. Did you help her move her things and pieces in already? I am so glad she decided to stay. We will all be friends and the house will be happy.

Tabitha made a face and talked over Becca, who stopped at once. No, Becca, no things yet. No car. She looked at Jess. Did you get it?

Jess shook her head. No. My friend Melissa said she’s busy. I thought she’d help. She did say she would, but no go.

But this is no good! Becca sounded upset. Your friends should be helping you. Megan said that perhaps you needed an escape, but without your belongings it will be hard to settle. And you will have no books! You must need your books. I have to have my books, and without my books and my work… she stopped and shook her head sorrowfully.

I’m sorry, said Jess, replacing the book she still held on its teetering pile. I didn’t mean…

No! said Becca. My books are always available for everyone. In this house, we all share.

Except Megan, muttered Tabitha.

Megan is different. She does her share, hah, of sharing but it is a bit different. This is her house, she turned to Jess, and we are her guests as well as her friends.

Some guests, said Tabitha under her breath, but then she turned. Becca, can you make Mrs. Stanley lend us the van?

Becca smiled hugely, showing wide, slightly crooked teeth. Tabitha, you are a wonder. And Jess will come with me, so that Mrs. Stanley can see how much she is in need. She drained her steaming coffee in a single long pull and grabbed at Jess’ hand.

Come on, she said, and dragged her out into the hallway. She drew a massive bunch of keys from some invisible pocket and unlocked the forbidden door.

Chapter 2.

Bravery has very little to do with strength. Bravery has a great deal to do with fear, and the ways in which one deals with fear.

Professor Wm. C. Probitts, ‘Philosophe’

The junk shop was as gloomy, brown and cluttered inside as it had looked from the street. Jess could only just see the front windows from the corner at the back where the door was hidden. To her surprise it was almost full dark and the steady orange glow of streetlights could be seen outside.

The shop seemed incredibly noisy after the stillness of the house behind. There was some kind of gloomy country and western music playing, cars growled past and the feet and voices of passers-by could be heard through the glass. Their feet squeaked and thundered on the wooden floor as they made their way through the clutter. Impossibly bent chairs, ancient cabinets and tables covered with indeterminate stains jumbled together, piling up in places and begging for more space. Along one wall was a long glass-fronted unit containing piles of mouldering toys: china dolls that stared creepily as they passed, balding teddy bears and rusted metal objects which might once have been cars and trucks.

There were treasures too. There was a dented brass coal-scuttle full of keys of all sizes from massive iron church-door sized to minute watch-keys. Some were beautifully ornate, others rough and rusty. Jess wanted to stop and rummage through them, and through the tray of multi-coloured bone and crystal buttons that occupied another table. And one dusty cupboard held piles and boxes and stacks of costume jewellery, glinting dully in its grubby velvet.

Everything was covered in a fine layer of silver-grey as though the shop was rarely visited or cleaned, but somehow the atmosphere was as welcoming as the home of an elderly and much loved relative. They made their way through the muddle until they could just see the proprietress in a nest of blankets and knitting behind a huge mahogany desk. Becca called out and waved to her, and she grinned and waved back at them. Then her expression clicked round like an automaton’s until it read ‘stern’.

Now, Rebecca, you know you’re supposed to go round the front, she scolded.

Ah but, it is raining you know, said Becca, and Jess saw that it was true. A fine drizzle misted the dull window and the pedestrians had raised umbrellas.

Becca carried on, as Jess was learning she had a tendency to do. I have brought our new friend to introduce to you, she said. This is Jessamy, Jess, I should say, who is going to be our housemate and live in the other room, the one that was empty. Jess, this is Mrs. Stanley, she’s really in charge around here and makes sure that nobody comes to the flat who should not be there. She looked meaningfully at the little woman then, and Mrs. Stanley seemed to sit up a little straighter. Jess almost thought she winked at Becca, but could not be sure in the gloom of the shop.

Pleased to meet you, said the woman, getting up. She was barely taller standing that she had been seated. She was dressed in woollen jumper, knitted shawl and fingerless gloves. She did not offer to shake hands, but looked Jess up and down twice, before tuning to Becca.

Too thin, she told her. Far too skinny. Been put upon by the look of her. You’ll be safe now, girl, she added to Jess, and Jess felt herself blush, but still she felt oddly reassured by the comment. But Mrs. Stanley hadn’t finished.

You’ll be wanting to get your bits in, she told Jess. Better let that Tabitha have the van, then, Rebecca dear. I know she’s legal, but I don’t really like it.

Tabitha is an excellent driver, said Becca, beaming, and you are of course quite right as usual. The sooner we can get Jess settled the better.

Mrs. Stanley handed Becca a single key on a bit of string. Then she smiled at Jess. They’re good girls, she told her. They can spot a soul in trouble. No need to thank me, she said sharply to Becca, just make sure it’s back by eight. My Andrew needs to make a delivery to Stockwell. He’s ever such a good boy, helping me out like that after working all day.

Becca took the key and smiled at her, but before she could start talking again Mrs. Stanley waved them off and was back to her knitting, humming along to her atrocious music. Becca promptly pocketed the key, again Jess could not see where, and led the way through the maze to the back corner. From this side, the door was practically invisible. It looked like little more than part of a big brown wardrobe inset into the wall next to it. She thought that it even had the same designs worked into the ancient wood, but she did not have the time or the light to look closer. The secret entrance made her smile, a pleasing whimsy that appealed to her and seemed entirely appropriate to her own current sense of conspiracy.

Tabitha was waiting on the other side.

Eight, said Becca with remarkable brevity, and they went back into the living room, locking the door behind them. Jess felt as though she could breathe again, back in the clean, quiet brightness of the house. Already it felt almost like home. But for form’s sake she protested their help.

Look, it’s really kind of you guys, she said, but you shouldn’t have to… but she was waved to silence. Becca patted her on the arm.

You need us, she said, and we’re glad to help. We are so happy to have the house full again, and we like you. She scowled ferociously at Tabitha, who muttered something about hardly knowing Jess, but winked at her so broadly behind Becca’s back that Jess had to stifle a smile.

But what about, um, Megan? she asked, won’t she want to check that I’m okay, you know, since it’s her house and everything?

It was Megan’s idea, said Becca simply, and she is most often right. She will be here when we get back, and then you’ll see. But for now, it is gone six o’clock and we need to get your things. First I must get dressed, but that will only take a moment, while you get yourself sorted out as well.

I’m ready, muttered Tabitha. Now that Jess looked, she did look more put-together than she had earlier. Gone were the fluffy threadbare slipper, and big boots with shiny chrome studs had taken their place so that her trouser hems no longer brushed the floor. Her makeup was less smudged, and she had a red stud in her nose that had not been there before. She was wearing a slightly smaller black long sleeved T-shirt that read ‘Han Shot Nice Guy Eddie’. This made Jess snort in surprise and delight when she belatedly read it, and Tabitha gave her a look that said that they were going to get on.

Your mug? Jess guessed, taking the remains of the tea through to the kitchen to empty and wash up.

Yup, said Tabitha.

Then Becca was in the room again, dressed in a hooded top with a sparkly green unicorn on it. She’d put her hair up in coloured bands so that it tufted out at all angles. Jess marvelled that she’d got changed so fast, and was envious of the hair. Her own long, curly red mop would never hold up to that style. She’d look like a poodle. A ginger one.

Ready? asked Tabitha. Jess held up her tiny pair of house keys for the old place and nodded in silence. She didn’t bother to go upstairs for her phone. It wasn’t as though anyone was going to call. She felt suddenly exhilarated, as though she were in a dream. She had thought about this moment for so long now, hardly daring to hope it might actually happen. In spite of everything, she was going to get away. It was dizzying.

The van turned out to be a battered old Transit that disliked being disturbed. It was parked down the side street a little way away from the recessed door, and it took several tries and a number of choice phrases from Tabitha before it agreed to start. The three girls fit easily across the front with Tabitha unexpectedly confident at the wheel. She grinned over at them. There was a carnival atmosphere, as if they had picked up on Jess’ sense of unreality, as if they were off on an illicit adventure together. In a way, Jess supposed, they were conspiring against someone, but there was no way she was going to back out now. She’d found her courage in that space of quiet in the house, and she was not going to lose it again.

Tabitha didn’t need much directing once Jess had told her which road her old place was in, and Becca was right: Tabitha was an excellent driver. She managed to find a space not far from No. 32, and neatly slotted the unremarkable white vehicle into a gap that Jess would have sworn was incapable of taking it. There was even room to open the rear doors.

Jess was a bit nervous going up to the front door, but all the windows were dark and the houses on either side were as noisy and introverted as ever. It seemed a lot longer than a mere three or four hours since she had been there. Her hand shook slightly as she tried to slot the Yale into the lock, so Tabitha took the key from her and slid it silently home. They all stopped in the hall and listened anxiously for any sounds of life. Nothing. Jess let out a puff of breath she had not realised she was holding. They were still away.

She led the way up to her tiny cubbyhole of a bedroom, the room she’d been banished to, and shut the curtains on the orange sodium light outside the window before turning on the lamp. Silently, she showed them the boxes under the bed, in the wardrobe, and disguised under a blanket and pile of folders in the corner. None of them said a word as they gathered up her meagre belongings and removed them to the Transit. It took only four trips.

Jess hesitated for a moment in the little kitchen, so long her personal domain. There seemed to be so little to take with her, yet when they’d moved in it had taken forever. There had been plates, cups, saucepans… she went to the cupboard and took out her favourite mug, a blue one with leaf skeletons on it.

She went back upstairs and stood in the doorway of the box room again. It looked like an office again apart from the narrow folding bed pushed up against the desk. She dug her hands painfully deep into her pockets and pressed her lips together, fighting the memories.

Bedding? asked Becca. Jess nodded and stripped off the sheet, pillows and duvet. They had always felt thin and inadequate after the big double she had been used to, but she was sure she’d had something else back when she’d had her own bed, long ago now. She went to the other upstairs bedroom, the big one. She took a deep breath before entering, then pushed the door open. It smelled strange and musky in there; partly familiar, partly alien. She wondered whether the smell had changed, or if she had just forgotten it. She opened the massive, creaky wardrobe. Neatly folded on the top shelf, where she had put it months before, was a big soft blanket in dove-grey wool. It had been a gift from her grandmother, but she’d never used it. And beneath it was a throw, plum-coloured and vibrantly patterned, that had never even been allowed out of the cupboard. She took both, and left the room, closing the door with a very final click.

She was holding her breath again, and she forced herself to calm down before thinking hard about anything else, anything else in the house, she might want. This was her last chance: she was not coming back. There was nothing. The box room was empty now, the bed bare to its stained, flat mattress. There was not even a poster on the wall. She refused to look at the open door with its broken catch and all that it implied.

Blinking hard and trying not to feel sorry for herself, Jess took an envelope out of her pocket. It had been hidden in a box for about a month now, ever since she’d moved into the box room and started secretly packing her life into cardboard. She put it on the bed. There was a note in