23

27 October, eleven years earlier

THE GIRL SLIPS BAREFOOT ACROSS THE CARPETED LANDING. She stops at the bathroom door, leaning close.

‘Cathy,’ she says, in a voice that even she can barely hear. ‘Are you in there?’

Silence behind the door. She sees her warm breath condense against the cold paintwork and taps gently with one finger. ‘Cathy, are you OK?’

She hears the sound of a tap running, then the towel-ring banging against tiles.

‘Cathy,’ she tries again. ‘There’s nobody else upstairs. Let me in.’

Cathy isn’t answering. The girl tries the door handle. It moves, the door doesn’t. Locked.

She waits for another second or so, then steps away, heading back towards the bedroom. The light is still on. She sees the bloodstained clothes on the carpet and turns back again.

‘Cathy,’ rapping louder this time. The TV is on downstairs, she won’t be heard. ‘Cathy, are you bleeding again?’ No answer. ‘Cathy, this is serious. They said this might happen. If you’ve got an infection we need to get you seen. Please Cathy, just let me in.’

She waits. And waits.