I don’t know how long I stayed there but eventually the sun was going down behind the trees, casting a sprinkle of sparkling light on the ruin every time the trees swished from side to side. I watched it for a while and then I realised the surroundings were heading towards dusk. It must have been around ten p.m.

My legs were stiff from being in the same position for so long as I slowly rose to my feet. From the corner of my eye, I thought I saw something move. A shadow. A figure. Not an animal, yet it darted. I wasn’t sure. Not wanting whatever or whoever it was to come up behind me, I kept my back to the castle entrance and moved backwards quickly. I heard another noise-an owl or something squawked and I jumped out of my skin and got ready to run. Unable to see the ground underneath the growth, I tripped over a rock and fell backwards to the ground. I smacked my head, whimpered, and I could hear the panic in my voice as I fell into the disgusting overgrowth with God knows what living in it. My vision blurred a little, black spots appearing in place of the line of the ruined roof against the indigo sky. I climbed to my feet, used my hands to push myself up, scraped against the pebbles and rocks, which cut into my skin, and I didn’t look back as I ran as fast as my Uggs would take me. It felt like for ever until the house came into sight, as though the road and the trees were conspiring to keep me running on a treadmill.

Finally the house came into view. Barbara’s SUV was gone from outside and I knew then that I’d been completely cut off. The drawbridge had been lifted. Almost as soon as the house came into sight the front door opened and Rosaleen stood there watching me, as though she had been standing there waiting since the moment I left.

‘Come in, come in,’ she said with urgency in her voice.

I finally stepped over the threshold and into my new life, and the beginning began. My once-clean pink Uggs were now filthy from the castle walk, as I stepped onto the flagstoned hallway. The house was deathly quiet.

‘Let’s have a look at you,’ Rosaleen said, holding my wrists tightly, and took a step back to give me the once-over. But her once-over went twice, then three times…I tugged away from her and her grip instinctively tightened, but then as though she realised what she’d done, or she saw how my face changed, she finally let go.

Her voice was sweeter. ‘I’ll darn those for you. Leave them in the basket by the armchair in the sitting room.’

‘Darn what?’

‘Your trousers.’

‘They’re jeans. They’re supposed to be like this.’ I looked down at my ripped jeans, so torn apart that there was hardly any denim visible at all. Underneath my jeans my leopard-print tights were revealed, which was the idea. ‘They’re not supposed to be dirty, though.’

‘Oh. Well, you can leave them in the basket in the kitchen.’

‘You have a lot of baskets.’

‘Just two.’

I’m not sure if what I’d said was a joke or a smart comment but she missed it either way.

‘Okay. Well, I’m going to my room…’ I waited for her to guide me but she just stared at me. ‘Where is it?’

‘What about a cuppa? I made an apple tart.’ Her tone was almost pleading.

‘Eh, no, thanks, I’m not very hungry.’ I felt my stomach grumble in response and hoped she wouldn’t hear it.

‘Of course. Of course you’re not,’ she berated herself silently.

‘Which way is my room?’

‘Up the stairs, the second door on the left. Your mum is the last room on the right.’ ‘Okay I’ll go see her.’ I began to make my way upstairs. ‘No, child,’ Rosaleen said quickly. ‘Leave her. She’s resting.’

‘I’d just like to say good night to her,’ I smiled tightly.

‘No, no, you must leave her,’ she said firmly.

I swallowed. ‘Okay.’

I slowly backed away and went upstairs, each step creaking under my foot. From the landing I could still see the hallway, Rosaleen was standing there watching me. I smiled tightly and went into my room, closed the door firmly behind me and leaned against it, my heart pounding.

I stayed in there for five minutes, barely taking in the room, knowing I had enough time ahead of me to come to terms with my new space, but first I needed to see my mother. When I opened the door again slowly, I peeped my head out and looked down from the landing balcony and into the hallway. Rosaleen was gone. I opened the door wider and stepped outside. I jumped. There she was, standing outside Mum’s bedroom door, like a guard dog.

‘I just checked on her,’ she whispered, her green eyes glowing. ‘She’s sleeping. You best go and get some rest now.’

I hate being told what to do. I used to never do what I was told, but something about Rosaleen’s voice, about the look in her eye, about the feel of the house and the way she was standing, told me that I wasn’t in control now. I went back into my room and closed the door, without another word.

Later that night, when inside the house and outside were like woollen opaque tights-so thick with darkness I couldn’t make out any shapes-I woke up thinking there was someone in the room. I heard breathing above my bed and smelled that familiar soapy lavender smell, and so I scrunched my eyes shut and pretended to be asleep. I don’t know how long Rosaleen stayed there watching me but it felt like an eternity. Even after I heard her leave the room and the door gently clicked I kept my eyes tightly shut, my heart pounding so loudly I was afraid she would hear it, until I eventually fell asleep.

I awoke the next morning at around six a.m to the sound of the birds calling to one another. Their constant whistling and chatter made me feel as though the house had been air-lifted in the middle of the night and transported to bird world. Their selfish noisy banter reminded me of the builders we’d had working on our swimming pool, who went about their business loudly and cockily, as though we weren’t still living in the house. There was one guy, Steve, who kept trying to get a look at me in my bedroom while I was getting dressed. So one morning I really gave him something to look at. Don’t get the wrong impression; I took three hairpieces and pinned them to my bikini-you can guess where-and I took off my bathrobe and paraded around my room like Chewbacca, pretending I didn’t know he was looking. He never looked again after that, but a few of the others used to stare at me whenever I passed by, so I can only assume he told them, dirty little bugger. Well there would be no such games here, unless I wanted to send a red squirrel flying off his branch in shock.

The blue and white checked curtains did little to keep out the sunlight. The room was fully lit like a bar at closing time; all blemishes, drunkards and cheaters revealed. I lay in bed, wide awake, and stared at the room that was now my room. It didn’t seem very my; I wondered if it would ever feel my. It was a simple room, surprisingly warm. Not just from the morning sun streaming into the room, but it was cosy warm, in an authentic Laura Ashley way and though I usually hated all that twee stuff, it worked here. Where it didn’t work was in my friend Zoey’s bedroom, which her mum decorated to suit a ten-year-old, in an obvious attempt to convince herself her daughter was sweet and innocent. That room was the equivalent of her sticking her daughter into a pickle jar. It was never going to work. It wasn’t so much that the lid came off when her mother wasn’t looking, but more that Zoey liked pickles a little too much.

The bedrooms were in the eaves of the house, the ceilings sloping towards the windows. There was a cracked white-painted wooden chair in one corner with an old blue and white checked pillow on it. The walls were a pale blue, but didn’t feel cold. There was a white-painted free-standing wardrobe that was just big enough to hold my underwear. My bed had a metal frame, white linen and a blue floral duvet cover with a duck-egg-blue cashmere throw at the end. Above the door to my room hung a simple St Bridget’s cross. On the windowsill was a vase of fresh wildflowers-lavender, bluebells, other things I couldn’t recognise. Rosaleen had gone to a lot of trouble.