Britt takes a look. “I can move him if you want.”

  “No, he’s okay.” It’s actually kind of nice. He’s warm.

  Snip, snip, snip.

  “I guess you’re wondering if I was in the army. Because of my clothes. People always ask me that. I wasn’t. I wanted to be when I was at school, but they wouldn’t have me.” She leans in. “Too many problems, you know?”

  I don’t know, but I nod anyway.

  “Everyone here has problems of some kind or another. I like wearing this army gear because it’s a reminder that I have to protect Alfie. I got him from this program that matches up people with dogs. He saved me, really. Gave me someone to think about other than myself. Now I have to put him first – what he needs. I have to get up and go out every day. Make sure he has food. Vaccinations. All of that. He likes it here, so we come.”

  I keep snipping as Britt keeps talking.

  Every so often, she stops talking for a bit and we snip in silence.

  In one of those breaks, I begin to see that Elsie was right. I kind of like this place. Some people talk. Some people don’t. But all the time everyone is busy with their hands, so it doesn’t seem to matter either way.

  “So how do you know Suzie?” Britt asks. “You guys seem to know her pretty well. I don’t like many social workers, but I like her. She’s nice.”

  “Um, well, I know her through Freya and Elsie, I guess. Suzie knew my mum when she was alive. Her name was Clementine. She died when I was three weeks old.”

  “Oh. Sorry.”

  Underneath the table I feel Alfie rise. “Alfie’s getting up.”

  Britt ducks her head down to take a look.

  “Alfie says it’s time for a tea break,” she calls out.

  “We’ll have to go soon, Lolli,” Freya says, getting up from the table she’s sitting at.

  “Quick cup of tea before you go?” Suzie says. “Or a hot chocolate, Lolli?”

  I look at Freya, who nods. “If you like.”

  “Yes, please,” I say.

  “I think it’s my turn to do tea,” Suzie says.

  “I’ll give you a hand,” Freya offers.

  Britt and I snip in silence for a while. My hot chocolate comes, I drink some and take a biscuit from a packet that is passed around.

  “Here. Want to give Alfie his?” Britt passes me a little bone-shaped biscuit as well as the packet I’d taken a biscuit from. “You’ve got to pretend you’ve taken it out of the human biscuit packet, or he won’t eat it.”

  “Really?”

  “I know it’s weird, but that’s Alfie for you.”

  I kneel down on the floor. Alfie eyes the bone-shaped biscuit with disinterest. But then I push it inside the biscuit packet and pretend to take it out again. He jumps up and practically bowls me over trying to get at it. I give it to him and he gobbles it up in seconds.

  And then starts licking me.

  I laugh and give him a pat.

  “I told you so,” Britt says as I get up again.

  “Time to go, Lolli. We really need to give Tanice a hand. Thanks for having us, Suzie.” Freya grabs our things and makes her way over to me. “Come and see the house over the weekend. If anyone’s interested, we’d love for you all to come through and take a look.”

  “That sounds lovely,” Suzie says. “And thanks for checking in.”

  Freya gives me a nudge.

  “Thanks, Suzie.”

  Another nudge.

  “Thanks, Britt. And Alfie,” I add.

  “Come back, eh?” Britt says. “We need all the help we can get if we’re going to have this mosaic finished on time.”

  Freya picks up some sandwiches, fruit and juices and we head over to the house. The closer we get, the more I begin to tense up, readying myself for the feelings I know are coming.

  When we get there, Tanice is out front. She’s set up a real Christmas tree and is busy chaining its trunk to the black iron railing at the front of the house.

  “I wish I didn’t have to use the chain, but I most definitely do,” she says with a sigh.

  I stand back and try to look like everything’s fine. Like I can’t already feel the dark anger that swirls inside the house. I look up at the tall, narrow building’s windows – three sets of three. As soon as my gaze hits the top row, my stomach rolls.

  “Madame LeNoir,” I say, the words coming out of nowhere.

  “What was that?” Freya says, busy talking to Tanice.

  I shake my head. “Nothing. Just talking to myself.”

  Madame LeNoir. That’s the name of the angry spirit in the house. Have I always known this? Maybe. But I’d chosen to block it out. Like Freya had mentioned, it’s common knowledge the house is haunted. It’s famous for it. But I’d always refused to hear anything about it. Freya wouldn’t let people mention it around me anyway. Not after what had happened when I was younger. Anyway, I’m not sure what I’ve heard, or where I’ve heard it, but something deep inside me knows that Madame LeNoir is her name and she lives up there, on the top floor. That’s why it takes her a while to make it down the stairs.

  Clara.

  Madame LeNoir and Clara.

  I look away from the windows and take a deep breath.

  Push it down. Close it off. Block. Breathe. Don’t engage.

  “Everything all right, Lolli?” Tanice looks over.

  I nod. “I just feel a bit sick.”

  “It’s probably the heating. It gets so stuffy. Maybe you could help outside this afternoon? We need to wind the ivy around the iron railings. It takes forever. Trust me, I know. I did it last year.”

  “Sure,” I say quickly. Anything not to have to go inside.

  Freya gives me a look.

  “What? I’m offering to help.”

  Another look.

  Freya and Tanice discuss the logistics of the afternoon. They end up deciding they’ll decorate the dining room, which is right up the front of the house, directly in front of the railings I’ll be weaving ivy through.

  “So we’ll be right here if you need us,” Freya says.

  “Okay.”

  The weather has turned cold, so Freya makes me do my jacket up and Tanice wraps her scarf around my neck.

  “They’re predicting snow,” she says. “Can you believe it? Before Christmas!”

  “I’ll believe it when I see it,” Freya says.

  “Now are you sure you can manage this on your own, Lolli? I can call Jada’s grandmother and get her to bring Jada over to help if you like.”

  “No, it’s okay. I can do it.”

  Yet another look from Freya.

  “But maybe I could go over there tomorrow? Like you said? If that’s okay.”

  “Of course! Jada would love that.” Tanice beams.

  Freya looks pleased. “It’s probably a good idea. It’s going to be a long day here tomorrow.”

  “Most definitely,” Tanice agrees.

  I look up at the top row of windows again. Something tells me it’s going to be a long day here today as well.

  Tanice was right about the ivy – it really did take forever. But I didn’t care. The angry spirit remained in its hidey-hole upstairs while I hung about on the pavement below. I didn’t go inside once. I even ate a picnic on the front step with my sandwich, apple and juice. When I had to go to the bathroom, I offered to go and fetch coffees for Freya and Tanice from the coffee shop down the street and I went there. Sure, I was cold, but I was also safe.

  Just after 5 pm, Freya and I begin the walk back to the apartment.

  “It’s so weird that it’s already dark,” I say.

  Freya turns to look at me. “I always forget. I think you’re English. But you’re not really, are you? Singapore is all you’ve ever known. You don’t understand seasons.”

  “Well, I get that they exist. And now I can see that they’re overrated. All this putting on coats and taking them off again. Why would you want to do that?”

  Freya pokes her tongue out at me. “Maybe to stop from freezing. I miss seasons. They give a sort of shape to the year. A rhythm. Hey,” she turns to me. “Why don’t we go do something Christmassy?” she says. “We could walk across the bridge to Borough Market. Get something to eat there. Look about.”

  “No, thanks,” I say. I want to go back to the apartment. The nice, new, safe apartment where I can be by myself. Take a shower. Hang out in my spirit-free room.

  Freya stops walking. “Don’t you want to see any of London? The wonderful place of your birth?”

  “Not really.”

  “What about dinner?”

  “We can get something delivered again.”

  Freya sighs.

  Sensing a lecture coming, I attempt to stop it in its tracks. “I said I’d go to Jada’s tomorrow.”

  Another sigh. “Yes. You did say that.”

  “I’m, like, the perfect child.”

  Now I really get a look.

  “Well, you can’t have Jada’s and Borough Market. I mean, there’s perfect and there’s perfect.”

  That night, I have a dream about Elsie. We’re sitting on the bench in the ginger garden again. But, this time, we’re having a completely different conversation.

  “Madame LeNoir,” she says. “Madame LeNoir and Clara. Clara and Madame LeNoir and Clara and Madame LeNoir and Clara . . .”

  She says the names over and over again. Over and over and over until I wake up sweating and kick the sheets off me.

  I fall back asleep and have my nightmare.

  I stand in front of those dark stairs, the blackness coming to pull me under. And I can’t move. Can’t breathe.

  I wake again and shudder as I suck in some air.

  I hate Madame LeNoir.

  And Clara, whoever she is.

  I hate them both.

  When I wake once more, it’s because I hear the little coffee machine whirring in the kitchen. Freya’s up.

  I get up too. I have to look willing to go to Jada’s. Because there’s no way I’m going to the house after the night I just had. And anyway, my dream has just given me an idea – one that means I need to go to Jada’s and not just to avoid the house.

  “I think this is it.” Freya is staring at the map on her phone. “At least, it should be.”

  I look up, taking in the old-style grey apartment block that blends into an equally grey sky. Some movement catches my eye. I see a girl in a purple coat wave at me from one of the long walkways.

  “There’s Jada,” I say, waving back.

  “Oh, good.”

  We make our way across a little bitumen basketball court as Jada flies down a set of stairs to meet us.

  “Sorry, the lift broke last night. We’ll have to walk up.”

  “That’s all right. Good exercise,” Freya says.

  Jada opens the apartment door. “They’re here!” she calls out.

  It’s a small room that we step into, warm and homey – full of books, a comfy-looking sofa and armchair, rugs and throws and a little dining table. Paper chains and tinsel decorate the bookcase.

  An older version of Tanice, complete with salt-and-pepper hair and red-framed glasses, appears from the hallway.

  “Beebee!” Freya says. “It’s so good to see you again.”

  “Ah, it’s been too long.” She comes over to give Freya a hug. “But who is this tall, good-looking thing here? It can’t be Lolli, because the last time I saw Lolli, she was just a tiny good-looking thing!”

  “Beebee.” Jada groans.

  “I’m embarrassing all the time now,” Beebee says to Freya.

  “I know the feeling.”

  Jada and I look at each other and roll our eyes.

  Beebee laughs at us. “I’ve been looking forward to seeing you again, Lolli,” she says.

  “Thanks,” I say. Remembering I need to keep Freya on side if I want to stay here and not be at the house, I add, “And thanks for letting me hang out here with Jada.”

  “You are most welcome.”

  “It’s about to get crazy in here,” Jada says. “My two aunts are coming over with my little cousins. They’re planning the Christmas menu. There’s always an argument and then the food is exactly the same every year.”

  “She’s right!” Beebee laughs. “Speaking of which, I was discussing Christmas with Tanice just this morning. What are the two of you doing on Christmas Day?”

  “Oh!” Freya says. “I hadn’t really thought about it yet.” She looks at me.

  “Sometimes we go to the movies,” I say.

  Jada stares at me like I’ve just said we decapitate puppies or something.

  “What? On Christmas Day? No way.”

  “Sure. It’s great. Sometimes we have the whole theatre to ourselves.”

  “I don’t believe you.” She looks up at Freya. “Is that true? You go to the movies on Christmas Day?”

  “Yes. I don’t . . . we . . . well, I suppose we live overseas and my family . . .”

  “Not everyone has the same Christmas Day as you, Jada,” Beebee says, a warning note in her voice.

  “Oh, sorry.”

  “That’s okay,” Freya says. “We’re unusual people.”

  “That’s the nice way of putting it,” I add. Which at least makes everyone laugh.

  “Well, if you’d like to come here, we’d love to have you both.”

  “That’s so kind of you to think of us, Beebee. We’ll talk it over.”

  I’m already giving Freya “nooooo . . .” looks and she’s giving me a “don’t you dare, not here” wide-eyed stare.

  Freya clears her throat. “Anyway, I’d better go and help Tanice over at the house. We’re getting there. It’ll be ready on time, but only just.”

  “Ah, it’s the same every year. It always pulls together in the end. Usually with five minutes to spare.”

  Freya nods. “Fingers crossed this year will be the same.”

  Not long after this, Freya leaves. The moment the door closes behind her, I’m not so sure about staying here with Jada and Beebee.

  “Want to meet my hamster?” Jada says.

  What I actually want to do is run after Freya. “Um, okay.”

  I meet Jada’s hamster and help her finish off some Christmas-themed bunting she’s making. We’re almost done when there’s a bang that makes me jump.

  “Uh oh. They’re here.” Jada jumps up and whirls into action. The hamster goes on top of a wardrobe, the paper and stamps get pushed far under the bed. “I have four cousins under five years old.” She explains. “They’re cute, but they’re exhausting.”

  While the adults bicker about recipes and who will be cooking what, we spend the next few hours running around after Jada’s cousins. We chase them. Give them piggyback rides. Play shops. Build a tower with some blocks.

  At one point, I slip away into a corner of the lounge room to the bookshelf. When Freya and I had walked into the apartment, a row of books had caught my eye. Five copies of the same book, by the same author.

  “How are you going there?” Beebee spots me by myself and comes on over. “Everything okay?”

  I nod.

  Beebee pushes aside some of the tinsel and pulls out one of the books I’m looking at. “I bet you have this one in your house too.”

  It’s a book about the House in Spitalfields – Elsie’s installation. Tanice wrote it. We do have a copy, but it’s packed away somewhere because I won’t have it anywhere I can see it. I don’t say any of that, of course.

  “My Tanice. A published author! I couldn’t have been prouder the day she brought her book home. I really couldn’t.”

  I stare at the book.

  Madame LeNoir. Madame LeNoir and Clara. Clara and Madame LeNoir and Clara and Madame LeNoir and Clara . . .

  “Do you think I could maybe borrow a copy? It’s just . . . being here . . . I was thinking of re-reading it.” I can’t tell Beebee I’ve never read it at all.

  “Of course! You can keep it if you like.”

  “Thanks.” I take it from her.

  I put the book into the zipped side pocket of my backpack. I don’t want Freya to see that I’ve got it and start asking questions.

  Freya picks me up just after 5 pm.

  “I was going to insist we go out tonight,” Freya says, as we make our way back to the apartment. “But I think all I’m capable of doing is ordering something to eat and getting an early night. Especially if I’ve got to do it all over again tomorrow.”

  “Is there lots more to do?”

  “Just little things. But we’ve got a long list of them to get through.”

  We walk in silence for a bit, my backpack heavier than before, because of the book.

  “Is Beebee her real name?” I ask. I’ve been wondering all day, but wasn’t sure about asking in case it was a rude question.

  Freya laughs. “No. Beebee’s real name is Joan. I asked her about her name once and she said she was chased by a bee when she was little and her family called her Beebee after that. It’s like a family joke. She told me it’s quite common in Jamaica to have a pet name. She said she went to an uncle’s funeral once and realised she never even knew his real name until she saw it on the order of service.”

  “I like it. Anyway, Beebee is a really cool name.”

  “Yes, I like it too.”

  As soon as I know for sure that Freya is in bed, I start reading. It’s not a big book, but it tells the whole tale of the House in Spitalfields. Tanice painstakingly pieced all the information about the house together. She’d had to sift through old newspaper clippings, police reports, letters and diaries.

  It had taken years – and a lot of money – to pull the installation together. Elsie had started by standing in each room and asking it what it wanted to be. It took some time before the rooms answered back. The attic was first. It was a strange room with a prickly feeling to it. It didn’t like visitors. It didn’t like anyone. Used as a storage room for many years, it was full of items – some of them very dusty and very old. It had always been clear that it wanted to be left alone and thus items had accumulated over time and never been discarded. Elsie went through the room, used a few items around the house and then left the room to its own devices. All that was left in there was the original iron-and-brass bed from Victorian times and an old trunk. Then came the parlour. It felt decidedly Victorian, saying late 1830s. A bedchamber wanted to be of the year 1760, but the mistress’s dressing-room next door stated it was 1813 and that was that.