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As I am putting things into my suitcase, the letter box clatters. I look out of the window and two of the children who were playing in the garden the other day, the ones who ran away, are crowded around the door, one of them crouched down, looking in through the letter box. The girl at the back sees me. She prods her friend and jumps. Both of them step back and look at me through the window. They laugh nervously before starting to go towards the steps, collecting their bikes on the way. I tap on the glass but it only hurries them up.

‘Hey!’ I shout after them, opening the front door, the cool air rushing in. ‘What are you doing?’

The girls yelp and carry on towards the steps. One of them falls, her knee sliding along the ground. The other turns to look in horror, not knowing whether to stay and help or run and save herself from getting into trouble. I think of Michelle and the night at the lake, when we left her.

The girl on the ground starts to cry then scream. The concrete has torn her pink floral leggings at the knee and gnarled up the skin underneath too. The wound is pumping out blood and its edge is ragged and blackened.

The other girl looks up at me expectantly.

‘Shit. Just wait here.’

I come back out with mum’s first-aid kit and two cups of water. The girl is comforting her friend and the screaming has given way to sobbing and sniffing.

I give the injured girl one cup of water to drink and pour the other one gradually over the cut, the blood and dirt clearing away. She blinks up at me, the tears splaying her lashes out like a doll’s.

‘What’s your name?’ I say, crouching down, my knees clicking.

‘Jessica.’ She sniffles.

I squeeze her foot gently. ‘We need to dress this wound, don’t we?’

She nods as I unwrap an antiseptic wipe.

‘We need to clean it first with one of these.’ I open up the tissue and it unleashes a medicinal smell. Jessica shrinks backwards. The shadow of the other girl, gathered close, casts us in a gloom.

‘It’s going to hurt a little bit but we need to make sure it’s clean, don’t we?’

Jessica starts to shake her head.

‘Can you be brave, Jessica?’

She steals a little glance up at me.

‘Can you dab this on your knee? It will sting for a few seconds then it will be all done.’

Jessica nods, cautious, and she takes the wipe, her hand hovering over her knee. I brace myself as she goes for it and lets out a little wail, dabbing her skin a few times, then lifting the tissue away and trying to catch her breath.

I pat some cream on the wound and put a plaster on it, tapping it lightly. ‘All done. Well done, Jessica.’

The colour starts to come back into her face and she pushes her hair from her eyes with clumsy, splayed hands.

‘Where’s the lady?’ she says, pointing to the house.

‘Margaret?’ I follow her gaze.

Jessica shrugs and the other girl says, ‘We are here to see the lady who lives in the house.’

‘Why do you want to see her?’ I say.

‘Who are you?’ Jessica asks, an edge of fear creeping into her voice.

‘This is my mum’s house,’ I say, and she blinks in the last of the day’s sun.

‘Your mum?’ she says, voice full of wonder, and I nod.

‘Where is she?’ The other little voice pipes up. ‘She lets us play in the garden and now it’s locked.’ The girl points to the gate down the side of the house. I bolted it after I found the doll.

‘The lady,’ Jessica says. ‘She used to leave us stuff in the garden, to find. Toys and chocolate. And now we can’t get in. Is she inside? Is she poorly?’

‘She went away,’ I say. ‘She died.’

The girls look around at each other, confusion in their faces. They fall silent.

‘Now that I know who you are and that you were Mum’s friends, I’ll leave the gate open. I have to go soon, too, but I’ll leave it open for you so you can go in and play.’

The sound of Victoria crying drifts out of the house, and the girls’ eyes light up. Mum has been forgotten again already, for the time being.

‘Wait here,’ I say, and I bring Victoria outside. Jessica pulls herself up to standing, not putting her weight on the injured leg.

‘This is baby Victoria,’ I say, bending down so they can see.

The girls are transfixed, squealing. ‘She’s so cute. Aaaah.’ Jessica takes Victoria’s little hand in hers and Victoria kicks her legs in delight.

‘Can we take the baby out for a walk?’ Jessica says, and I stand back up straight.

‘No, she’s too little for that. And so are you.’

‘We’re not,’ says the other little girl. ‘Pleeeeeeeeeaaasse. We’ll bring her straight back.’

I pull Victoria closer to me, her back to the children. ‘Be careful on that leg,’ I say to Jessica. ‘And you can play in the garden any time. Just be careful.’

The girls gather the bikes, dragging them down the steps. ‘Bye-bye, baby Victoria,’ they shout, waving and giggling.

As I step back inside, I see it on the mat and acidic saliva forces itself up my throat.

Another brown envelope.

This time I don’t wait. I rip the envelope straight open and shove my hand inside. It’s cold, metal; a thin chain. When I pull it out and hold it up, the room feels as if it spins like a funhouse. It’s the gold chain with the heart-shaped locket, the one they said Victoria was missing that night, that never turned up.

My fingers are shaking but I am eventually able to turn it over – the ‘VP’ engraving is there like I knew it would be.

Before I wasn’t sure. Now I am certain. Someone knows what happened to Victoria that night and this is a message.

I start to throw things into my bags. If I leave soon I can get back to Glasgow tonight instead of tomorrow.