But this was different. She was poking her nose in, it was undeniable. She tried to comfort herself with the thought that it was about a child after all, a child who wasn’t well looked after, who wasn’t clean, who could barely read at the age of eight, who wasn’t attending school; and Ainslee too, who only came alive when alone with her books, whose lack of interest in everything else in life seemed to indicate a real issue somewhere, more even than for normal teenage girls.

Nonetheless, Nina still felt like a busybody, someone inserting herself into other people’s lives, making herself a nuisance, the city girl turning up where she wasn’t wanted, poking about where she didn’t belong. It had been different back in the library, where people asked for help or were genuinely grateful for it. However carefully she’d tried to probe, Ainslee clearly didn’t want to discuss it. But there was a child involved.

She sighed, twisting in indecision. What was right? To stay or to go? Ainslee was functioning, wasn’t she? Although Nina thought back to that awful conversation about her not taking her exams. That wasn’t right, a clever girl like her. She should be looking at universities, thinking about what fun she was going to have when she left home. Not slouching around the place, shouting at her brother and planning absolutely nothing for the future. Maybe Nina could just have a gentle conversation with the parents, try and convince them of what a clever girl they had on their hands. Yes. That would do it. That would be it.

Boldly, she walked forward to the gate. The handle was broken, and the gate sat balanced gingerly on its hinges. She slipped through it carefully and walked up the cracked stones of the garden path. The road was eerily silent, empty of cars; a lone kestrel lazily circled the air above the trees. Nina watched him for a moment, in awe of his silent majesty, and slightly envious of his uncomplicated social obligations.

Then she stepped up to the door and knocked, briskly, before she had the chance to change her mind.

Chapter Twenty-six

For a long while there was silence. There weren’t any lights on inside the house; if Nina hadn’t watched them both go in, she would have thought it was empty. Then at last there was a shout Nina recognized as Ainslee’s, but it sounded something like “Don’t answer it!”

It was too late, however, as a small grubby hand was already drawing back what sounded like several bolts from the other side of the door.

“Nina!”

Ben’s sticky face was unable to hide his delight, and the smile that cracked his face made him unrecognizable from the sullen little boy she’d met for the first time on the steps of the van.

“Hi, Ben.”

“Have you got some books for me?”

Nina cursed herself for not having thought of this.

“No, sorry, I didn’t . . . I should have brought some. Yes, I do, but they’re at the van,” she improvised quickly. “Is your mum in?”

Ben’s face immediately became evasive and he glanced to the left. Looking behind him, Nina could see an incredibly messy kitchen covered in garbage and old milk containers. The house smelled of dust, neglect, and something underneath it she couldn’t quite identify.

“Ben! Who is that?” came Ainslee’s voice. She appeared behind her brother and squinted at Nina standing out in the sun.

“What do you want?”

The normal quiet deference in Ainslee’s voice had completely vanished. She sounded rebellious, angry and ready to throw Nina out. Suddenly Nina realized that Ainslee was substantially physically bigger than she was, and quite capable of doing so if she fancied.

“Um . . . I just wondered . . . is your mum in?”

Ainslee and Ben looked at each other.

“What’s it to you?” said Ainslee rudely.

“I just . . . I just wanted to tell her how great I think you’re doing, that’s all. You left without your wages and I wanted to make sure you got them.”

“You didn’t just come here to stick your nose in?”

Nina didn’t know how to answer this, so she looked down.

“Is she here?”

“We’re fine,” said Ainslee. “We don’t need your charity.”

“It’s not charity,” said Nina. “It’s your wages. You earned them.”

Ainslee looked torn.

“Please,” said Nina. “Please, Ainslee. I don’t mean any harm, I promise. I don’t want to cause trouble. I just wanted to make sure . . . everything was all right.”

Her eye was caught by a sudden movement behind the children; it was a mouse, a huge one. Either a mouse or a rat, she thought. And she knew straight away that she couldn’t leave. She looked up at Ainslee, who had clearly come to the same conclusion; she let out a great sigh and heaved her shoulders.

“You can’t tell anyone you’ve been here,” she said.

“Okay,” said Nina, not even bothering to cross her fingers. Something was clearly not working here, and she was determined to find out what it was. “I’ll just come in for a minute . . .”

“You can’t.”

“Is your mother here or not?”

Suddenly there was a small noise. It was a tinkling bell. Everyone looked at one another. Ben was hopping up and down, unable to control himself.

“Ainse,” he was saying, tugging her sweater. “Let her come in! She’s NIIIICE!”

Ainslee stared straight back at Nina as if she’d never seen her before.

“I won’t stay long,” said Nina in a calm tone. She needed to be here. She stepped over the threshold.

“Mrs. Clark?” she called out softly. “Mrs. Clark?”

And in response the bell tinkled once more.

The sitting room smelled, in the local parlance, foosty: dusty, old, and tired. There were piles of papers and books everywhere. Nina looked at them. “This looks like exam homework to me,” she said. Ainslee shrugged, unsmiling. The nervous, eager-to-please girl from the van had gone. In her place was someone far more truculent and intransigent, and she did not respond. Nina looked around and cleared her throat.

“Um,” she said. “Where’s your mum?”

The door was badly warped, and Nina had to push it quite hard to make it open. The room was at the back of the house, decorated in old pink textured wallpaper, heavy and ridged. There was a smell of talcum powder and, heavier, the scent Nina had detected before and now recognized: the smell of illness.