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that chance down?
    ‘Don’t worry,’ said Fox. ‘You don’t have to talk. You can just listen. Nobody will pressure you. We don’t work that way.’
    I hesitated.
    ‘And I’ll be there with you, the whole time,’ said Fox. ‘I won’t leave your side. Please.’
    I swallowed my terror. ‘Okay,’ I said. ‘I’ll come.’

3
    ‘You live here?’ I said, staring up at the house.
    It was old and huge, built of stately red brick with lacy fringes of white Victorian latticework. High walls surrounded a dense jungle of garden. It looked like a house out of a fairytale.
    ‘Sometimes,’ said Fox, leading me up a winding, overgrown path towards the verandah.
    ‘I can’t believe I’ve never noticed this place before,’ I said. It was only a ten-minute walk from my house.
    ‘You can’t see much from the footpath because of the wall,’ said Fox. ‘Welling says we should take it down and put up something more welcoming, but Lib doesn’t want to.’
    Who were Lib and Welling? I’d find out soon enough. My heart was hammering as we climbed the steps to the green front door. It was slightly ajar. Fox pushed it wide open and led me in.
    The house was even more beautiful inside. I’d expected it to be posh and opulent, but instead everything seemed simple, clean and calm. The walls were painted white, and pale floorboards were lined with rugs made of some natural fibre. White linen curtains fell in front of the windows, and candles glowed on mantelpieces and side-tables. It was likea day spa. I half expected to be handed a glass of cucumber water and a terry-towelling robe.
    But there was a warmth to it. The house was lived in . This was a home.
    I thought of Mum sitting grey on our couch, a burning cigarette dangling from her inert fingers. I thought of Aunty Cath, with her jingling bracelets and bright clothes. I thought of my piano, silent under a layer of dust. It all felt a million miles away from this tranquil oasis.
    ‘Come on,’ said Fox. ‘I’ll introduce you to everyone.’
    He led me through a serene living room and down a hallway to an enormous gleaming kitchen, full of afternoon sun glinting on copper bowls.
    I counted five people in the kitchen, all adults. They were working at various chores – peeling and chopping vegetables, mixing a dough-like substance, measuring out spoonfuls of something that looked like powdered stock. Everyone had a job to do, and everyone seemed … content. Nobody was stressed or rushing or bossing the others around. They all wore similar clothes, loose-fitting shirts or tunics in neutral shades of cream, grey and beige, and dark trousers. I couldn’t see any brand names or labels anywhere.
    One or two of them glanced up as Fox guided me forward.
    ‘Everyone, this is Ruby. She’s staying for dinner.’
    Five pairs of eyes turned on me, and I wanted to burrow down into the ground like a blind rodent. I’d spent months trying to move unseen, keeping my head down. If I could slip past everyone, maybe nobody would notice the parts of me that were missing.
    A grey-haired woman dried her hands on a tea towel and took a step towards us. She was tall and thin and had clearly once been very beautiful. Her face was rumpled into deep lines, her cheeks and eyes slightly sunken. Her brown eyeshad lit up when she saw Fox, but her smile faltered when he introduced me. But then she was beaming again, and I wondered if I’d imagined the fleeting look of sadness. She stepped forward and enveloped me in a hug – a real hug, not the feeble, chestless embraces I’d had from relatives and awkward fellow teens. She smelled faintly of sweat and vegetables and something else, something sweet and natural. I resisted for a moment, but it was nice to be held, and against my will my body relaxed.
    She pulled back, still holding me by the shoulders, and stared down into my face. She held me there for a moment, considering me, the smile still firmly in place. ‘Welcome,’ she said at