"I'd recommend a full refit for this place," Jim, the electrician, reports. He's an older man, roughly in his sixties, with greying hair and a rotund abdomen that speaks of regular visits to the local pub. He's just completed his inspection of the building. Another man with a clipboard, and a crucial player in our project.

I let out a sigh; while not unexpected, it wasn't the outcome I was hoping for. However, Jake had warned me about this during budget planning.

"When do you think you'll have the quote ready?" I asked, eager to move the project forward.

"Probably by tomorrow afternoon," replied Jim. "I'll have my wife email it to you."

He also mentions that the timeline for completion will depend on the plumber's schedule, as both contractors will work simultaneously. After Jim's left, Jake and I regroup.

We stand together in the foyer, surrounded by furniture that's seen better days. Jake pulls me into his embrace. He always knows exactly what I need, whether it's physical or emotional. Perhaps it's something he picked up from his mother, but I don't ask. It's clear that her memory is still painful for him, and I don't want to add to his burden.

We stay in the hug for a few moments before naturally parting. I can tell Jake is about to say something profound, as he takes in a deep breath. "Well, that takes care of the major tasks. Maybe now you and Aislinn can start thinking about paint colours."

I raise an eyebrow at his suggestion. "Don't you think we're getting ahead of ourselves?"

Jake shakes his head with certainty. "No, on the contrary. If you plan the design now, you'll have plenty of time to explore all your options."

"You mean like making a vision board?" I ask.

He shrugs his shoulders nonchalantly. "I suppose so. You just gather samples of all the things you like, compare them, and then make your decision."

"You make it sound so easy, Jake." I chuckle.

He checks the time on his watch. "Honey, I must go to work. But I'll see you at home later?"

"Yeah, sure," I reply. "Be safe."

We exchange a quick kiss before he hurries off. Despite his unwavering support, the guilt is weighing on me. I know I need to ease up a bit; after all, he has his own job to focus on, regardless of my presence in his life.

As I climb the grand staircase to the first floor, I call out for Ais. Maybe she's in her room? I search the corridor, but she doesn't seem to be there. Frustrated, I return to the staircase and make my way up to the second floor. Following the hallway, I call out her name again. "Ais-linn?"

"I'm up here, Mum," she responds.

I can hear her above me, but I can't pinpoint where it's coming from. Puzzled, I call out once more. "Ais?"

"Over here," she replies, her words ringing behind me. I turn around and find Aislinn's face peering down at me upside down from a utility hole in the ceiling. "I found the attic."

I tilt my head back and look at her more closely. "How did you even get up there?" I ask incredulously.

"There's a door up there," she points out with a mischievous smile.

I snap back, "That's a wall." I wonder if she's lacking oxygen in the tiny room.

Aislinn chuckles. "Just come over here, and I'll show you." She points to a specific spot on the hallway. "Right there."

I spin around, trying to see what she's talking about, but all I see is a hallway.

"No," she stresses, "that space between those two doors."

"You mean the wall?" I ask sceptically.

"Yes, finally!" Aislinn lets out an exasperated sigh. "Do you see the rose carving in the panel's corner? Press it."

To my surprise, following her instructions exactly, a hidden wooden panel pops open as if it's spring-loaded. I quickly take a step back to avoid being hit by it. Inside the concealed opening is a small dark space with only a hint of light coming from the hallway. A narrow wooden staircase leads up into the unknown.

"Are you coming?"

"Yes, yes. Hold on," I reply, as I hesitantly enter the cramped space. The steps leading up are small and narrow, barely enough for my feet to fit on. Each step groans under my weight, making me bounce with every movement. Halfway up, the stairs abruptly turn, forcing me to pivot as I continue ascending.

"Wow!" I say, finally reaching the top, and stepping into the room. It's not tiny like I'd imagined; in fact, it might even be bigger than four bedrooms, or maybe six, on the floor below it.

Aislinn holds a torch in her hand, using its light to explore different parts of the room. "Look over here, mum," she says beckoning me over to one section filled with old furniture - bed frames dismantled and propped against a wall, chairs stacked haphazardly, a delicate tea trolley among other items.

As Aislinn and I meticulously make our way through the cluttered attic, a sudden icy coldness causes me to shiver. I turn to her, wide-eyed, and ask if she felt it too. She nods in confirmation, but doesn't seem as disturbed as I am. How can she stay so calm when there's a definite presence lurking here? I snatch the torch from her and shine its light towards where we just came from, hoping to glimpse whatever caused the chill.

"What are you looking for, mum?" Aislinn asks curiously, showing no signs of fear or concern. Odd, considering the eerie atmosphere.

"Is there a window back there?" I inquire, making my way towards the back wall.

"No, not that I've seen. There are no windows up here," she replies casually.

I'm confused by her nonchalant attitude. How can there be a breeze with no windows? Then it hits me. It must have drifted up through the small stairwell. That must be it, I tell myself, trying to calm down the rising tension within me.

As I hand the torch to Aislinn, she can sense my unease. She quickly grabs it back and shines it towards a pile of boxes on the other side of the room. "I wonder what's hidden over there?"

We both walk over to the stack of wooden boxes, each one slightly different in size and handmade with a shiny lacquer finish. It must have taken someone a lot of time and skill to create so many. Aislinn carefully lifts the top box and sets it down on the ground. She sits cross-legged in front of it, ready to explore its contents.

I crouch down opposite her, eager to see what she discovers. Inside this box are stuffed animals, dolls, and handcrafted wooden trinkets. Ais pulls out a teddy bear that appears to be knitted by hand with black button eyes and a carefully sewn mouth on a background of brown wool. Its white belly and paws complete the adorable toy.

Ais gingerly sets aside the first toy and reaches for another in the box, a small carved wooden train. She spins its wheels with her thumb before placing it beside the bear. We continue to sift through the box, uncovering a variety of old toys, each one knitted, crocheted, or carved by hand. As we reach the bottom, Aislinn pulls out a small book, brushing off the dust particles that float in the still air. The book looks handmade as well, with delicate script on the cover reading "For my beautiful boy Love mother".

Inside, the pages are fragile and yellowed from years of existence. The scent of aged paper evokes a sense of nostalgia. Aislinn's focus is completely captured by the book, almost as if she is in a trance.

I observe her movements in silence as she fully immerses herself in the pages of the book. Each word, carefully savoured, as if she's taking it all in letter by letter. Finally, after reaching the end, she closes the book and whispers a word that I can't quite catch. My curiosity piques. I watch as she brings the book to her lips and presses a mournful kiss to the front cover, almost as if she's kissing someone's forehead. With calmness, she places the book back into its box, along with the other items. I'm taken aback by her behaviour; this is not something I've ever seen from my daughter before. My mind races, wondering what could have caused this sudden change. Is it something otherworldly?

"Ais? Are you okay, sweetheart?" I ask, my hand gently resting on her shoulder. She doesn't move or respond at first. I try again, this time with more concern in my voice. "Ais?"

"Huh?" she finally responds, snapping out of her daze. "What did you say, Mum?"

We talk about what I saw, but she has no recollection of it. Wanting to change the subject and escape the eerie atmosphere of the attic, I suggest we leave and go to the hardware store for some decorating ideas instead.

As we make our way down the stairs, Aislinn's behaviour seems back to normal. She's chattering away about the latest TikTok trends and which dresses she wants to wear for prom next year. I worry about what caused her to act so out of character, up in the attic. Maybe it's just the musty air that had gotten to her. Or maybe it's something more sinister. As we get into the car, I turn to her and ask, "Are you sure you're okay? You seemed... different up there."

"I'm fine, Mum," she reassures me with a smile. "Just got lost in the moment, I guess."

I let it go, not wanting to push her any further. But the uneasiness festers in the pit of my stomach, and I just know there's something more to this.