The first thing Charlotte remembered was reaching for Dad’s 99 at Hull Fair, and the last was dying. It took a little while to sink in. First, she had to stare down at herself, at the mole just above the corner of her lip. She had to feel for it on her own face because it was supposed to be on the other side, wasn’t it?

The wind picked up again and shook the branches of the tree she’d been playing in, same way she’d done all summer. Climb up. Climb down. Repeat. A new sense of nostalgia came upon her as she considered that, maybe, those “back to school” adverts that had her rolling her eyes at the telly didn’t apply to her anymore.

No, said Charlotte.

But as she reached for the little body at her feet, she found she wasn’t here enough to touch it. Her self was diluted. It drifted around and away and back again like a faint smell on the cooling air. It wasn’t anything you could see, really, but Charlotte knew it was happening all the same.

No! she said again.

She put on her focus face, with the frown and the tongue sticking out between the teeth, and drew herself in. It took considerable effort, like sucking thick syrup through a narrow straw.

She had plans. She had very important things to do, and as she focused and focused on those very important plans, she drew herself in harder. She would grow up and become an astronaut. She would go to space and discover a new planet, and name it after Nan, who had taught her what an astronaut was. She would meet a beautiful, kind princess. They would get married and go to Vietnam for their honeymoon because that’s where Dad’s family came from.

Charlotte reached down and grabbed her body. She hooked her elbows under the armpits and dragged herself over to the thick hedge that separated her house from Mrs Denton’s. Nobody ever checked there. The hedge was overgrown and had been for years, so Charlotte knew it was quite safe.

She left her old self there and ran back to the house, wiping her hands on her pink trousers and slipping out of her boots at the door. All was quiet aside from the football game on the telly. Charlotte tiptoed along the corridor and peeked into the living room to the right. Nan was watching the game without seeing. She peeked into the kitchen to the left. Mum was cooking dinner.

Charlotte frowned. Dinner looked like spaghetti, but something was off. Mum must not have followed the same recipe she normally did. A few seconds ticked by before it dawned on her what the problem was. She wasn’t breathing, and hadn’t been since that last gasp when she’d tumbled from the tree. Quickly, she took the biggest inhale of her life and almost giggled when the smell of onion and tomato hit her nose. How embarrassing it would have been, she thought, to have such a simple mistake give her away.

Charlotte exhaled the exact same amount of oxygen back into the room, and ran upstairs.

The bathroom had two makeup bags. Mum would notice if someone went rummaging through her stuff. Nan wouldn’t.

Sorry, Nan, Charlotte muttered, as she took the purple bag off the shelf.

There was some good stuff in there. Charlotte had to exercise some restraint and put back the pretty pink lipstick that would certainly attract too much attention even though it complemented her outfit quite nicely.

She was good at makeup. She’d practised at Sandra’s after school, back when Mum used to work late. As she applied the foundation, Charlotte thought Sandra might make a good princess. She was smart and kind and very beautiful.

“Charlotte! Are you up there?”

Charlotte dropped the brush. She touched a hand to her heart. It should have been racing.

“Charlotte?”

Charlotte inhaled to speak. “Yes!”

“Come eat your dinner!”

“Just a minute!”

“It’s getting cold!”

“I’m in the bathroom!”

Silence.

Charlotte stifled a victory squeal. She bent down and had to draw herself in a bit more before her fingers found purchase on the brush. She examined her rosy cheeks in the mirror and gave herself a thumbs up and a wink.

“I didn’t hear you come in,” said Mum as Charlotte entered the kitchen. “I was shouting for you in the garden.”

Nan took off her spectacles, wiped them on her sleeve, and handed them to Charlotte.

“Here, Chuck. Be a dear and put these on the coffee table for me.”

“I don’t like ‘Chuck’ anymore, Nan. I told you last time.”

Nan scratched her chin. “Of course you did, love. I apologise. Charlotte.”

Charlotte smiled. In truth, she didn’t care what she was called nearly as much as she cared that her authority on the matter was recognised.

She took the spectacles and brought them to the living room, and when she came back to the kitchen, her stomach jumped into her mouth.

Nan was sat at the end of the table. Mum was spooning extra sauce on top of the spaghetti. And next to Mum stood a figure.

“Don’t you want to see what you’re eating?” said Mum.

It was tall and dark and vague. As if the shadow of a person had detached itself from the wall. It had two deep white holes where its eyes ought to be, and they turned to Nan like a pair of headlights.

“I can taste it just fine without seeing it,” said Nan.

“Okay, then,” said Mum.

“I don’t want tomato to splash all over my glasses!”

“I said okay.”

And as Nan shrugged, a third hole opened in the featureless face and a wheezing hiss of a voice seeped out.

Is it you?

Charlotte quickly looked away from the shade. It doesn’t know, she thought. She walked to her seat and twirled some spaghetti around her fork. It won’t know, she told herself. It won’t know if you don’t let it know.

She felt the eyes fall on her next.

Is it you?

Ignore it. Just like Mum and Nan. Don’t make eye contact. Don’t let it know.

“Charlotte?” said Mum.

“Huh?” said Charlotte.

“Pardon,” said Nan.

“Pardon?” said Charlotte.

“Would you like some orange juice?”

Is it you?

Charlotte declined the orange juice, then thought accepting it would have been more realistic. Still, the shade seemed convinced. It observed a while as they ate dinner and made casual conversation. Then it went away.

Charlotte grinned and asked about dessert.

The next day, the shade came back. And the next. It didn’t ask anymore. It just stood there, and observed, and waited, and left. Charlotte began to feel indestructible. The stupid thing was blinder than Nan without her spectacles. She’d outsmarted it. She’d outsmarted Mum and Nan and the universe, and now all she had to do was decide if Sandra was the one she wanted to take with her on her space adventures. Everything was going perfectly according to plan.

And then, on the fifth day, Charlotte slipped up.

Nan had asked for the spectacles to be put on the coffee table again, and Charlotte trotted off, and stopped dead in the corridor. The shade was staring at her from the living room. She was already staring right back.

Ah, said the shade. It is you.

Charlotte panicked. “No, it’s not,” she said.

Mum’s voice called from the kitchen. “Did you say something, darling?”

” I … I have a tummy ache!” Charlotte shouted back. “I’m off to the loo, don’t wait for me!”

As she ran upstairs, she felt Nan’s spectacles slip through her fingers.

She didn’t go to the bathroom. She went into her bedroom where her soft toys were, and her dolls, and her blankets. It took two tries to close the door, and three more to grab her stuffed rabbit. She was diluting again, and too shaken to properly draw herself in.

The closed door didn’t stop the shade. Already it was at the foot of the bed.

You are causing me trouble, it said. I hope you know that.

And the more Charlotte allowed herself to look at it, the less the shade looked like a shade. The more she let herself go, the clearer she could see it. He was a boy, maybe a few years older than Sandra’s big brother. He was quite tall. He had red hair and very pale eyes.

Charlotte decided it was safer to be angry than to be afraid.

“Well, I hope you know you’re causing me trouble!” she said.

The boy exhaled on purpose.

“Don’t laugh at me! It’s rude.”

I am not laughing at you. Where did you hide the body?

“I’m not telling.”

Fair enough. May I ask why you’re doing this?

The boy’s even voice made Charlotte so furious that she forgot to inhale before speaking.

Because I’m nine years old! I bet you got to be an astronaut in space and marry a princess.

The boy seemed to consider this.

I was always more interested in the prince myself, he said. And I think I was a teacher.

The boy smiled and looked a bit sad. Charlotte noticed, though she wasn’t inclined to feel bad for him.

What’s your name? the boy asked. He extended his hand. I am Alan.

Charlotte planted her own hands on her hips and puffed out her chest.

“Chuck,” she said.

Nice to meet you, Chuck.

Charlotte glared at him until his extended hand fell back to his side.

I would like you to come with me, Chuck.

“No.”

Alan sighed.

Staying here will not make you happy.

“I’m very happy,” said Charlotte.

Are you?

“Yes.”

What is the very first thing you can remember?

Charlotte opened her mouth and said nothing. She remembered plenty of things. Only she wasn’t quite sure what they were.

What did you mean when you said you think you were a teacher? she asked.

Your memories are leaking out. Your thoughts as well, if you remain too long.

Charlotte glanced over at the closed door. She thought about Nan, and how she’d recently started forgetting things, like calling her Charlotte, or wiping her bum after using the loo, and how nobody ever wanted to tell her that she smelled bad because nobody wanted her to feel embarrassed.

Chuck?

Did you lose memories while you were waiting for me?

When Alan didn’t respond right away, Charlotte knew he was going to lie.

No, he said.

Charlotte began to cry. Alan looked away, respectfully, and let it happen. Charlotte sobbed quietly for a minute or so, and when she was done, she felt strong again.

Just give me one more day, she said.

The next morning, Charlotte reapplied the makeup. She came downstairs and had some cereal. Mum asked if her tummy was feeling any better.

“Much better! I’m going to play in the garden.”

As she left, she walked behind Mum’s chair and wrapped her arms around her shoulders.

“I love you.”

Mum laughed and spilled some of her coffee. “Oops! I love you too, darling.”

If she noticed the unusual behaviour, she didn’t comment on it.

Charlotte went straight for the overgrown hedge between her house and Mrs Denton’s. She drew herself in one last time and hooked her elbows underneath the armpits. Her jumper was damp with dew and Charlotte imagined it probably smelled a bit mouldy. She pulled until the body was just visible from the garden path, and snuck back into her bedroom.

Alan?

Chuck?

I’m ready.

The first thing Charlotte remembered was dying, and the last was reaching for Alan’s hand.