Something woke her. Annie rolled over and checked her phone: three a.m. The storm was wild enough to be heard even through Mari’s triple glazing, but the sound that woke her hadn’t come from outside. Annie lay very still, straining her ears. There it was again. A clatter. It wasn’t in the flat, but it was in the building. Maybe one of the shutters had come loose in the wind. She lay in bed, wondering what to do. What if it wasn’t a loose shutter? What if it was an intruder? She was going to have to go down there and check it out.

Annie pulled her dressing gown around her and slipped her phone into the pocket. She scouted silently through the flat for a weapon—just in case—but there was none; what kind of woman lives alone without at least a baseball bat for defense? Annie settled for an umbrella with a reasonable spike on its end and a rolling pin. She opened the door to the flat, leaving it on the latch in case she needed to scoot back inside in a hurry. The narrow staircase was cold, wind whistling through every crack and beneath the doorframes and blowing chill around her naked ankles. The rain pelted every part of the building as though demanding to be let in.

At the bottom of the stairs, Annie listened again. A shuffling sound drew her gaze sharply to the tearoom door. What was that? A fox? A rat? A person? The key was poking out of the lock, just as Annie had left it. Her arms had gone stiff with tension. She shook them out, stowed the rolling pin under the arm that held the umbrella—spike forward—and turned the key as quietly as she could.

There was a ruckus behind the door, like a chair being dragged across the floor. How big is that rat? she asked herself. In one swift movement, Annie pushed open the door and slammed on the light.

“Who goes there?” Annie yelled. She wasn’t sure where this line came from; she blamed reading too many classic crime novels.

There was a scream and what looked like a pile of laundry and blankets flew into the air. Annie shrieked and hurled the umbrella harpoon at the blankets, followed by the rolling pin, which made a thud as it hit its mark. There was a yelp and a man’s voice cried: “I surrender! Please don’t hurt me!”

Annie’s heart pounded. She’d used all her weapons, so she grabbed a large Kilner jar from the shelf and brandished it toward the voice.

“Who are you?” she said. “What do you want? I know kung fu!” This was a lie.

“It’s Alfred,” came the voice from beneath a brown army blanket. “I only came in here to sleep.”

“Where’s the other one?” asked Annie.

“What other one?” asked Alfred.