All of a sudden, it was gone. Snapped off. Darkness fell, and as my eyes acclimatized, the intruder, who I instantly realized I’d disturbed, was off. Out the way he’d come, flying through the open French door, a pane broken where the latch hung. I fleetingly saw him leg it down the garden. Just as the moonlight had briefly illuminated him, it was also enough to reveal Michael. He lay motionless, face up on the floor, between the sofa and the coffee table. Beside him was a bucket, which already had vomit in it. His face was deathly pale and there was a small pool of blood beside his head. I stared. Didn’t immediately move. Don’t ask me why. But the room still had the air of someone fast-moving and violent passing through it. And that dazzling white light. The breathing. So close. I felt violated.

Then I crouched in my nightie. I felt his pulse. Very faint. And blood was seeping still, from his head. Beside him was a heavy marble lamp stand, a wedding present. The shade was off, away in a corner. We didn’t have a landline, and when I reached in Michael’s jacket pocket, on the sofa arm, for his phone, it was out of charge. I’d have to find mine. I realized my movements were slow, though, and my breathing was very laboured. Very … considered, almost. Where was it? My phone? Upstairs? No, of course not, it was still in my bag, in the kitchen on the island. Somewhere in the distance a light went out. I darted out and found it.