Jenny stopped. Neither of us wanted her to go on. I said, “And then?”

“Emma started crying. I don’t know what time it was; I was dozing off and on, waiting for Pat to come up, listening out for what he was doing downstairs. Emma’s always had nightmares, ever since she was tiny. I thought that was all it was, just a nightmare. I got up and went in to her, and she was sitting up in bed, totally terrified. She was crying so hard she could barely breathe; she was trying to say something, but she couldn’t talk. I sat down on the bed and I hugged her—she was clinging on to me, sobbing her poor little heart out. When she calmed down a bit I said, ‘What’s wrong, sweetie? Tell Mummy and I’ll fix it.’ And she said …”

Jenny caught a deep, openmouthed gasp of breath. “She said … ‘It’s in my wardrobe, Mum. It was going to come get me.’

“I said, ‘What’s in your wardrobe, sweetie?’ I still thought it was just a dream or maybe a spider, she hates spiders. But Emma went, she went, ‘The animal. Mummy, the animal, it’s the animal, it’s laughing at me with its teeth—’ She was starting to go to bits again. I said, ‘There’s no animal here; it was just a dream,’ and she wailed, this awful high noise that didn’t even sound human. I grabbed her, I even shook her—I’ve never done that before, ever. I was scared she was going to wake Jack, but it wasn’t just that. I was …” That great gasp again. “I was scared of the animal. That it would hear her and come after her. I knew there was nothing there. I knew that. But I still—the thought of it, Jesus, I had to make Emma shut up before … She stopped wailing, thank God, but she was still crying and clutching at me, and she was pointing at her schoolbag—it was on the floor by her bed. All I could make out was ‘in there, in there,’ so I switched on the bedside lamp and dumped everything out of the bag. When Emma saw that …”

Jenny’s finger hovered over the drawing. “This. She went, ‘That! Mummy, that! It’s in my wardrobe!’”

The gasping was gone; her voice had stilled, slowed, just a small pinpoint of life scratching at the thick silence of the room. “The bedside lamp’s only little, and the paper was in a shadow. All I could see was the eyes and the teeth, in the middle of black. I said, ‘What is it, sweetie?’ But I already knew.

“Emma said—she was starting to get her breath back, but she was still doing that hiccuppy thing—she said, ‘The animal. The animal Daddy wants to catch. I’m sorry, Mummy, I’m so so sorry—’

“I put on my sensible voice and I went, ‘Don’t be silly. There’s nothing to be sorry for. But we’ve talked about that animal before. It isn’t real, remember? It’s just a game Daddy plays. He’s just a bit confused. You know that.’