She went to the loo just to get away. She couldn’t take it – Natalie’s nervous prattle, her mother jumping every time anyone shifted. Luke, in Lennie’s chair.

She put her phone on the shelf below the mirror while she washed her hands. In the glass, she looked half-mad, pallid and fervid, wild. Next to her, the empty space. The reflection of the wall.

Love you, you know.

Physical repulsion welled inside her. Fuck you, Corinna. She stared at herself. Fuck you.

The phone went, the vibration on the glass shelf like a drill, nearly giving her a coronary.

Maggie H.

What? Wasn’t she there? But she wouldn’t call her, would she, if there was any chance she’d be overheard? She hit the button. ‘Maggie?’ she whispered.

‘Robin.’ She was whispering, too.

‘Thank you – thank you. I—’

‘Ssh, Rob, listen. I can only talk a moment. I just wanted to tell you, the police are here – they’ve arrived. They’re nearly ready. They’re going to surround the barn.’

‘Are they inside? Staverton, I mean – Lennie? Are you sure it’s them? It could be someone else, couldn’t it? Tramps – travellers?’

She heard heavy footsteps – two men or more, moving, a muttered ‘Madam’.

‘Rob, I’ve got to go,’ she whispered.

‘Now, madam!’ The male voice, low but sharp. ‘Get back – back!’

There was a small thud then a series of footsteps, lighter, receding.

‘Maggie?’

No reply.

For a second or two there was nothing but then Robin heard a rustling whistle, wind gusting across the receiver. A low mutter, male, and a soft crunch, like a foot on muddy gravel.

Maggie had dropped the phone.

Robin looked at herself in the mirror. Could she? But how could she not?

As quietly as she could, she crept back downstairs and slipped into her seat. She moved her phone to the centre of the table.

‘What—?’ Luke started but she shook her head violently.

The wind again, a louder gust. They were somewhere exposed – the top of a hill, maybe. A male grunt, assent, and a sort of Kevlar slither. Wind again then a metallic click. Christine gasped. ‘Guns?’

Thomas stood up. She leaned over the table and muted the call, checking the screen to make sure it was actually done. ‘Robin, you shouldn’t listen to this.’

‘I should,’ she growled. ‘I have to.’

From the phone came the sound of boots on the move, heavy but quiet, moving away. She pictured it, a farm courtyard in darkness, the group of men moving in the shadows, edging closer, darting moves one at a time, getting into position.

For fifteen or twenty seconds there was nothing but the wind. Christine swiped at her cheeks.

They heard a single low word, male, swallowed.

Robin made eye contact with Thomas, both of them stiff, then, in the distance, a smashing sound, splintering wood, then another.

‘Go – go, go, go.’