Silently she slid the bolts across and flung open the door. There was no one in the corridor. She searched the living room but it was similarly empty. From the bedroom she could hear the faint sniffly sound that babies made when they slept. Apart from the occasional muffled drone of a car outside, there was no other sound. Having satisfied herself there was no one in the living room, she unbolted the door to the kitchen. Next, still brandishing her knife, she checked the front door. It was locked with the chain on, exactly as she left it every night. After that, she went around rattling all the internal bolts to check they had not come loose. The landlord didn’t know about the bolts she had fixed to the doors, top and bottom, and so far he hadn’t spotted them. If he did, he would probably make a stupid fuss, claiming it was a fire hazard to lock herself in her room like that, but she knew there were more pressing dangers. With all the doors bolted on the inside, it would be difficult for anyone to break in and creep up on her without being heard. Even so, she lived in fear of being burgled, or worse.

At last, satisfied that no one was prowling around the flat, she carefully bolted all the doors again. Afraid to put the bedroom light on, in case he saw the light under her door, she sat down on the bed and examined her injuries in the beam from her torch. One of her knees had a small dark mark on it, but the bruise on the other covered most of her kneecap and seemed to be spreading downwards. Now that she was able to stop and think about it, her knee hurt. Whimpering, she replaced the knife under the bed so that she could reach it without sitting up, stowed the torch under her pillow, lay down and pulled the covers right up to her chin, trying to ignore the pain in her knee. As soon as she closed her eyes, the silence was disturbed by the sound of a baby crying.

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