Someone was singing Daisy’s name. She was a daisy in a field, and all the daisies were complimenting one another on how soft their petals were, how cheerful their smiles; they called one another “Brother” and “Sister,” and the sun was reading to them, and Daisy blossomed, throwing her face to the sky and . . .

“Daisy!”

A dark weed was in their midst. The flowers started to panic as the moon shoved the sun from the sky and hissed angrily at the meadow below.

“Daisy Wooton, this is an emergency!”

The moon had brought with it a storm! A shower of drops spattered across Daisy’s face as she lifted her petal hands to protect herself . . . and realized she wasn’t wearing her glasses.

She was not a flower in the meadow. She was dreaming.

When Daisy managed to drag her eyes open, the beautiful moon revealed itself to be Esther, who was holding a water bottle with a sports cap, poised to squirt Daisy in the face again. Words floated through Daisy’s brain, but her mouth was too slow to catch them. So she blinked, lashes a little gummy from sleep, and tried to converse with Esther through the power of her mind.

Esther simply stared back, waiting for a response.

“Daisy?” she said eventually. “Are you awake? Your eyes are open, but I’ve watched far too much Japanese horror this evening to cope with anything other than some very specific confirmation that you’re not a somnambulant serial killer.”

Daisy went for it. “Whmupmhsmblumkllerrrr.”

“Brilliant. You’re plotting my untimely and violent death, aren’t you?” This fact didn’t seem to bother Esther as much as one might expect. “Between you and whatever’s scavenging in our kitchen, I’m done for.”

Groping for her glasses, Daisy managed to poke herself in the eye with the stem before pushing them onto her nose, so that the room, and an edgy-looking Esther, clad in what looked like gaffer’s tape and pleather, came into focus.

“There’s something in the kitchen,” Esther whispered. Then she added, “You should really lock your door at night, Daisy. Anyone could just wander in here, you know.”

The lights were off in the hall, but when Daisy reached for the switch, Esther stopped her with a quick shake of her head.

“Listen!”

There were, indeed, noises coming from the kitchen.

As they crept carefully along the corridor, Esther’s grasp dug so deeply into the flesh of Daisy’s arm that Daisy wondered whether she shouldn’t be more afraid of Esther than of whatever lay ahead. On reaching the door, the two exchanged looks: Esther’s gallows-grim determination met Daisy’s cautious curiosity.

They stepped into the kitchen doorway—and stared.

Every single cupboard was open, the contents heaped on the table. Stray lentils and noodle fragments dusted the spaces between packets and boxes and nine tins of supermarket-brand beans.