It was coming from behind her, beyond the trees.

Fran stood up from the bench. Could it have been an animal? It was too loud to be a bird. A dog? A fox? A human?

She stood still for a moment, listening.

Nothing.

But she had the strongest sensation that someone else was standing still, listening too.

She shook herself. How could there be someone there? Nobody could get into the back garden without coming through the house. Unless they’d come through the side gate … Mary had told her it would be unlocked, so Gavin could let himself in to mow the lawn.

‘Let’s go back inside, Liliput,’ she said to Lily, taking her by the hand. ‘Because Mammy and Daddy will be home soon,’ she added, for the benefit of anyone who might be listening.

Lily wanted to look at books in her bedroom and, reluctant to leave her alone (or to be alone herself, perhaps), Fran joined her, sitting on the floor, her back against the bed, her feet against the radiator under the window. She examined her runners as Lily turned pages. Shabby and yellowing, where they’d once been pristine white. No matter. In Virginia Beach, she’d live in flip-flops. Four more weeks, then goodbye Dublin. Her eyes travelled beyond the radiator to the Holly Hobbie wallpaper that was peeling off near the skirting board. She looked more closely, her attention caught by something dark, and realized that beneath the colourful paper, the wall was painted black. How odd, she thought. Reaching out, she lifted the corner of the wallpaper where it had already come unstuck. The wall underneath was indeed black, but only in that one patch. Like someone had coloured it in with thick marker. Carefully, she lifted the paper further – it came away easily, already unstuck. The coloured-in patch of black was actually part of a bigger picture. Fran leaned closer, examining it. The thick black oval shape, the white circle inside, the black circle inside that.

It was an eye.

And it was staring at her.

Feeling suddenly on edge, she smoothed down the wallpaper to cover the eye, and stood.

‘Maybe we’ll bring the book downstairs,’ she said, taking Lily by the hand. Maybe we’ll go hang out in my house. Mary hadn’t left her a key to get back in if they went out, but Della kept a spare for Mary next door. She could use that. And if she was lucky, Della might mind Lily for a few minutes while Fran took a break from all the pretend tea.

When Mary arrived back that Wednesday evening, Lily was sitting in front of the television.

‘I just put it on now,’ Fran explained, cursing herself. She’s spent all day entertaining the child, and as soon as she turned on the telly, Mary arrived back. But Mary didn’t seem worried. If anything, she was distracted, half listening while Fran told her about their day.

‘Actually,’ Fran said, as Mary rummaged through her purse for money, ‘there was one strange thing – when we were on the bench in the garden, there was a noise. As though there was someone there, hiding among the trees. I was thinking after, it might have been someone in the garden behind?’