At 5.15 p.m. on the dot, Kat rings Beth’s doorbell. It’s still daunting, standing on Beth’s top step, but she’s relieved to discover that she doesn’t feel quite as nervous as the day before. It’s a while before anyone comes, but eventually the door swings open and Beth appears on the threshold. But she looks different today. Her hair is still perfect, shining with natural oils and curled neatly under her chin. And her skin is clear and smooth. But her eyes have a vacant stare, and her mouth is stained red.

And more than that, she’s clasping a kitchen knife so tightly that her knuckles are white.

‘Hi, Beth,’ Kat stutters, her eyes flitting between Beth’s face and the blade. Is it meant for her? Has Beth worked out who Kat really is? Or did that man come back; is it a weapon for self-defence?

‘Oh, it’s you. I forgot.’ Beth blinks, looks down at the knife and draws it behind her back. ‘Sorry, I was just, erm …’ Her voice peters out.

‘I’ve come for Luna,’ Kat offers slowly, assessing Beth more closely now that the initial shock has worn off. She doesn’t look either angry or hurt; she looks wasted. ‘Do you still want me to walk her this evening?’

‘Luna?’ Beth swivels her head and Kat follows her gaze. Luna is stood behind the glass kitchen door wagging her tail. ‘Oh yes.’ Beth stops. Starts. ‘Sorry. Let me get her for you.’ But as she turns, she stumbles. Instinctively, Kat reaches her hands up, but Beth is beyond arm’s reach now. Kat watches her grab the side table to keep herself from falling. The table wobbles and three picture frames fall, slamming down like three shots firing. She can’t be a bystander anymore. She takes a few steps forward, into Beth’s hallway. The door to her right is shut and the muted sounds of a TV show trickle from underneath it. A sense of relief leaks in. The children are safe.

‘Are you okay? Shall I take that?’ she asks, nodding down at the knife.

‘I’m sorry, I’m not feeling great.’ Beth stares at the fallen picture frames; they look like three sharks now, with their fins jutting out. Kat reaches for the knife and their fingers touch for a moment before Beth pulls away. A jolt of electricity runs up Kat’s arm, and she has to fight to stop a gasp escaping through her lips. She concentrates on righting the pictures instead. Two of them she recognises from the day before. The third is of an older couple, but they’re both fair-skinned and blue-eyed. Not Beth’s parents.

‘Shall I put this in the kitchen?’ Kat asks. ‘Would you like to sit down?’