The next morning, with the sun shining brightly through the window, she lay there feeling stupid. Last night, still jittery, she’d put a chair up against her bedroom door. Now, with sunbeams lighting up dancing dust motes in the air, she wondered why she’d been so scared. All those thrillers she’d read, no doubt, along with an overactive imagination. It could have been any number of things: Fergus coming back from the pub, someone checking on the animals, or… well, there were probably plenty of explanations. Whoever it was had probably been just as startled as her.

As it was so gorgeous, she decided to take her breakfast and a book outside and sit at the little bistro table in the front garden, and, after a quick shower, with tea and toast on a tray, she stepped out into the glorious morning. Clear blue sky stretching as far as the eye could see greeted her, the colour so pure it made her heart sing. There wouldn’t be many more days like this. September began tomorrow, and already there was a slight chill in the morning air.

As she admired the day, her eyes strayed to the window and she frowned at the sight of the mangled flowers. They seemed worse today. Picking up her tea, she walked over to the bed, that prickling sense of unease trickling back.

She stared down at the bed, her eyes focusing on the solid outline indented into the soil. Footprints. Right in front of the window. A hand squeezed her heart.

‘Don’t be daft, Hannah.’ She said the words out loud to emphasis her stupidity, as if saying them made them true. She was being over dramatic and neurotic.

‘Talking to yourself.’

She jumped, throwing her cup up in the air, and hot tea slopped over her wrist.

‘Bloody hell, Conor! What are you doing here?’ She shook her arm and rubbed at it before wiping it on her jeans.

‘I’m on my way down to the beach, if that’s all right with you.’ He indicated the surfboard under his arm.

‘Well, you shouldn’t have crept up on me.’

‘I wasn’t creeping. You seem a bit jumpy this morning. Besides, you were absorbed in communing with nature. My mother’s teaching is obviously rubbing off already.’ There was a slightly sarcastic tone to his voice. He looked down at the battered crocosmia and frowned. ‘Didn’t you like the flowers?’

‘It wasn’t me! Someone stood here.’ She hadn’t planned on making a fuss about it because she was still trying to convince herself that there was a sensible explanation, but the accusation in his words made her blurt out, ‘I saw someone looking in my window last night.’

Conor raised an eyebrow, put down his board and came over.

Now she felt a bit foolish. To justify herself, she pointed to the footprints and said a little belligerently, ‘See.’