To distract herself, she went into the kitchen, opened the fridge and surveyed its contents. She should go shopping. There was hardly anything here. In the end, she had bread and butter and stood at the window eating.

It was almost dark, and the bushes and trees appeared ghostly in the twilight. As Connie gazed out, Kenneth came around the side of the house and walked across the lawn. He stopped halfway and turned. Instinctively, Connie stepped to the side and then moved further back.

That night, unease curled around her as she drifted in and out of sleep. As well as the usual noises, she imagined she could hear others: the beating wings of an owl; the flitter of a bat. Flowers in the garden closing their petals, the leaves curling, the trees stretching their branches.

A high-pitched sound made her jump. She swivelled her legs onto the floor and got out of bed. In the kitchen, she poured a glass of water. The screech came again. Leaning forward, she pressed her face to the glass. A creature scrambled over the fence and dropped onto the ground. It ambled across the lawn and stopped in a pool of moonlight. Sticking one leg up, it began to lick its fur. Socks. Her heart lifted. She’d come home. Connie rapped on the glass, but the cat took no notice, carrying on with its routine. Without thinking, Connie pulled her coat over her nightdress and slipped on her shoes. She grabbed her keys and let herself out of the flat.

Leaving the light off, she fumbled her way downstairs. In the hall, she hesitated. A glow from the street lamp showed through the window. The baby kicked and she grasped the bannister. Jazz music played quietly in Eileen’s flat. The sound of a chain rattling into place came from Kenneth’s.

Quietly, she opened the front door. The return of Socks was a sign. Connie would entice her inside, and in the morning, she would ask Eileen to take care of her until she returned from Paris.

She hurried round the side of the house. Surprisingly, Kenneth had left the gate unlocked. She pushed through and regretted not bringing a torch, but the moon was bright and she spotted Socks still sitting on the lawn patiently licking her fur.

Connie called out softly and the cat’s eyes glittered yellow. The shriek came again, sounding closer. Not Socks, but a fox perhaps, or could it be an owl? The cat reacted, hackles raised. Connie crept closer and was rewarded. Socks padded to meet her, purring loudly. Her face had thinned, but her belly hung low and she had a wild air and a fetid smell. Connie bent, stroking the cat, and, as she did so, she saw a movement, a kind of rolling inside her. She stepped back, surprised. Socks was pregnant too.