Sara felt the hollowness of the basement below, felt it like a vacuum that wanted to swallow her whole, a bottomless pit waiting for her to stumble into its mouth. The urge to leave, to get out of the house, grew stronger. She went to the back hall, through to the door that opened out onto the yard. Opening it, she stepped outside onto the loose stones and gravel. The warmth of the autumn sun touched her, washed the chill away.

The shell of the extension stood to her left, larger than the original house, all glass and stone cladding. The sliding patio doors opened out onto what would some day be an impressive expanse of garden. For now, it looked like a battlefield. The old concrete yard had been dug up, rubble piled at the far end where a cowshed had once stood. Topsoil would be laid over the exposed earth at some point, with paths making channels through it. Damien had promised her flower beds and herb patches to look after, despite her having no interest in gardening.

Not mine, she thought. I shouldn’t be here.

I’m walking on graves.

That idea formed in her mind, unbidden, and it swept away any warmth she had found out here. She tried to push it back down, but it lingered like a shameful memory.

“Stop it,” Sara said aloud, and she stepped back inside the house, closing the door and locking it. She walked through the back hall towards the kitchen, arms wrapped around herself. In the kitchen, the shape of a man startled her, and she gasped.

“Sorry,” the electrician said, his hands up and out. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Sara placed her palm against her stomach to quell the fluttering things the fright had stirred. “It’s okay,” she said.

The electrician shuffled his feet, looked at the floor, looked at her. She sensed the fear in him, though why he should be afraid of her, she could not fathom.

“I came in to apologise,” he said. “I shouldn’t have snapped at you. I was out of order. I’m sorry.”

Sara shook her head, forced a smile. “It’s fine. No need to apologise.”

“If Francie knew I’d done that, he’d . . .”

The words faltered as he spoke, and he looked at the floor once more. She realised then the man wasn’t afraid of her, but of her father-in-law.

“He’d do what?” she asked.

He searched for an answer. “I don’t know,” he said. “He wouldn’t be happy, anyway.”

“I won’t tell him,” Sara said, truthfully.

“Thanks,” he said, and turned to leave, then changed his mind. “You know, I’d take that tea if it’s still going.”

A smile broke on Sara’s face, a real one, and for a moment it felt alien to her. She wondered when she’d last felt one on her lips. Too long.