I painted in bursts, thinking and painting, smudging the colours onto the canvas using my fingers as much as the brushes, smearing my DNA with the paint. By the time the buttercup yellow of the morning light slid through the slats of the attic blinds, changing the tone of all I’d achieved in the night, the painting was largely done and, despite the fact that Grace would have left for work, I realized – with a stiffening of the hairs on my neck and that jolt of sixth-sense awareness we all sometimes get – that the house was not empty.

I crept down the attic stairs, silent as a ghost, my feet noiseless on the carpet. I stopped on the landing and listened to the walls, to the ceiling, to the bricks and the wood that made up the frame of the place that protected me. What or who was it hiding? There was no sign of Alfie but, even so, I sensed the inhale-exhale of breath; I sensed life. I crept into the bedroom and took a shoe from the wardrobe. With that in my hand, I slipped down the stairs, every fibre of my being listening and then I heard it: footsteps, clear as a bell, from the kitchen, and then the unmistakeable tone of my mother-in-law’s voice.

‘Nah, beta,’ she said, ‘it doesn’t look as if she’s been in here this morning.’

I pushed open the door and faced her, shoe still in my hand. ‘Meena?’

She twirled to face me, her scarf swinging with the movement, her eyes large as she looked me up and down. ‘Abigail! You are here! Why you didn’t answer the door? I’ve been ringing and ringing! Rohan told me to come in and check you are all right! We’ve been worried about you…’ she trailed off as she looked me up and down. She spoke quickly into the phone, ‘She’s here. I’ll call you back,’ and clicked off the call. ‘Are you all right? What happened?’

I shook my head, my eyes squinting against the bright sunshine of the kitchen. With the sun coming through that window it must have been up a little while. ‘Nothing. I was in the attic.’

Meena swept her hand towards me. ‘But… what?’

‘What?’ I said looking down at the nightshirt and robe I’d worn all night. ‘It’s paint,’ I said, realizing she was looking at the stains on the front. ‘What are you doing in the house?’

I was suddenly aware of my lack of sleep, and the floor swayed under my feet giving the feeling I was walking the deck of a rolling ship. I put a hand to the counter to steady myself. My mouth, I realized now, was parched. Meena pointed her nose into the air, sniffed and frowned, her brow furrowed.

‘Have you been smoking?’