He doesn’t answer. I stand up and scan the room, pointing the torch at every surface. In this light the antlers above the mantelpiece look even bigger than they did before, like the beast they once belonged to is somewhere beyond the wall waiting to smash through. I move the light on to the top of the mantelpiece, wondering as I do why anyone would keep bottles of antiseptic lined up on there. And then I see, tucked behind the bottles, three large candles. I pick them up. Their wicks are intact.

‘Look what I’ve found,’ I say to Joe, placing them on the table. ‘Candles. Shall we light them?’

Joe nods his head. I get a flashback to his three-month birthday, back when I would celebrate the seventh of each month, the day he came into the world. I remember the caterpillar cake bought from M&S and the three candles wedged in the thick chocolate icing. Mark said I was foolish for wasting money on a cake when Joe wasn’t even old enough to eat solids. But I’d wanted to make every seventh special, that’s how much the day meant to me, how much I loved my baby. And it was worth it to see his little face when I lit the candles, his eyes sparkling as he watched the flames dance. A few months later it would all change.

I blink away the memory then dig in my pocket for my lighter. Despite several attempts to give up, I still can’t do without the odd cigarette. In fact, right now I could smoke a whole pack, if only to calm my nerves. But, on my meagre wage, cigarettes are an expense I can’t justify these days.

I line the candles up along the table then carefully light each one. Once they catch, the room lifts. I look at Joe. His face is glowing.

‘Look at that,’ I say, standing back to admire the light. ‘Isn’t it pretty?’

Joe stares at the flames, his tired eyes mesmerized.

‘Right,’ I say, taking the carrier bag that I left by the door. ‘Let’s see what goodies we can find.’

We’re so hungry and tired we make our way through two large sausage rolls each (though Joe just eats the sausage and hands me the pastry), a family bag of crisps and two cereal bars. Joe’s eyes are growing heavier. I will have to put him down to sleep. I decide we’ll stay in this room tonight. There will be bedrooms in the house somewhere but I refuse to go looking while it’s dark. Further exploration can wait until morning.

Instead I take the remaining cushions from the sofa and place them together on the floor. Then I scoop the heavy blankets from the armchair and bring them to where Joe is lying. The blankets smell of damp but they’ll be warm. That’s all that matters for tonight. Joe is asleep now. I ease him up on to the line of cushions and drape one of the blankets over him, tucking it round his chest.