‘Yes. Stay for picnic,’ says Joe.

This seems to melt her. She smiles again then closes the door.

‘Okay,’ she says, coming over to the table. ‘If you’re sure it’s not too much trouble.’

It’s then, as I watch her sit down next to Joe, who is sitting on the table with his legs dangling over the edge, that I remember we have no running water or electricity. How the hell can I make her a cup of tea?

‘So, you’re here on holiday?’ she says, looking up at me as I stand impotently by the stove.

‘Er, yes, of a sort,’ I say. ‘More like a … a retreat.’

She nods her head, though she looks unconvinced. She’s obviously wondering why any mother in their right mind would bring their child to this ramshackle house in the middle of winter for a break.

‘You have picnic,’ says Joe, holding the spoon to her mouth. ‘Nice soup.’

‘Oh, yummy,’ she says, pretending to have a taste. ‘Tomato. My favourite.’

‘Not tomato. Chicken,’ says Joe, pointing the spoon at her again. ‘Have more.’

I watch as she takes another pretend spoonful then decide to come clean.

‘Look, I’m ever so sorry but I can’t actually make you a cup of tea,’ I say awkwardly. ‘There’s no water or electricity here. The, um, letting company didn’t say.’

‘I thought so,’ she says, looking around the kitchen. ‘To be honest, I can’t imagine anyone letting this place out to holidaymakers in this state, let alone a young mother and child.’

‘It is rather … basic,’ I say, watching as Joe chews on the toy spoon.

‘That’s an understatement,’ she says, shaking her head. ‘I’ve lived in the village all my life and the previous owners were – how can I put this politely – a little eccentric.’

‘It’s been pretty scary, actually,’ I say, glad to be able to admit it to someone at last. ‘The lack of … well, anything really.’

‘I don’t doubt it,’ she says, her eyes widening. ‘I don’t know what this holiday firm is thinking, letting you stay here with a young child.’

She gives a little shiver as she says it and the relief I was feeling at her presence turns into unease.

‘What do you mean?’ I say. ‘Is there something I should know about this place?’

‘No,’ she says, smiling at Joe, who is holding the spoon out for her again. ‘Nothing like that. It’s just, well, it’s not exactly kitted out for modern living, is it?’

‘It’s not,’ I say, feeling tired suddenly.

‘How long have you been here?’ she says, looking down at the stone floor. There’s a dark stain that I’ve convinced myself is some kind of animal’s blood.

‘Only a couple of days.’

She looks up at me as I answer and her expression changes. It feels like she can see right through me.

‘That’s a long time to be without heat or water,’ she says, her eyes still fixed on me. ‘And with a little one too. It’s a disgrace.’