‘Joe,’ I call. ‘Come on, baby, don’t scare Mummy like this. Where are you?’

The bedroom door is closed. I push it open. The bed is just as I left it, the blankets tossed aside as I ran to stop Joe from hitting his head, my redundant phone lying on the floor. But there is no sign of Joe. I go to the window and look out at the overgrown garden. The door of one of the filthy cages is blowing open and shut in the breeze. And then I see something: a shadow flitting across the garden. Joe.

I run out of the bedroom and back into the kitchen, throwing open the back door. It’s freezing out here and he’s only in his pyjamas.

‘Joe,’ I cry, stepping out of the door, my bare feet prickling with cold. ‘Joe, where are you? Come on, baby, it’s time for breakfast.’

I run through the long grass, past the cages and down towards the drystone wall that divides the garden from the hills.

‘Joe!’ I’m shouting at the top of my voice now. ‘Please come back. Please.’

And then a chill courses through my body.

The lake.

I run round the side of the house, the sharp stones cutting into my feet. It starts to rain as I reach the lake and it bounces off the surface like bullets as I stagger with bleeding feet towards the edge.

‘Joe!’

My voice is carried back to me. I look at the water, at the old broken boat bobbing listlessly from side to side. He can’t be in there. He can’t be. I only turned my back for a few seconds. I hear Mark’s voice in my head. ‘That’s all it takes, Lisa, a couple of seconds. You fucking idiot. You stupid fucking idiot.’

The water blurs in front of my eyes as I stand frozen to the spot, tears clouding my vision.

What have I done?

Then I hear something. A scream. I turn on my heels but I can’t see anything. Then I hear it again. It’s coming from the side of the house.

‘Joe,’ I shout, running towards the sound, my shoulders lightening with relief as I realize he isn’t in the lake. ‘It’s okay. Mummy’s coming.’

There’s no sign of him as I reach the side of the house but he must be here somewhere. I can hear his footsteps. When I get to the garden I call his name again, frantically now.

‘Joe, this isn’t funny. Come out now and stop playing.’

Up ahead, the kitchen door is still open. I hobble towards it, wincing with pain from my bleeding feet. When I get inside I smell burning. I rush into the kitchen and grab the kettle from the hob. The water has almost boiled dry. Then I hear something rustling behind me. I turn to see Joe sitting at the table, just as he had been when I’d filled the kettle.

‘Oh, Joe,’ I cry, running to him. ‘Where were you? I was so worried. You mustn’t run off like that again. Do you hear me?’