‘You might have … questions,’ he said in a voice that sounded as though he was speaking to a six-year-old.

‘Questions?’

‘About what happened on Tuesday. And I’m here to answer those questions.’

I looked at him, owl-eyed. I had absolutely no clue what he was talking about.

‘I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘But I have absolutely no clue what you’re talking about.’

He narrowed his eyes, as though studying me very closely. ‘Is it money you’re after?’

‘What?’

He leaned back, rubbed his face as though he hadn’t slept in days. Come to think of it, I had seen him pacing one night when I was up with Coco. She was still teething. I found that ice helped, but going to the kitchen for it in the dead of night – and potentially encountering floating women – wasn’t worth it.

‘Money?’ I repeated. ‘Money for what?’

He looked at me as if I was hiding something. ‘So you didn’t see the …’ He folded his lips into his mouth, as if whatever I’d seen couldn’t be uttered aloud.

‘See the what?’

He glanced outside, then back at me. I followed his gaze. It was pitch black out there but the expression on his face indicated that he was seeing something. The Hanging Gardens of Babylon, perhaps, or a portal into the multiverse.

‘Look, if the police come,’ he said, suddenly flustered, ‘stick to that story. OK? And I’ll see that you’re rewarded.’

I was sure he was on heroin or something. He laid a hand on top of mine and left it there for a few seconds. Probably best just to let his train run out of steam.

But he was suddenly too close, and I wondered if I perhaps had something in my eye, or if my eyeliner was running again. I still hadn’t quite mastered the art of make-up application, despite religiously attempting it every day.

‘Are you sure you didn’t see anything?’ he asked again. Softer, this time, and closer to my face.

‘See what?’ I said, shifting slightly away from him and leaning back into the sofa.

He opened his mouth to speak, but someone behind him beat him to it.

‘Clive?’

He yanked his hand away as if my hand had turned into raw flame. Derry was standing in the doorway, her thick fleece house robe pulled tight across her chest. She had this weird expression that put me on edge. She looked from me to Clive as though we’d just been sticking pins in a voodoo doll of her likeness, or hosting a druidic ceremony. Everyone’s gone mad tonight, I thought.

Clive stood up quickly and wiped his hands on his trousers. They stared at each other wordlessly.

‘Derry,’ I called out to her. ‘Are we doing a walk tomorrow morning?’ I was keen to get back outside. I found it cleared my brain for the day ahead.