Harper is sitting in the kitchen sipping coffee from my favourite mug when I get back from my morning run. I have a blister on my left foot from my new trainers: the police have yet to return my running shoes. My sour mood is not improved when I see Harper propped up against my kitchen counter, leafing through one of my cookbooks, a cuckoo in my nest.

‘You’re out of Colombian dark roast,’ she says, turning down the corner of the page to mark her place. Dog-earing books is a cardinal sin I don’t even tolerate from Tom and I have to suppress the urge to snatch the book out of her hands. ‘And you’re getting low on milk, too.’

I open the drawer containing my coffee pods. I’m not about to defile my body with Tom’s decaff, which leaves me a choice between an insipid Nantucket medium blend or – God help me – the Caramel Vanilla Cream left over from an ill-conceived foray by my husband into variety packs when we first bought the coffee machine. I slam the drawer shut again. I’ll have to stop by the Lebanese hole-in-the-wall near the hospital for a decent hit of caffeine on my way into work.

I open the cupboard above the Viking range for my protein powder and am confronted instead by a neat row of condiments and spices. ‘What the hell, Harper?’

‘Oh, I moved that stuff to the bottom cupboard on the other side of the fridge,’ she says airily, flicking the page. ‘You want your spices by the cooker so they’re easy to get to.’

‘I want my protein powder and spices where I left them,’ I say tightly.

She flips the book around and holds it up to her chest so I can see the glossy double-spread colour photograph. ‘This looks amazing. What’s that weird chimney thing?’

‘It’s a tagine.’

‘Have you got one?’

‘Yes. Where’s Tom?’

‘He said he had to get to a meeting in town after he dropped the kids at school. He’ll be back around lunchtime. So, you’ve made this recipe? It’s, like, Moroccan or something?’

‘Harper, I don’t have time to chat. I need to shower and get to work.’

‘Oh, by the way,’ she calls as I start up the stairs, ‘I tidied your airing cupboard. It was super messy, so I folded everything for you. And I moved the towels to the lower shelves, so you can reach them better.’

I grit my teeth. She’s been here three days, and so far she’s rearranged my kitchen, my cupboards and the furniture in the sitting room: ‘Oh, I like the sofa here,’ Tom said, ‘you can see the TV so much better, and it makes the room look bigger.’