Natalie Miles put her book down, uneasy. It happened sometimes, especially if she’d sat up late with a glass or two of wine and a scary film. This time the book was to blame. She’d been off work for a while — a back injury caused by a machine left unguarded at the factory where she worked. Nowadays she was bored and unable to concentrate.

Now she stood on the patio, a torch in her hand, staring into the dark, having let the cat out into the garden for a last pee before bed. Where was that bloody cat? An owl hooted, causing Natalie to jump. ‘Arthur! Get a move on!’ she hissed. The long back garden was full of close-growing trees and shrubs, and mostly in shadow. She had never got around to installing that garden lighting.

Finally, she saw him, sauntering in her direction as if he hadn’t a care in the world. She shooed him inside, locked the door and checked it. She began to relax. With Arthur weaving around her legs, she made herself a hot drink and took some strong painkillers. Time to call it a day.

Still a little nervous, Natalie shut all the windows and settled into bed with Arthur and her drink. She tuned her bedside radio to an easy-listening station and turned the volume down. Leaving the bedside lamp on, Natalie finally drifted into sleep.

* * *

He stood in the doorway, watching her, his eyes as narrow as those of the cat staring back at him. He froze. A cat! He hadn’t reckoned with one of those. And it was growling at him. He backed away.

He turned and ran back down the stairs. It had been going so well until he’d spotted that animal. He’d been fortunate, getting in before she locked up and concealing himself in the integral garage.

He went into the lounge and cast around. Where was it? Photographs lined the shelves and windowsills, hung in clusters on the walls, framed memories instead of artwork.

There it was, grouped with two others on the top of a bookcase in a solid silver frame. He picked it up in a gloved hand and slipped it into his bag.

He should go back upstairs and finish his work. He wanted to look closely at the woman and then make his decision about what should happen, but he couldn’t face the cat. At least he had what he’d come for. He let himself out of the back door, leaving it open and blowing in the draught. Only the cat knew he’d been there.

* * *

Startled from sleep, Natalie looked at the clock — 3.14 a.m. Hadn’t she left the light on last night? She leaned across and pressed the button. Nothing wrong with it. She must have switched it off in her sleep.