‘That’s not what I said, Leo. If you listen in on other people’s conversations, sometimes you pick up the wrong idea, especially as you could only hear what I was saying, not what Richard said. There’s no one upstairs – it’s fine.’ I’m hoping there’s more conviction in my voice than I feel.

‘To be fair, Mum,’ Finley sits up and joins in. ‘You were the one who ran up there to check, and you did say to Richard that you thought someone was in the house. I heard you, too.’

Honesty is the best policy. I smile; my attempt at appearing unperturbed.

‘I had a funny feeling, that’s all. It’s because I knew a lot of people had been inside our house. I don’t really like the thought of strangers having been here, that’s all. And I let my imagination run away with me.’

‘Like how I do sometimes at night?’ Leo looks up at me thoughtfully. ‘When I have my bad dreams?’

‘Yes, a bit like that,’ I say and slide from the sofa to sit on the floor. I pop my arm around Leo’s shoulder and pull him in towards me. He snuggles in and I breathe in the comforting smell of his mop of sandy-brown hair. Leo inherited my colouring; Finley is darker, like his dad. But they both have our blue eyes.

‘I still want Finley with me.’ Leo’s little voice is muffled in my jumper.

‘Sure thing.’

After some coaxing, and a further check of the upstairs rooms, Leo is now happily in the bath, and Finley is sitting on the closed toilet seat reading a book.

It takes longer than usual to settle the boys into bed, Leo demanding more stories and Finley unwilling to put his Nintendo Switch away because he was at a “crucial point” in the game. They both wanted to keep their lights on. I’m angry with myself for my lack of diligence. Just because I was in the kitchen, and talking quietly, didn’t mean they couldn’t hear me. I have always let myself think if I can’t see them, they can’t see me – naively, like a child – and it also stretches to believing if I whisper, I can’t be heard. Despite being caught out numerous times in the past, it seems I still continue to hold this erroneous belief.

Light floods my bedroom as I press the switch. It’s a bit early for me to go to bed, but I want to be upstairs with the boys. I’ll read for a while. I stand in the doorway for a moment, my eyes searching my bedroom again, darting from wall to wall, object to object. How would I know if people had touched my things, run their hands over my bed sheets? Would anyone have been as brazen as to open any cupboards or drawers?