I’m being stupid. I try to remember Jo’s wise words: people have open houses all the time. It’s commonplace – I know this. And I’ve never heard of anything untoward happening at any of these events.

So, why do I feel so on edge?

Living here on my own has made me more paranoid about safety. When Nick was here, I was never once concerned about people breaking in. I suppose I always assumed he’d protect us if there was ever any need. Him being a copper also gave me an extra sense of security. When he left, I kept up a strong front – not just for the boys’ sakes, but for my own too – but deep down I feel more vulnerable now. Although, I’m guessing, if it came to it, I’d put up a good enough fight; what mother wouldn’t do everything in her power to protect her children? I just don’t want to find out if I’d be capable. I don’t want to ever face such a test.

I walk to the TV and turn it on; I need background noise tonight, or I won’t settle either. A film is on, from the Eighties by the look of it. Usually this would lighten my mood, as I love the films from that time – but not tonight. I don’t recognise it, and don’t even bother to press the info button to find out its title.

A noise wakes me. I must’ve drifted off while reading as I’m slumped over my book. The TV has gone on standby mode – the screen is black but there’s still a power light on; it glows orange. My mind immediately concludes there’s an intruder. My earlier thought about how I’d cope with such an eventuality may now be something I’m about to find out.

Adrenaline forces out all traces of sleep. I lie dead still, barely breathing. I remain in this state of catatonia for a minute or so before my muscles release me, and I slowly shift myself out from under the duvet. I bend over, slipping the baseball bat from beneath the bed frame. I grip it in my right hand and stand up. My ears are hyper-alert; I can hear every noise: the hum of electric, the gentle breaths of the boys in their rooms, and my pulse as it whacks against my neck. Then, I hear a creak on the stairs.

I suck in my breath and hold it.

There really is someone in the house.

I clench the bat even tighter and raise it slightly, getting into defensive mode, ready to strike the invader. I’m not going to hesitate. I’ll hit first, ask questions later.