I hear her close the door. Then, once I’m sure she’s back in bed, I reach across and turn on the lamp. The dream has left me feeling shaken. The image of Geoffrey’s body lying in the maze, the holly wrapping itself around my chest, makes me feel sick. I look at my bare arms, sure there must be scratches and cuts, but there’s nothing. It was just a dream.

Then I remember. The bird.

I get out of bed and pull open the bottom drawer. The first thing I see is the signed paperback of The Spirits of Holly Maze House that I took from the house viewing in Battersea. I lift it out and run my fingers along the indents of Geoffrey’s handwriting. Then, setting it aside, I take out the glass bird. The bird I took from his house.

As I stare back at it, I tell myself that people lie all the time, they make up versions of themselves on Instagram and Facebook and job applications that bear no resemblance to who they really are. It’s not a crime to want to be someone else, to live someone else’s life. But it is a crime to take one, and as long as this bird and the book are in my possession then I am in deep trouble.

I place them back in the drawer and turn out the light. Tomorrow I will get rid of them, I tell myself as I get back into bed. Then, and only then, will I be safe.

I stand on the packed Northern Line train, holding on to the rail and trying to keep my balance. Sweat gathers on my forehead as the train doors open to let another wave of passengers on.

The doors close and, as the train pulls out of the station, I put my hand in my bag to check the book and the bird are still there. I know it’s not a good idea to go back to the house, but I can’t escape the feeling that if I just dump them somewhere then bad things might happen: karma, whatever you want to call it. The bird, particularly, has always possessed a strange power and now, more than ever, I can’t risk it. By returning the bird to its rightful place, I feel I’m honouring it somehow, as well as atoning for my crime. As for the book, well, it was only going to be thrown away in Battersea. Best to take it with the bird, back to the place where it was written.