As I made my way across the hallway, down the stairs and along the corridor to the kitchen, I flicked on every light switch I could, not wanting to step into any dark spaces, any unlit corners.

I stood in front of the kitchen door for a few moments, listening. There was another scraping sound, then a giggle. Give me some more, someone said.

A strange boy was in our kitchen.

My hands ached again. I flexed them in my pockets before pushing the door open.

They were standing close together, both leaning their hips on the counter by the draining board. The other boy was fair haired, and very slight. He wore a black cap on the back of his head. Even his head seemed slim, his cheeks bony, his nose thin and slightly hooked. His eyes were fixed on Robert, who held a spoon overflowing with pink blancmange up to the boy’s waiting lips.

The boy took a mouthful and swallowed before they twisted round to face me. A pink blob of pudding shone on the blond boy’s chin. They were both smiling, puffing their cheeks out slightly to keep their laughter in. Through the gap between them, I could see the rabbit’s head had been sliced in half, and bits of green jelly lay scattered over the counter.

I wished I’d put some proper clothes on, so I wouldn’t be facing them like this, in my dressing gown and slippers.

‘Hello Dad,’ said Robert. ‘This is Luke.’

‘What on earth are you boys doing?’

Neither boy replied. Robert dug his spoon back into the flesh-like surface of the blancmange. There was a sucking, squelching noise as he scooped out a dollop of pink pudding and held the spoon up to Luke.

I looked over at the clock. A quarter past one.

‘Do you know what time it is?’

Silence.

‘Robert? What’s your mother going to say when she sees this mess?’

But he wouldn’t look at me. His eyes were on Luke’s, and they remained there as he moved the spoon towards the boy’s lips.

‘Put that spoon down, please,’ I said.

Neither boy moved. Robert had stopped smiling now. His mouth was fixed in a straight line.

‘Robert. Please put the spoon down.’

Luke took a step back, but Robert’s hand kept moving towards him.

‘Put the spoon down, Robert.’ I tried not to shout; I didn’t want to wake Kathryn.

Robert tipped the spoon against Luke’s tight lips. ‘Open up,’ he said, in a stagy whisper. ‘You said you wanted more.’

Luke glanced over at me. My hands were clenched, aching inside my pockets. I tried to say my son’s name again, but found no sound would come out.