Emily stared at him. ‘Darling, I’m sorry, I’ve no idea what you are talking about.’

‘Last night…’ He fell silent for a moment. She was looking at him extremely strangely. ‘Last night, the house was cracked all over, right?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘The mirrors up the stairs. All the windows, ceilings?’

Again, the strange look. ‘Did you have a bad dream?’

He glanced up again at the ceiling. At the white paint and the down-lighters. There was absolutely no sign there had ever been a crack. Like the glass in the windows.

‘We – we discussed moving out and going to stay with your parents,’ he said.

‘You must have had a weird dream.’

‘You don’t remember any of that?’

‘I have a slight headache. All I remember is that horrid stuff the P-Ws kept pouring down our throats. I’m not surprised it gave you nightmares!’

Puzzled, he walked over to the coffee machine and poured the hot froth into his cup. ‘Want a coffee?’

‘I’m going to have one of my teas.’

‘I’ll boil the kettle for you.’

He emptied the kettle, refilled it and switched it on. ‘I…’ He began, then fell silent.

‘You what?’

He sat down at the table with his coffee. ‘Last night we came back here after tunnelling out of the Penze-Weedells, and we heard a loud crack, right?’

She shook her head. ‘No.’

‘How pissed were you?’

‘About the same as you!’

‘First the mirrors either side of the staircase, then the windows, then each ceiling. You wanted us to go to your parents because you thought the house was falling down, and we had a bit of a row. You must remember.’

‘Darling,’ she said, ‘we came back here from the Peenies and you were totally pissed, and zonked. That’s what I remember.’

He stared at her, feeling very strange. Was that the explanation? He sipped some coffee, trying to reflect back, to think clearly.

Had he dreamed it all?

Everything in the house was as pristine as the day they’d moved in.

That had to be the explanation. There wasn’t any other that made any sense.

‘You don’t have a hangover?’ she asked.

‘I don’t.’

‘You sure deserve one!’

Relief was flooding through every vein in his body. He must have dreamed it… and yet. He was certain he hadn’t. Was there something wrong with Emily? he suddenly wondered, very concerned. She had no recollection of the Reverend Fortinbrass turning up last week. Now she had no recollection of all the cracks last night.

He tried to think it all through. Emily’s partner, Louise, had no recollection of Fortinbrass, either.

Emily put her arms around him. ‘You’re under a lot of stress with your exhibition looming, my love. Maybe you should go and see Dr Dixon again and get him to help you calm down?’

‘Maybe,’ he agreed, hesitantly. Perhaps she was right. Something was not making sense at the moment. He looked up at the ceiling again. Not any sign of a crack.