She nodded reluctantly, then pointed at the empty bowls. ‘That woman is like a sodding hoover. She shouldn’t be called Claudette; she should be called Dyson. I lost count of the number of times I refilled the olives, nuts and crisps.’

‘Three bottles, can you believe it? Our best champagne. Actually, more; almost four.’

‘Take the positive, my love,’ she said. ‘Look on it as an investment.’

‘Investment?’

‘Uh-huh.’

‘In exactly what?’

‘Neighbourhood relations. OK – they are awful people. But until more people move into the estate, we need, at least, to get on with them.’

‘Why?’

‘Come on, darling! How much have you drunk?’

‘Not enough. Shall I open another bottle?’

‘No!’ she said. ‘We’ve a lot to do tomorrow, I’ve had quite enough. We need some food.’

There was another massive bang above them, like a door slamming in wind.

Emily looked at her husband in alarm.

‘The wind?’ he suggested.

‘There is no wind,’ she said in an edgy voice.

He walked to the stairs then hurried up them again.

‘Darling,’ she called out. ‘Be careful!’

He reached the landing at the top of the staircase, checking out their bedroom then each of the three spare rooms again, in turn. All the doors were still open. He climbed the spiral staircase to the loft.

The door there was open, too.

Had it been fireworks somewhere nearby? Had they imagined it?

But they had both heard it. Very distinctly. The sound of a door slamming.

He went back down into the living room. Emily was looking shaken.

What? she mouthed.

He shook his head. ‘Couldn’t see anything. Maybe we imagined it.’

‘We did not imagine it. We both heard it. A door slammed.’

‘OK, so – this is a new-build house. They’ve used a lot of oak. A lot of woods expand and contract as the temperature and humidity change. Maybe they didn’t age the oak enough and that noise was made by some of it expanding.’

‘And if it wasn’t that?’

‘Could be our ghost!’ he said, jokily.

‘That’s not funny,’ she said. ‘We heard a door slam.’

‘Hey, darling, come on, lighten up.’ He kissed her.

‘There’s something weird going on,’ she said, flatly. ‘It’s starting to freak me out. I don’t know what it is but I’m feeling it.’

‘I’m feeling the love of the Penze-Weedells,’ he retorted.

‘Be serious, Jace. It was the sound of a door slamming. Doors don’t slam by themselves, unless there’s a wind blowing.’ She opened a window. ‘Stick your head out – there is no wind.’

‘Maybe it was fireworks?’

‘Our neighbours said there’s no one else living here.’

‘They’re wrong. There are people across the road. Probably other people here too that they’ve not met yet.’ He grimaced. ‘I mean, who in their right mind would want to meet them?’

‘Yep, maybe all the other neighbours here are hiding from them, and us mugginses got caught.’

‘That’s because we are PLOs!’

She punched him, playfully, looking brighter.