I laugh under my breath. It couldn’t be further from the actual truth. I’m aware that by not returning to work, my own career prospects are languishing and all the hard work that I put into getting my degree is becoming pointless. The longer I’m out of employment the harder it will be to get back in – and if I were to get pregnant, I could probably forget ever having a career. I’ve been over this with myself a million times, and it frustrates me, but I just need to park my worries for the time being.

Liam gets up to stoke the fire, throwing on the last of the logs. He peeks out the window. The rain is still lashing down. He sighs loudly. ‘I’ve got to go out and get more wood. It’s not lasted as long as I thought,’ he says.

I nod reluctantly, figuring that he’s only going to the woodpile and it won’t take him long. I watch him put on his jacket and boots and I stand by the back door as he darts out into the rain and around the side of the house. He’s back in less than a minute, with a pile of wood in his hands and a fierce expression on his face. He throws the logs down by the back door.

‘What is it? What’s happened?’ I ask.

‘The wood’s soaked through. Someone’s pulled off the tarp that was covering the pile and knocked the stack over, so it’s all wet.’

‘Are you sure it wasn’t the wind?’

Liam shakes his head, his expression darkening. ‘It was secured tightly. Someone undid the ropes and pulled it completely off. The wind couldn’t have knocked over that stack; it was five feet high. It has to have been deliberate.’

‘When could they have done it though?’ I ask. ‘It wasn’t like that when we got back this morning, I don’t think. We would have noticed on our way out, surely?’

Liam casts his eyes about the cottage. The realisation dawns on us. They must have come while we were huddled inside here, hiding from the rain, curtains drawn. The thought makes my stomach clench into knots. There’s something truly unsettling about the idea of a stranger prowling around outside like a wolf while we sit in here like sitting ducks.

I look at the fire, dwindling rapidly without fuel.

‘Don’t worry,’ Liam says. ‘Hopefully it’ll dry out and we can use it later.’ But I look down at the pile he dumped on the mat. The wood is soaked through – there’s no way it will catch light – and in the damp chill that’s encroached on the cottage it isn’t going to dry out that quickly.