White. I think I see a flash of dark hair, white fabric catching the sun as someone steps between the trees, the outline partially blocked by the branches and the tops of the reeds that surround the pond. Anger rushes through my veins and I run down the stairs and out of the back door, my bare feet damp as I run across the dew-covered lawn.

‘Hey!’ Stopping at the edge of the pond, I peer into the darkened tunnel of interlocked branches ahead of me. ‘Who’s there? I saw you just now.’

There is no reply, just the caw of a bird overhead, sharp and harsh. I rub my hands over my arms, wishing I had stopped to pick up a sweater or at least stuck my feet into flipflops. ‘Hello?’ My call is quieter now, and I realize that maybe I was mistaken after all. I blink, letting my breath calm and slow. The woods are quiet, the only movement the rustle of the glossy, green leaves. Maybe it wasn’t a person – perhaps that flash of white was something else, feathers or fur belonging to a bird or another small, unknown animal living in the woods. There is a squawk from the baby monitor, and I feel my shoulders slump, my cold feet feeling leaden as I turn and walk back towards the house, the small cry of the baby in stereo now, floating out from the open bedroom window, mirrored through the monitor. Is this what Agnes heard? I wonder, night after night, the cries of her lost baby? Is she still here now? I feel the prickle of eyes on me, suddenly sure that Agnes is here, watching me. That it was her moving through the trees. With one backward glance towards the pond, and the woods beyond it, I hurry back into the house, locking the back door and rushing up the stairs to fetch the baby before he erupts into a full-on wail. He is quiet as I reach the landing and, crossing the bedroom quickly, I reach down into the cot, ready to hold him close, to nuzzle my cheek against his head, but the cot is empty. The baby is gone.