‘What noise?’ Naomi says, but I think I see her eyes go to the chimney.

‘A scratching noise. Coming from the chimney. Just the same as the one I was telling you about.’ I watch as Naomi’s eyes glance towards the chimney again, before realizing she is looking at Mina who sits to one side of it, a small plastic tub of circles of ham and cheese with crackers in front of her.

‘Allie…’ Naomi’s voice is calm, quiet. ‘I can’t hear anything.’

‘Really? You didn’t hear that scratching sound? Like …’ I flounder for a moment. ‘Like claws, or fingernails or something?’ My voice rises as Naomi shakes her head.

‘No, Allie. There wasn’t a noise.’ She points another meaningful glance towards Mina, who sits oblivious. ‘You looked like you were starting to doze off. Maybe you imagined it.’

I sit back, letting Naomi take the baby. ‘No. I don’t think so.’ As she takes Leo upstairs to change his nappy, I strain my ears, taking shallow breaths and listening as hard as I can but the noises don’t come again.

Voices wake me, a low murmuring from the kitchen. I have fallen asleep on the sofa, and now I push myself into a more upright position, feeling the low throb of my busted ankle as I do. Mina is no longer sitting beside the chimney, and the sun has disappeared behind the house leaving the sitting room in cool shadow.

Where are the children? And Naomi – is she still here? Panic flutters in my chest and I stand, aware that the throbbing in my ankle isn’t as fierce as it was. The box of Co-codamol sits on the mantelpiece above the fire, and I slide the packet out. Eight tablets are missing. Did I take them? I don’t remember, and I am unsure of how many were missing from the packet before. I don’t remember taking any, sure that I gave the packet to Naomi, but the dryness in my mouth, the fuzziness in my head tells me that perhaps I did take them after all. I follow the sounds of muted voices into the kitchen, where Naomi and Rav are talking. I hover in the doorway, watching as Naomi leans against the worktop, a glass of wine in her hand. Rav is at the stove, stirring something that smells like his signature dish – spaghetti bolognaise. He obviously changed his mind about Thai.

‘… the children,’ Naomi is saying. ‘Just a feeling that something isn’t quite right – Allie! You’re awake.’ She smiles at me, the smile not sitting well on her face, wine glass in her hand. One of the wine glasses Rav’s uncle bought us for a wedding present. We don’t use them very often; they are irreplaceable, and I worry about breaking them.

‘What isn’t right?’

‘Oh … nothing. Just talking politics.’ Naomi glances at Rav, then sips at her wine.