The purple flowers of wolfsbane stand out against the wild, tumbling green of vinca major, a plant I haven’t seen for a long time. Stepping onto the edge of the border, I carefully peer into the wild plants, the outline of a white oleander bush taking shape at the edge of where the sunlight meets the shade, its white flowers standing out in stark contrast to the vibrant purple of the digitalis that grows alongside it. An uneasy feeling snakes its way along my spine, as I glance back towards the end of the border closest to the house, the innocent herbs planted there taking on a more sinister feel as I realize what has been planted at the opposite end where I now stand. All of these plants, in this chilly, shadowy end of the bed are poisonous, all capable of causing serious illness from stomach pain to dangerously low blood pressure if ingested, some of them too dangerous to even touch. I step back, rubbing my hands over my arms, realizing as I do so that I stand in the exact same spot as I did when I made this motion before. When Rav brought me to see the house. Only this time, I don’t feel that tingle of excitement for what the future may hold. Instead an unsettling feeling bubbles low in my stomach. I scrub my hands over my now baggy maternity jeans, even though I didn’t touch any of the poisonous plants, telling myself it’s just a border, it’s nothing unusual, nothing special. Glancing back towards the house I strain my eyes for any sign of movement, in the hope that Avó is back with the children, but there is nothing. The house is still and silent, the air thick and heavy as if waiting for something. I feel dizzy for a moment, the image of my own feet on the stairs, the blue blanket draped at the end of the bed from my vision swirling in front of my eyes.

‘Ridiculous.’ I mutter the word aloud, swiping my hand across my sweaty forehead. ‘You’re being ridiculous.’ There is a small thud as I collide with something behind me, and I turn to see the peeling, slippery bark of a birch tree. I have backed so far up from the border that I am on the very edge of the woods. The sun doesn’t reach here, the trees casting long shadows, and as I turn and peer into the woods, the branches of the trees seem to connect overhead, turning the world a dim, greenish dark. I step forward, the last thick blades of grass bouncing beneath my feet as I step into the dark, onto the bed of dry leaves and twigs that have lain here for summer after summer, following their winter deaths.