Later, when we’ve eaten and Avó has refolded the baby’s vests, done a pile of ironing that didn’t really need to be done, and told me all about her neighbour’s daughter who has a new baby and still manages to cook a three-course dinner every night, Rav drives his mother home. I get Mina to bed and lay the baby in the cot, relieved at no longer having to stifle my annoyance at Avó’s interference. It’s hard work trying to keep Avó happy and keep my temper, and exhaustion tugs at my bones as I sink onto the sofa, tucking my feet underneath me, as Rav heads upstairs to work, his promise to leave it for the weekend forgotten now he’s spent time with us. I’ve barely slept again all weekend, the open window from Friday night playing on my mind, but as I promised Rav I wouldn’t mention it again I’ve kept it to myself, like a worry doll living deep at the back of my mind, that I keep taking out and turning over. A worry doll, full of uncertainty and sinister ill-feeling.

A yawn pulls at the back of my throat and I get to my feet. I’ll make Rav a cup of tea, try and persuade him to come to bed. I step out into the hallway, my feet cold on the quarry tiles as I catch sight of my reflection in the mirror. I step closer, smoothing my hair down, wishing I didn’t have such huge bags under my eyes, when I see it. Movement again, from the corner of my eye as if someone has walked past the mirror behind me. The air stirs, and the tiny hairs on the back of my neck stand up, as I think I see the shadow of a figure on the stairs.