‘A little bit.’

‘You should’ve said.’

‘Other things got in the way. I’m sorry.’

‘Did you see this fella go?’

‘Yes. At least, I think I did.’

‘I’d better take a look.’

‘Right now?’

‘Absolutely.’

‘But it’s dark.’

‘I’ll just drive down there and shine the headlights. Bring my torch along.’

‘No. It’s late now. What if he’s still there?’

‘I’ll chase him off again.’

‘No, Arthur, please don’t bother. Wait until the morning.’

‘I won’t sleep unless I check.’

‘He’s gone now. And, besides, he wasn’t dangerous.’

‘You can’t be sure of that.’

‘He wasn’t, just a little strange. I watched him walk away. Don’t bother going out there now. Take Hollis in the morning.’

But he was readying the straps of his prosthetic. ‘No, this fella’s come back once already. Who’s to say he won’t again? Believe me, I’ve seen plenty of his type before. You’ve got to drive them off with sticks or they’ll keep showing up.’ With that, he put his shirt and pullover back on, and hastened down the stairs.

From a gap between the curtains at the landing window, she watched the wagon’s headlamps brightening the yard and arcing round the driveway. Soon, all that she could see were brake lights jerking in the distance, and then nothing whatsoever. She thought about the times she’d stood in this position as a girl, dreading the arrival of her parents’ dinner guests on Saturdays, listening to their drunken conversations as they came out to their cars long after dark. And she remembered all those nights she’d waited quietly outside her father’s door, a numbness in her legs, while Dr Pask had run his checks. Most of all, she thought about the final afternoon, when Dr Pask had stepped out with his leather bag and pulled the door shut with great care – out of habit, she supposed – to say, ‘I’m sorry, but it won’t be long for him now, dear. All there’s left to do is hold his hand on the way out.’ So that’s what she had done – and, afterwards, the purity of the relief she’d felt had horrified her. That week, she’d scrubbed the walls with soapy water. She’d dusted down and polished every stick of furniture. She’d hung all of their rugs up on the washing line and cricket-batted them. She’d scoured every fireplace in the house with Vim and a stiff brush. Until, eventually, she’d given up on punishing herself with mindless chores and let herself feel glad to have her life back.

Now, at last, the wagon was returning to the yard. Arthur left it parked across the face of the garage and climbed out. She went and tucked herself under the bedcovers, if only so that he would come upstairs and find her lying there, unworried by the situation she had caused. He walked in, turned off the bedside lamp and whispered, ‘Nothing out there I could see. I’ll check again tomorrow.’

So she opened her eyes and gave her best impression of a yawn. ‘That’s good,’ she said. ‘I really wish I hadn’t brought it up. A silly thing to land on you so late at night.’