She rolled over on her back and closed her eyes. Put an arm over her eyes to block out the light. What had really happened while she was brushing her teeth? She didn’t want to think about that either, but was unable to escape the memory of it.

She stuck her hand in under the mattress to get her phone out. To distract herself for a while. Her fingers touched something cold. That wasn’t her phone. She shifted to the side and folded the mattress up.

A gun. There was a gun under the mattress.

It was small and looked like an antique.

She stared at it but was afraid to touch it.

Then she flew into action, gathered up her clothes and grabbed them, along with the duvet and pillow, and stole down the stairs. She sprinted across the lawn, opened the door to her car and jumped in, pushed the back seat down, spread out the duvet and after lying down, folded it back over her.

Even on the diagonal, she wasn’t able to stretch out fully, but she was still convinced she’d sleep better in the car. At a less than reassuring distance that was nevertheless a distance from the room Susso had filled with a dark, ominous energy Diana hadn’t been fully aware of until she was removed from it.

*

When she woke up, it was four in the morning. Two minutes past four. The windows were fogged up; the car was filled with a grey light. She lay still, listening. Had a scratching against the metal woken her, or had that been a dream? Just then, she remembered something. A shrunken, wizened face cautiously approaching a condensation-covered windscreen, watching her with black, despondent eyes. The wrinkled face had been an unsettling shade of white. Like a foetus in a jar of formaldehyde. She figured it was something her overworked brain had dreamed up in the strange atmosphere inside the car, but she wasn’t sure. She wasn’t sure.

She got the car door open and stepped out with the duvet around her shoulders. There were no tracks in the film of dew beading the bonnet and the only thing moving in the pine trees were branches rocked by the wind. She snatched up her clothes, kicked the door closed, went into the house, lay down on the sofa and, against all odds, went back to sleep.

*

The percolator filled the kitchen with its bubbling; she was sitting at the table, staring at nothing. She was chilly and felt like she hadn’t slept a wink. Her phone dinged. A message from her mum. K has had nightmares all night long. She’s crying and asking for you. Can’t reach H.

There was suddenly a knot in her stomach. She poured the coffee and sat with the mug in front of her for a while before making the call.

‘How is she?’

‘Hold on, I’ll put her on.’