Later, Jack and I cleared up while Mrs Barley sat nursing Elodie. I popped my head round the door to ask if she’d like a cup of tea and saw that she had fallen asleep with the baby on her shoulder, clearly exhausted from being on her feet for so long. I crept into the room and gently prised Elodie from her arms. The late afternoon sun was dwindling and the sky beginning to dim, swathes of pink and gold draped beneath a louring blanket of petrol blue.

Cradling my daughter to my chest, I walked over to the French doors, revelling in the spectacular beauty of the sunset. Despite feeling so tired, I was momentarily captivated.

And then there he was.

Seemingly entranced, the figure stood hunched beneath the portico of the summer house staring at the shrubs, devoid of foliage and cut back to spindly stalks in preparation for next year’s blooms. It had to be him. It had to be Frank Barley.

I let out a scream. There was an almighty clang as Jack dropped the saucepan he’d been drying and came running through from the kitchen, looking panic-stricken. The baby, startled by my reaction, began to wail.

‘What is it? Is Elodie okay?’

Mrs Barley sat up with a jolt, clapping a hand to her chest in fright.

‘Whatever’s happened?’

I could hardly speak. ‘That … that man – in the summer house …’

Without a word, Jack flew through the doors and down the garden. He disappeared into the entry. Jobie, thinking this was some exciting game, chased after him. We waited anxiously, but within minutes Jack had returned. Pausing to catch his breath, he leaned against the doorframe, shaking his head. The dog trotted up behind him, looking deflated.

‘There’s definitely no one out there – yet again. I’m sorry, Stina.’ He wore a look of weary irritation. ‘I really think it’s your eyes playing tricks on you. You’ve had a succession of disturbed nights and it’s affecting your judgement.’ He looked from me to the old lady. ‘Don’t you agree, Mrs Barley?’

The old woman turned to me. She looked uncomfortable. ‘I think Jack’s probably right, love.’

‘I tell you, I saw him – like the last time, and all the times before that. Why don’t you believe me?’

Jack was obviously drained. He sounded unwontedly impatient, his voice rising an octave. ‘It isn’t a matter of not believing you – but it speaks for itself. You’re the only person who ever sees this … this man you’re on about. Think about it, huh? If he really existed, surely someone else would have seen him – at least once?’

I began to feel anxious. I thought of all the times that I had seen the man in Mrs Barley’s garden. Jack had a point. No one had ever noticed him but me. Never.