I slid out of bed and padded across the floor. I pressed an ear to the wall. It sounded like Mrs Barley’s voice. Between sobs she seemed to be talking – no, almost chanting to herself, although I couldn’t make out the words. It was a primal, guttural sound and it gave me an awful gut-wrenching sensation. I was tempted to knock on her door, hug her; offer some human contact, some small comfort.

The voice became louder, the anguished tone infused now with anger. I only caught the tail end of what she was saying.

‘But why did you do it? How could you have done such a thing?’

And then my heart all but stopped. A male voice responded, its timbre clear and deep.

‘I’m sorry.’

A chill ran through me. I strained to listen, wondering who could be in there with her. Suddenly, the crying ceased and all was quiet once more. I wondered if I ought to go round and check she was all right. But everything seemed peaceful now. And what would I say, anyway? Did you have a strange man in your bedroom? I rationalised and wondered if it were possible she’d been watching TV or listening to the radio. Yes, that must have been what I’d heard. Maybe it hadn’t been her crying at all. It was the only logical explanation.

I crawled back into bed and snuggled up to Jack. He mumbled in protest as I warmed my cold feet against the backs of his legs, but he didn’t wake properly. Soon I was asleep once more. I dreamed of a joyful Mrs Barley, enveloped in the arms of a dark-haired man whose face I could not see.

The next day I woke with a pounding headache – and a strange sense of disquiet.

CHAPTER 6

A fortnight had passed. I hadn’t seen anyone trespassing in the garden since, and any time I had seen Mrs Barley she seemed perfectly fine, so I came to the conclusion that what I’d heard through the wall that night must have been a TV or radio programme after all.

Mrs Barley was clearly very interested in my pregnancy, which at twenty-one weeks was now quite evident. Having had various blood tests and my twenty-week scan, confirmation that all appeared to be well with the baby had allayed any initial anxieties I’d had. I was more relaxed about everything and reassured each time I felt that familiar butterfly sensation of movements from within. Mrs Barley fussed round me and kept offering to prepare various weird herbal tisanes to stave off heartburn or nausea. While I wasn’t keen to take anything in case it might affect the baby in any way, it was touching that she wanted to help and she always seemed friendly and pleasant. I couldn’t understand why everyone seemed to have it in for her.