But if the truth was told, she didn’t really know me, either. How can anyone truly know what’s in someone else’s heart or mind – even those closest to them? I didn’t mention any of it to Jack. Her words rang in my ears and I wondered if there was some oblique intimation behind them. I had an odd instinct about it all and an unpleasant sinking sensation in my gut.

That night I curled up behind Jack in bed, wrapping my arms around his girth and burying my face in the warmth of his back. I breathed in the familiar, musky comfort of his skin. From his deep, rhythmic breathing, he had clearly drifted off very quickly as usual, but sleep evaded me as I chewed over what Mrs Barley had said, and the discomfiting bitterness of her tone. A chink of moonlight passed through the gap in the curtains and I found myself mesmerised by the dancing patterns it cast on the wall. I don’t know how long I lay there for, but a sudden noise overhead caught my attention. I remained still, straining to hear what it was.

Things were being moved. I extricated myself from my one-sided embrace, careful not to disturb Jack, and sat up slowly. It sounded as though something was being dragged across the floor above me. I sat there, holding my breath, heart thumping in my chest. Could it be Mrs Barley, rearranging the items in her attic? But why? And how on earth could she have got up there – the ladder was steep, and certainly the narrowness of the aperture, if the set-up was the same as ours, wouldn’t be that easy to wriggle through, even for someone able-bodied. Surely with her arthritis it would be impossible for her to climb through the gap, let alone shift cumbersome items.

But knowing there was no one else in the house, there seemed to be no other explanation. I lay back down, but the noise continued for what felt like hours: slow, deliberate footsteps and the bump and scrape of things being pushed or pulled across the boards. Long after the noise eventually abated, I still felt rattled, and even with my eyes tightly shut, wide awake. Thoughts about anything and everything coursed through my brain. I remembered the crying I had heard in the night; the male voice. Had there been someone in there with her?

By the time I eventually succumbed to sleep, first light had started to creep through and the infuriatingly joyful dawn chorus announced the onset of a new day.

I plodded downstairs and found Jack at the breakfast table. He glanced up from his cereal and almost choked.

‘Christ, you look rough.’ He looked aghast.

Blearily, I rubbed the sleep from my eyes and glared at him. ‘Cheers. I’ve been awake half the bloody night. Didn’t you hear anything?’