‘Oh dear. Have to keep popping to the bathroom, did you? I know pregnancy can play havoc with the bladder …’

‘Actually, there was rather a lot of noise coming from the attic. It went on for a long time.’

‘Really? Birds, do you think? Oh Lord, I hope we haven’t got mice or squirrels up there – or, God forbid, rats. I’ll have to get the pest control people in.’ She appeared genuinely concerned.

‘No, nothing like that. It was things being moved about – like someone dragging heavy boxes from one end of the floor to the other.’ I waited for a reaction, but her expression was deadpan.

‘Well, I didn’t hear a thing. Slept like a log all night. How strange.’

I could find no words. If she hadn’t been moving things around, and from what Kenny had said, nothing appeared to have been disturbed, what the hell had been going on up there? I felt suddenly cold.

She stood over me anxiously. ‘You’ve gone as white as a sheet, my love. Do you think it could’ve been a bad dream …?’

I shook my head vigorously. ‘I was wide awake. All night. I don’t understand it.’

‘Maybe the noise could have carried from elsewhere?’ As she spoke, I could see she wasn’t convinced by the suggestion herself.

‘Or maybe I’m losing the plot,’ I muttered.

‘Sorry?’

‘I’ve no explanation for it. But I know what I heard.’

She smiled – patronisingly, I thought. ‘The mind can play tricks on us, especially at night. Every little creak can seem like something sinister. But if the noise starts again, you must come and knock on my door – or ask your Jack to go up there and have a look. Did it wake him too?’

‘Nothing wakes Jack. He could sleep through a hurricane.’

‘Ah.’ She inclined her head slowly, her mouth twitching.

I was beginning to feel annoyed. I suspected she didn’t believe that I had actually heard anything; that I was exaggerating. I resolved that I might do just that if it happened again – knock on her door, to prove I wasn’t imagining things.

‘If you’ll excuse me, Mrs Barley, I don’t want to be rude, but I really need to try and catch up on some sleep. I’ve got some work to do and I can’t concentrate when I’m feeling like this.’

‘Of course. I’ll leave this pie in the kitchen – I daresay you might fancy some later. I’m sure Jack will, too. What is it you have to do – maybe I could help?’

‘That’s very kind, but it’s nothing anyone else can do for me, I’m afraid. I’m doing some research for an article I’m writing – about Avoncote, actually.’ I nodded towards my laptop, still open on the table. ‘It’s for a magazine. About local history and folklore.’