Jack went into work right before lunch. I didn’t have the energy to even take a shower or get dressed. Half-heartedly, I sat myself at the table to resume work on my feature. I wanted to focus more on the mundane and less on folklore or anything remotely away from the norm, not wishing to dwell further on the more sinister aspects of Avoncote’s past. I opened the document and stared in horror at the screen. Beyond the title page, it was blank. Frantically I scrolled through, but there was nothing there. Completely empty. What the hell had happened? I knew I’d saved it. In desperation I went through all my files, but it had definitely gone. Weeks of work, for nothing. Stupidly I hadn’t even backed it up – maybe I’d been lucky in the past, but this had never happened to me before. I could have cried.

A sudden yell from outside made me look up with a jolt. Kenny was running down the path as though the hounds of hell were after him. I went outside to see what was happening, in time to see him accosting Bob, who was just about to come through Mrs Barley’s back gate. The poor man looked mystified and ruffled as Kenny held him firmly by the arm, like someone making a citizen’s arrest. I hurriedly made my way down the garden.

‘This the bugger who keeps loitering?’ Kenny turned to look at me, his eyes flashing with anger, and I was worried he might actually hit Bob.

‘No, no. This is Bob, Mrs Barley’s gardener.’

Kenny released his grip, his face relaxing as he examined Bob more closely. ‘Sorry, mate. I didn’t get a proper look at you – thought I’d better grab first and ask questions later. Stina says there’s been some dodgy bloke hanging around – can’t be too careful, eh?’

Flustered, Bob rearranged his overalls, trying to muster some composure.

‘No, but you could’ve asked first.’

‘I’ll buy you a pint when you’ve finished up here. No hard feelings, eh?’

Bob grinned good-naturedly. ‘No, I suppose not. And you can throw in a whisky chaser for good measure.’

Kenny looked sheepish. He shook Bob by the hand and went back to the scaffolding.

Mrs Barley appeared, disturbed by the activity.

‘What’s going on?’

Bob was wheeling his lawnmower through the gate. ‘Case of mistaken identity, Mrs B. Nothing for you to worry about.’

I turned to her. ‘We have squirrels, apparently. Jack went up into the loft after I heard more noises last night.’

She clapped a hand to her mouth in exaggerated alarm. ‘Oh, dear. At least he’s found out what was making the racket that kept you up, then. Mystery solved!’

After returning from the hospital, I had changed my clothes, but blood oozing through the dressing on my leg was evident. The old woman peered at me over the fence.