My eyelids flicker open. I sit upright in bed, forcing my eyes to stay open. Where am I? I reach out for a light switch on the wall, running my hand across the smooth surface, but feel nothing. Shit. I pull off my bed covers, flinching as I knock into the bedside cabinet. What’s the time? I think I must’ve fallen to sleep pretty quickly, but I’ve no idea for how long. I pick up my phone, the light from the screen momentarily making my eyes squint. It’s just gone three a.m. outside its still pitch black. The moon’s disappeared behind a cloud. I switch on the torch on my phone and the room brightens around me with a silver glow. Then I remember coming to the house, Oliver and Jeremiah greeting us. My beating heart begins to calm. I sometimes get like this the first night I go away anywhere; I wake up in the night and panic when I don’t recognise where I am.

‘Callum,’ I hiss.

I was certain I’d heard something. Movement. The sound of a door clicking into place, I’m sure of it. I shine the light from my phone onto the spare bed. I edge closer towards it. There’s an imprint in the sheets, like someone’s . . . like someone’s been sitting on it. My blood freezes. Was someone in here, watching me while I slept? I don’t want to move. My heart thuds against my chest. Someone was in here, watching me.

Forcing my legs to move, I dive towards the door, yank it open, and shine the light from my phone down the corridor, expecting to find someone standing at the very end. The corridor’s empty. Every door along the corridor is shut. Callum was told he could have the sofa downstairs to sleep on; he’ll be down there now. On tiptoes I begin to edge my way along the corridor. The sound of my heart gets louder and louder in my head. If someone finds me out here, what am I going to say to them? That I’m going to the toilet? That’s the easiest explanation.

I reach the top of the stairs and edge down, one step at a time. Keep going. Don’t look back. Keep going. I grip my phone tighter in my hand, clinging onto the precious light I have, as though any moment it might flicker out and plunge me into darkness. I reach the bottom. The door to the living room area, where we had dinner, is ahead of me. I dart over to it, reach for the door handle. It’s locked. No, no, no, no. I rattle it again, but it doesn’t budge. This can't be happening. 

‘Callum,’ I say, keeping as quiet as I can, knocking gently on the door.

There’s no sound of movement. I call his number; it goes straight through to voicemail. Perhaps his phone’s run out of battery. He doesn’t normally switch it off when he goes to bed; there are some evenings at home when I’m still chatting to him on text gone midnight.

Why is the door locked? I switch my gaze to the front door to my left. I hurry over to it and curse when I find it’s locked too. It’s like the walls are beginning to press in on me. There’s a window to the right hand side of the door. I peer out of it. Callum’s car is still parked outside. At least that’s something. I spin around. Further down the corridor, at the other end is the kitchen. The door’s ajar. There’s a light on inside. I race over to it and push it open. My heart stops.

Oliver’s sitting at the table, wearing a purple dressing gown, his hands clasped around a mug. The scent of hot chocolate reaches me. Around him the kitchen is spotless; all the plates that had been left in here after dinner earlier have been cleaned and tidied away. He glances across at me. He doesn’t look surprised to see me.

‘Danielle would you like to join me?’ he asks, gesturing to the seat opposite.