The phone kept ringing all through that long afternoon of videos and snacks. In the end, I stopped it for good by unplugging it at the wall.

When your bedtime finally came, I wrapped my arms round you, hoisted you high and carried you up the stairs in my arms.

‘Is Uncle Matt coming tonight?’

‘No, my love.’ My voice was tight.

You sensed that something was wrong but I didn’t know how to explain and you didn’t ask any more questions. In the bathroom, you perched, still and silent, on the linen basket as I ran a bubble bath for you. The cascade of running water shut out other noise. The rising steam in our small bathroom drew us together and hid us, kept us safe.

You sat, waist-deep in water, unnaturally withdrawn as I drew animals on your back with the bubbles, tried to make you laugh by tickling your toes.

When you were dry and warm in your pyjamas, smelling of lavender and argan oil, I drew the curtains on the outside world and let you climb into my bed, Mummy and Daddy’s big bed. We cuddled together there, the duvet tucked round us, reading as many stories as you wanted. Slowly, despite yourself, you started to yawn and your eyes grew heavy.

You fell asleep there, lying on your side, your arms clinging to your bear and my arm tucked safely round your waist. I put my face between your shoulder blades and tried to slow my heart to the soft rhythm of your breathing, to fill my senses with the smell of your skin, of your freshly washed body.

Later, I crept downstairs. The kitchen was full of shadows and I stood in the doorway, weary, letting my eyes adjust. Slowly, the shapes emerged. The kitchen table where Matt and I had so often sat together to eat. The worktop where he chopped and diced. The fridge. The silver gleam of the window over the sink.

I didn’t put the light on. I was frightened of the darkness but I was even more afraid of being seen. I thought of the photographs pinned to his wall and the way he’d spied on us, day and night. He hadn’t come across me by accident, that night in the hospital. I saw that now. He must have known about the accident soon after it happened. I imagined him tracking Ella at first, his ex, photographing her as crazily as he had me. Then extending his obsession to Richard, once they fell in love. And then to me and to you too, my love. He stalked us. He planned it all.

I opened a bottle of red wine and sat, curled in a corner of the settee in the darkness, cradling a glass. My body trembled.

I thought about Matt. About his focused pursuit right from the start. The chance meetings in the hospital, on the high street. I shivered. They looked different to me now, not accidental at all but deliberately engineered. The way he phoned me every evening to talk, turned up on my doorstep, invited or not, saying how desperately he missed me, promising to take care of me. Of the way he wouldn’t take no for an answer when I tried to cancel. The way he constantly hurried the pace. I love you so much, Jen. I don’t think I could live without you. We belong together. I’d do anything for you.

I’d seen it all as devotion, as proof of his love. I wanted to. I’d been so lonely. I let him into our lives. I trusted him.

I thought of him sitting in the darkness in your bedroom, silently watching you as you slept.

When I closed my eyes, I saw his poky bedroom with its tasteless beige, his mother stooping to pick up socks and underpants. The thought of it made me nauseous. I drank off the glass of wine and then another and finally the edges of the room started to blur. After a third glass, I buried my face in the cushion and sobbed.

I must have dozed. When I woke, I groped my way across the kitchen and filled a glass from the tap, drank it off. My hands trembled. I stood in the silence for a moment, trying to steady my nerves.

A sound. I stiffened, strained to hear. The low groan of our gate on its hinges, barely audible. A ting as it closed. Footsteps. A pause. Then the bang of the knocker on the door.

‘Jen! It’s me, Matt.’

I leaned against the sink, afraid to move.

Crash. The knocker again, slammed with force now.

‘Jen. I know you’re in there. Come on. We need to talk.’

I didn’t want to talk. I didn’t want to see him. I crept across the kitchen and into the hall, feeling my way in the darkness. I made it to the bottom of the stairs, and took hold of the banister.

The clatter of the letter box rang out. His voice came again, clear now. I imagined him sitting or kneeling on the doorstep, his mouth against the metal, speaking into the darkness. I shrank into the wall.

‘I know, Jen. I know how it looks. But let me in. I can explain.’

My breathing blew through the silence of the hall. He seemed to sense me there.

‘All I ever wanted was to take care of you. You and Gracie. Don’t you see? I love you so much. Come on, give me a break. Did I ever hurt you? Or Gracie? I would never do that.’

A pause. I held my breath, waiting.

‘Don’t do this. Let me in. We can sort this out. We can. We belong together. We’re a family now.’

He broke off. A strangled noise. A sob.

‘I love you, Jen! For God’s sake. Please. Give me a chance to explain.’

The letter box clattered shut, then, a moment later, opened again, even wider. I sensed his eyes there, peering into the house, into the shadows, reaching for me.

‘Come on, Jen. Open up. I know you’re there.’ His voice was thick. ‘I’m begging you. Don’t do this.’

I turned and ran up the stairs, climbed into bed beside you and drew the covers over us both, panting. I tightened my arms around you, your slight shoulders, your small body, pressed you to me and rocked.

You stirred, twisted onto your back, murmured: ‘Mummy?’

‘Hush, my love. Mummy’s here.’

I buried my face in your hair. Your neck tasted salty.

From down below, footsteps crunched on the gravel as he retreated down the path. Then, again, silence. I sensed him out there in the dark night, his hands in his pockets, looking up at the house, at our bedroom window, keeping watch as he had so many times before.

I lay stiffly against you. My body shook the mattress. Your small, warm feet pedalled my leg as you made sure of me, even in your sleep.

I stroked your hair and managed to whisper: ‘It’s alright, Gracie. It’s alright.’