‘Dom!’ I yell. ‘Dom, come quickly!

‘What is it?’ He switches on the light and stares at me, bemused.

‘Where’s Daisy?’ I ask, on the verge of panic. ‘Why isn’t she in her basket?’ I see that our bedroom window is open and I suddenly remember the trampled flowers in the front garden. My skin goes cold.

‘It’s okay, Kirstie.’ Putting his fingers to his lips, he leads me into Daisy’s room and over to the cot where our daughter lies on her back, fast asleep.

As I stare down at my baby, relief swamps me. My hands tremble as I reach down to stroke her hair, marvelling that she really is here. That she’s safe. That my fear was unfounded.

‘I moved her back into her own room,’ Dominic quietly explains. ‘I thought it would be best.’

‘For a minute, I thought… I thought…’

‘I’m sorry,’ Dom whispers. ‘I should’ve told you. I didn’t think.’

‘It’s okay.’ I push my fingertips into my forehead, and take deep, steadying breaths. ‘But I heard her screaming. When I was outside, she was yelling so loudly. I thought she must be hungry.’

‘She’s fine,’ Dom says. ‘Good as gold. No tears all evening.’ He puts his arms around me and brings me close to his chest. ‘I’m sorry, Kirst. I can’t imagine how you must have felt seeing the empty basket.’

‘It’s not your fault,’ I say. ‘I’m sorry I panicked.’

‘It’s fine, don’t worry about it.’

I lean back and stare at him, trying to discern his expression, but I can’t see him clearly in the gloom. ‘If it wasn’t Daisy screaming, then whose baby did I hear?’

‘It was probably just foxes,’ Dom says.

‘It wasn’t foxes. I know the difference between foxes and babies.’

Dominic sighs. ‘The main thing is that Daisy’s safe.’

‘Yes,’ I say. ‘Yes, you’re right. She’s safe. She’s here. But there is something strange going on.’

‘Strange?’

‘Someone trampled all the flowers in our garden.’

‘What are you talking about?’ Dom frowns.

I lead him out of Daisy’s room and down the stairs.

‘Kirstie?’

I open the front door and walk across to the decimated flower bed. Dom follows behind and I point at the mess of earth and leaves, breathing in the heavy scent of crushed flower petals.

‘Who did that?’ he asks.

I shrug. ‘It was like this when I got home.’

‘Must be kids,’ he says. ‘Little shits.’

‘It looks deliberate, though.’ I wrap my arms around myself. ‘Why would kids walk down our drive and do something so horrible?’

‘Could it be one of your pupils?’ Dom asks. ‘Maybe you gave them a low mark or something, and they thought they’d get back at you by doing this.’

I give a small shiver and Dom puts an arm around me. ‘Come on,’ he says, ‘let’s go back in. Whoever did it is an idiot, but I doubt they’ll be back.’

I let myself be guided back inside the house, still disquieted by the flower bed, but also haunted by the ghost of that screaming baby I heard earlier. I briefly wonder if I could have been hearing things. Could it have been foxes like Dom said? No. Definitely not. Maybe there is another baby nearby? But our road is isolated. And there are no other babies on this street. These thoughts circle my brain as I check that the front door is locked properly. I don’t want to think about all this now. I’m suddenly exhausted. All I know is that Daisy is okay. She’s upstairs in her cot and I won’t be leaving her side tonight. Though I know she’s safe, the nagging suspicion that someone is trying to take her won’t leave me alone. And the thought I’m losing my mind keeps growing.

I bring Daisy into bed with me. She’s hungry and contented as she lies in my arms, her fingers stroking my face as she feeds. My earlier panic is finally receding. There’s no way Daisy will be sleeping in her own room tonight and Dominic knows better than to try and persuade me. He comes into our bedroom.

‘I’m so sorry about before, Dom. About overreacting like that when I thought Daisy was crying, and then when I thought she was missing.’

‘Don’t worry. It’s fine.’

‘It’s not fine. I completely panicked. This whole baby-monitor thing yesterday, it spooked me. I’m a nervous wreck.’

‘Forget it.’ He shakes his head and gives me a small smile.

‘I’m sorry,’ I repeat.

‘You were worried, that’s all. Let’s get some sleep. Things will seem better in the morning.’ He yawns and scratches the back of his head.

‘I don’t know how I’m ever going to sleep tonight.’

‘Look, the main thing is that we’re all okay. You’re fine, I’m fine, Daisy’s fine, so let’s just forget about it, okay?’

‘Okay.’

But it’s not okay. Everything is off-balance.

Once Daisy has finished feeding, I wind her and change her nappy, chatting to her and dropping kisses onto the soft skin of her shoulders and cheeks. The thought of anyone trying to snatch her makes me ill with anxiety. I try to push the thoughts out of my head. To clear my mind of troublesome thoughts. I lay my daughter down in the Moses basket and climb back into bed.

‘Anyway, how was your evening?’ Dominic asks, getting in beside me.

‘My evening?’

‘Yeah, your evening with Mel and the girls, how was it?’

I’d almost forgotten about my night out. ‘It was good,’ I murmur.

‘Who was there?’

‘The usual. You know.’ I think about Tamsin Price’s sneering face, but I don’t mention her name to Dom. It took the two of us long enough to get over that particular episode. The last thing I want is to dredge it all up again.

‘Mel behave herself?’

‘Ha. She pulled a twelve-year-old waiter.’

‘No!’

‘Yep. Honestly, I don’t reckon he could’ve been more than nineteen.’

‘That girl,’ he says through a yawn. ‘Tell me all the gory details tomorrow. Can’t keep my eyes open any longer.’

Dom falls asleep almost instantly. Once his breathing deepens, I slip out of bed to check that all the doors and windows in the house are closed and locked. Reluctantly, I decide to leave the windows in our room open, as I know Dom will wake up if he gets too hot. Eventually, I return to bed and fall asleep, but when I wake a short while later, in the early hours of the morning, I feel the urge to check the house again. I can’t help myself. It’s like an itch I have to scratch. A compulsion.

As I’m checking the back doors I hear a dull bump outside. I catch my breath and peer into the garden. There’s nothing but blackness. No movement. The rational side of my brain says that this is nothing more than a cat jumping from the fence onto the shed roof, a sound I’ve heard a million times before. But I don’t think I am in my rational mind. What if it’s them lurking around outside, checking our defences?

I picture the door handles moving up and down as though someone is testing the locks. In reality, the handles are unmoving, but I can’t shake the image of a person pulling at them, trying to get in. My heart thumps and I think about grabbing a knife from the kitchen drawer for protection. But that’s ridiculous. There’s no one out there – I saw as much with my own eyes. I need to stop this. I need to go back to bed.

But as I plod back up the stairs with the image of the moving door handles lodged in my brain, I realise there will be no sleep for me tonight.

---

My brain is still wired as the sky begins to lighten. Dominic and Daisy are sleeping, safe and sound. I rub at my eyes, noting that the clock reads 6.25 a.m. I think this is the longest she’s slept through without a feed. Finally, I allow my eyes to close, my body to relax.

Through a fog of sleep, I hear the beeps of Dominic’s alarm. It’s easy to ignore. I curl my legs up into my body and sink deeper into the mattress. But almost as soon as sleep takes me again, Daisy’s cry cuts into my consciousness. I can’t block her out. She needs me.

‘I’ll change her,’ Dom whispers in my ear. ‘Sleep a while longer.’

I give a murmur of thanks and relax once more.

Too soon, Dominic is back in the room, Daisy fussing in his arms. I know she’s hungry. I prop myself up in bed and Dom passes her to me. As she feeds, I close my eyes again and try to doze. My mouth tastes sour and my head is fuzzy. It must be the lack of sleep.

Memories of last night return – not my night out with friends, but what happened when I got home: discovering the trampled flowerbeds, shouting at Dominic, frantically checking the locks, viewing my distorted reflection in the bifold doors and the darkness beyond, imagining the door handles moving. It seems crazy that I let myself get carried away like that, allowing myself to imagine such terrible scenarios. I’m not that person. I’m Kirstie Rawlings, wife, mother, teacher, always calm and rational, happy. I push the disturbing images away as though they are an unwelcome nightmare, not an actual memory. Last night was an aberration. I won’t let it happen again. I’ll catch up on my sleep and get back to my normal self.

‘I’m going now, Kirst.’

I force open my eyes and give my husband what I hope is a nice, wifely smile. ‘Have a good day.’

‘It’s Friday, so I should be home a bit earlier tonight. Shall I pick up some ready meals from M&S?’

‘Sounds good. Thanks.’

‘Any preference?’

‘You choose.’

‘Okay. See you later.’ I manage to stop myself from begging him to stay home today. It wouldn’t be fair. He’d only worry. But as I listen to his disappearing footsteps followed by the bang of the front door and the car starting up, it’s all I can do to stop myself running after him. As the sound of his car engine recedes, the newly familiar hollow lump of dread takes up residence behind my sternum. A crushing anxiety that I have no idea how to dispel.

I should sleep. If I’m not awake, these thoughts can’t plague me.

Once I’ve finished feeding Daisy, I take her with me to the bathroom while I clean my teeth and swallow down two paracetamol. She’s quite content, so I place her back in her basket and climb back into bed. Almost as soon as I let myself drift, I’m dragged awake by the juddering roar of a pneumatic drill and the whine of some kind of electric saw. The builders at number six must be out in force.

It’s okay, I tell myself, I can tune it out. I’m sure I can. But instead of fading into background noise, each sound seems to grow louder and sharper – the blaring radio, the raucous shouted instructions, the beeping of a reversing truck… Anger builds in my gut. I grind my teeth and ball my fists. This disruption has been going on all summer and I’ve had enough. Surely they can give it a rest for one morning. Surely.

I fling the sheets back and stomp around the bedroom, throwing on a sundress and dragging my fingers through my tangled black curls. Daisy is cooing contentedly in her cot, not at all bothered by the racket outside.

‘Come on, little one,’ I say, picking her up, eliciting a wide grin, ‘let’s go and tell those naughty builders to shut up. They’re doing Mummy’s head in.’

Downstairs, I open the front door and screw up my eyes against the sun. What will I say to the builders? Will they become angry? Abusive, even? But my craving for silence overrides my nerves. I’ll draw on my teaching experience and pretend they’re a bunch of unruly teenagers.

I’m about to step outside when I see a puddle of something white beneath my raised foot. It has oozed down the front step and onto the path, gloopy tentacles splayed out in all directions. What the hell? I teeter in the doorframe for a moment before bringing my foot back inside. A second later I register the unmistakable stink of paint. My heart begins to thump uncomfortably. Why is there spilt paint on my doorstep? I take a giant stride over the puddle and glance left and right in case whoever did it is still hanging around. I can’t see anyone. I can’t believe this! First the flower bed and now paint everywhere. What is going on?