I wake with a gasp and a start, the memory of last night’s phone call lodged in my brain like a poisonous thorn. Daisy is fussing in her cot, so I sit up and open my tired eyes, the brightness of the room in direct contrast with my grey mood. I stretch out the kinks in my neck caused by lying on this godawful futon. My jaw is just as tense as my neck. My teeth must have been clamped together while I slept. I yawn and wince as my jaw gives a series of dull clicks.

A different memory assaults me. Last night’s caller used the phrase ‘stop poking your nose in’. That’s the exact same phrase Martin used this weekend when he told me about Dom spending time over at the Cliffords. He said something like ‘I don’t want to poke my nose in’. That has to be more than a coincidence, surely. It’s not that common a saying.

I get up and take two steps over to the cot to say good morning to my daughter, who gives a wide smile at the sight of my face. I pick her up and take her over to the changing table, trying to lie her down on the padded surface, but Daisy’s not having any of it. She clings on tight like a koala. She wants a cuddle. I give up for the moment and bring her back to my chest, smiling as she looks up at me and grabs at my nose. My days should be spent revelling in the joy of my daughter, not worrying about evil people trying to snatch her. I’ve only got a couple more months until I have to return to work. How can I go back to work when Daisy’s life may be in danger?

‘Morning, Kirst.’ Dom pokes his head around Daisy’s bedroom door. ‘Sleep okay?’

‘On and off,’ I reply. ‘Mostly off.’

‘How you feeling?’ He comes in and plants a toothpaste kiss on my lips, and another on Daisy’s head. Then he pings one of my curls to try and get me to lighten up.

‘Still a bit weirded out,’ I say. ‘I’m not looking forward to turning my phone on this morning in case there’s another missed call, or a message.’

‘I’ll check for you,’ he says. ‘Where is it?’

‘Charging in the kitchen.’

‘Usual pin code?’

‘Yeah. Dom…’

‘What?’

I tell him about Martin using the same phrase that was used by the caller last night. ‘What do you think?’ I ask. ‘Should I tell the police about it?’

Dom frowns. ‘To be honest, I don’t think you should be making any more accusations without evidence.’

‘But it’s pretty coincidental, don’t you think?’

‘Yeah. But that’s all it is, Kirst – a coincidence.’

‘You don’t believe me, do you?’ Tears prick behind my eyes.

‘When have I ever said I don’t believe you?’

I take a breath. ‘Sorry, just woken up. Bit grumpy and all over the place.’

‘That’s okay. Look, do you want me to stay home with you today?’

I would love nothing more than for Dominic to stay with me. I’m craving his company, the comfort of his words, his arms, his support. ‘You need to be at work though, don’t you? Show them that you’re committed in case of redundancies.’

‘One day shouldn’t hurt.’ But he looks nervous, like one day will hurt.

‘How about if you knock off a bit early instead?’ I suggest.

‘Are you sure? I can stay home if you need me.’

‘I’m sure.’ But I go and ruin it all by allowing a tear to slide down my face.

Dom peels Daisy from my arms and places her back in her cot. ‘You’re not okay, are you?’ he says. ‘How much sleep did you actually get last night?’

‘Not sure.’ I sniff. ‘Maybe an hour or two.’

‘Two hours? That’s nowhere near enough. No wonder you’re tired and tearful. Go back to bed – our bed – and I’ll bring you up some breakfast.’

‘But what about work?’

‘I’ve got time to make you breakfast. Then you can go back to sleep for a bit.’

‘I’m not sure if I’ll have the chance to sleep,’ I say. ‘I have to change and feed Daisy, and she won’t be ready for another nap for ages. I’ll have to play with her to tire her out.’ More tears slip down my cheeks and I feel like a useless, soggy mess. I sink cross-legged to the floor and put my head in my hands.

‘Kirstie?’ Dom’s voice sounds anxious. Probably because I don’t normally cry about stuff. Even when I miscarried, I didn’t really cry. I was quiet, sad, angry, but rarely tearful.

‘I’ll be okay in a minute,’ I murmur, a sob catching in my throat.

‘I’m calling the doctor. You’re exhausted. Stressed.’

‘I don’t need a doctor.’ I try to sniff back my tears. ‘I’m just tired. I’ll be fine.’ But I’m not fine. I’m a shuddering wreck.

‘Kirstie.’ He crouches down in front of me. ‘I’m going to make you a doctor’s appointment, okay? If I call the surgery as soon as they open, I’ll probably be able get you an appointment for today. You can tell them that you’re not sleeping and that you’re anxious.’

‘Don’t forget paranoid and deluded,’ I add.

He tuts. ‘I don’t think that at all. Maybe she’ll give you something to help you sleep, then you won’t feel so bad during the day.’

‘Do you really think I need to see a doctor?’

‘I don’t think it can hurt.’

‘What if I don’t want to go?’ I get to my feet once more and glare out of the bedroom window, not seeing anything.

‘Well, obviously you don’t have to go.’ Dom comes and stands by my side. ‘But honestly, Kirst, I don’t know how much more of this I can take.’

I whip around to face him. ‘You don’t know how much you can…’ I trail off and shake my head.

‘Sorry, that came out wrong,’ he says, hunching his shoulders. ‘I just meant we’re both under a lot of strain with everything. And you have to admit, you haven’t been acting like yourself these past few days.’

‘That’s because there’s someone out there who’s… Oh, forget it.’

‘No,’ he says. ‘Someone out there who’s what?’

‘Trying to take Daisy,’ I whisper.

‘Do you really believe that, Kirstie?’

‘Um, let’s see: the baby monitor, the flower bed, the spilt paint, the person out in the fields at night, your car being keyed, Martin’s basement, that threatening phone call… Isn’t that enough to make any parent worried for their child?’

‘I’ll admit, the phone call was odd. But honestly the other things could just be kids mucking around, or coincidences. And the fact is, Kirst, no one has actually tried to take Daisy.’

‘Fine,’ I snap, fed up with trying to justify myself. ‘Whatever. I’ll go.’

‘You’ll go? To the doctor’s? Today?’ I hear the lift in his voice and it makes me want to scream.

‘I just said I would, didn’t I?’

He puts an arm around me and kisses the side of my head as I grit my teeth. It’s all I can do not to push him away. I’m starting to feel like I don’t know my husband any more.

---

‘Hello, Mrs Rawlings,’ Dr Sloane says. ‘Please take a seat.’

I do as she asks and sit on the plastic chair opposite her own, a faint smell of disinfectant in the air. The room has been arranged so that there is no barrier between us. Instead, the cherry-wood veneer desk is pushed up against the wall beside her.

‘How are you today?’ she asks.

‘I’m okay,’ I say automatically, before correcting myself. ‘Actually, no, I’m not okay, but I don’t think it’s anything you can help me with.’ I bite my lip trying to stop myself from crying. What the hell is wrong with me?

‘What’s the problem?’ she gives an encouraging smile, her tired brown eyes filled with compassion, something I didn’t expect.

‘I’ve been having trouble sleeping,’ I say, my hands resting in my lap.

‘Your daughter is six months old, right? Is she keeping you up at night?’

I glance across at Daisy, who is currently asleep in her pram by my side. ‘No, she’s good as gold – sleeps through till five thirty most nights. Then goes straight back down for another few hours.’

‘That’s good to hear. So what else is keeping you awake, do you think?’

I consider the question, trying to work out how to explain the turmoil in my brain. ‘Recently, I always seem to be worrying about everything. My mind won’t switch off at night or even during the day.’

‘And what are you worried about?’

I tell her about the voices I heard in the monitor, about the flower bed and the spilt paint, and also about the threatening phone call. ‘And ever since I heard those voices, I’m scared that whoever it was might come back and snatch Daisy.’ I don’t mention Martin and his basement – it sounds too ‘out there’. I don’t want to give her any reason to doubt my sanity. I just need help sleeping at night. ‘So, you see, it’s not really a medical issue. It’s more that I’m worrying about the safety of my child.’

‘I see.’ Dr Sloane leans over to her desk and begins tapping at her computer keyboard. ‘It sounds like you’ve had a few quite traumatic experiences.’

‘And I seem to be on the verge of crying all the time. It’s not like me,’ I add.

‘Anything else out of the ordinary?’

‘I’ve lost my appetite.’

‘Okay.’ She carries on typing.

‘I also… I also think I might have a bit of OCD,’ I blurt out, surprising myself that I’ve actually admitted to my compulsive checking. I think deep down I knew what it was, but I hadn’t said the word out loud until now.

‘Obsessive compulsive disorder?’ She stops typing for a moment and turns back to face me. ‘What makes you think you have that?’

‘I keep checking the locks on the doors and windows. To make sure no one can get in the house. But even after I’ve checked them, I worry that I’ve missed one, and so I have to start checking them all over again. I feel itchy and antsy if I can’t check them again.’ An image of Martin pops into my head and I suppress a shudder.

‘I see. Kirstie – do you mind if I call you Kirstie?’

‘Sure, that’s fine.’

‘Have you had any difficulty bonding with Daisy at all?’ she asks.

I’m surprised by her question. ‘No.’ I shake my head. ‘Not at all. Quite the opposite. I had three miscarriages before having Daisy, so when she came along I could hardly believe it. I love my daughter so much. I’m terrified of anything happening to her.’ I glance over at the pram again. ‘Maybe that’s why I’m always checking the house is secure. Maybe it’s not OCD. Maybe it’s just me being over-protective.’

‘You said you heard voices in the baby monitor,’ Dr Sloane says. ‘Was that an isolated incident, or have you heard any other voices?’

‘I’m not crazy, if that’s what you think.’ I give a nervous laugh. ‘I googled it and apparently it’s pretty common for older monitors to pick up other signals.’

‘I wasn’t suggesting you were crazy,’ Dr Sloane says with a smile. ‘We just have to rule these things out. Hearing things can be indicative of certain conditions.’

Yeah, it can be indicative of being crazy.

A car pulls up outside the doctor’s window and a nurse gets out. She calls to someone out of my view and waves to them, a beaming smile across her face. She looks so young and happy and carefree that I experience an unexpected pang of envy.

‘What about friends and family?’ Dr Sloane asks. ‘Do you have support at home?’

‘I’ve got my husband.’ Well, I’ve got him when he’s actually at home and not flying out the door to go training every spare moment. ‘He was the one who suggested I come and see you today. But he does work long hours. He’s training for this triathlon at the moment so he’s out most weekends…’

She purses her lips. ‘Do you have any other supportive family close by? Parents? Siblings?’

‘Yeah. My mum and dad live in Wimborne – they’re always happy to help out.’ Unless they’ve got their friends round for lunch. But I know that’s not fair. They’d be round like a shot it they were free. I don’t call on them as much as I should. And I’ve barely spoken to them since all this baby-monitor business started.

‘It sounds to me like you’re an overtired mum who’s had a lot on her plate recently,’ she says.

I breathe a sigh of relief. ‘That’s exactly what I told my husband.’

‘Don’t worry,’ she says with a reassuring smile. ‘Fatigue and anxiousness is all part and parcel of being a new mum. And there’s a lot you can do to help combat it. Do you exercise at all?’

‘Um, not really.’

‘Well, as a minimum, I recommend going out for a brisk walk every day. Running would be better – something to release those endorphins. The exercise and fresh air will also help you sleep. Meditation is also good, along with a healthy diet and no alcohol, especially if you’re breastfeeding. It will take time, but if you follow my advice, things should gradually improve, you’ll see. Book in an appointment to see me again in a few weeks’ time. And there are some leaflets on the side about mother and baby groups, you might find going to one of those gives you some routine to your day.’ She gets to her feet to signal that our consultation is over. ‘So, remember: exercise, meditation, healthy eating and no alcohol. Make another appointment to see me in one month, and we’ll see how you’re getting on.’

---

At 5 p.m. I’m standing behind the sofa staring through the lounge window, waiting for Dom to get home. He said he would leave work at four thirty today, so surely he should be home by now. Daisy is upstairs napping. She’s likely to wake up any minute so I have an ear out, listening for her cry.

I went to the doctor’s like Dom asked, but I don’t feel any different at all. I’m still exhausted and worried, and I still have to keep checking the doors and windows. I keep in mind Dr Sloane’s advice, but I already feel as though my insides are cracking, like I can’t quite keep myself intact. I wonder if I should have asked her for some medication for my nerves.

My heart gives a little leap as I see Dom’s car pull into our road. I’m looking forward to telling him about my trip to the doctor. Telling him that there’s actually nothing wrong with me other than overtiredness. But instead of driving straight ahead towards our house, Dom veers away. Where is he off to? I turn away from the window and think about sneaking outside to see. Instead, I jog upstairs to look out of our bedroom window. I can get a good view of most of the cul-de-sac from up there. I have the uneasy feeling I might know where he’s going.