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'Jonas?' she said cautiously.

'Shut up! You'll wake him!'

Lucy swayed in disbelief. The voice was not Jonas's. It was rougher and older, and his face had changed. Lucy sought the softness in Jonas's eyes and found only black nothingness.

'Who's there?' she whispered.

'None of your business,' he snapped.

'Who will I wake up?'

'The boy. We let him sleep.'

'Who's we?'

'Me and Jonas. Although he's been no fucking use. Won't do his job.'

Lucy caught her breath.

Do your job, crybaby.

'What's Jonas's job?'

'Protecting the boy, of course. That's always been his job. He's the protector.'

'And who are you?'

There was a long pause.

'I am the killer.'

Something in Lucy hoped she might be dreaming, but the cold and the smell of mouse droppings and the knife in her hands all felt very real to her. She made a huge effort to speak simply and gently so as not to provoke the person who was no longer her husband.

'Who is the boy?'

'The boy is us. He's who we used to be.'

'What do you need to protect him from?'

Silence.

'How can Jonas protect the boy?'

The man who wasn't Jonas shrugged, but looked sly. He knew.

'Why does the boy need protection? What happened to him?'

'Shut up!' The man who was not her husband put an angry foot up on to the floor of the attic. 'You'll wake him!'

Lucy spoke quickly and gently, trying to talk her way past the killer to reach Jonas. 'Was it something to do with the fire, Jonas? What happened to you and Danny up at the farm? Did somebody hurt you, sweetheart? Did somebody--'

'Don't! Please don't!'

Huge tears welled in Jonas's eyes and his face instantly relaxed into something so young and vulnerable that Lucy gasped. That little boy who'd been at her hospital bedside was suddenly standing here in her attic as if by magic.

'Jonas?' she whispered.

The boy/man shook his head and pushed his tears away with the heel of a rough hand. 'Please don't talk about it. Please don't make me say.' Then he covered his face with his hands and his young voice was muffled. 'Where is this? I don't want to be here. Don't make me be here.'

It broke her heart. She actually felt a pain, as if that tender organ was being torn in two, and she put a hand to her breast, knotting the blue sweater in her fist.

'Jonas,' she whispered, her voice hoarse with emotion.

Jonas slowly took his hands from his face and looked at her, and Lucy gave a huge sob of relief to see her husband standing there once more.

'I wouldn't hurt anyone, Lu. You know that!'

It was as if the last two minutes had never happened. No killer with his cold, dead eyes, no boy-Jonas tortured by the memory of something so terrible that it had split him apart. Those fragments of the whole lived separate lives - the boy sleeping, Jonas protecting him, the killer dormant until the stress that she had caused threatened to reawaken the horror he'd already lived once. If something had gone wrong with that delicate balance, the only person to blame was herself. She had been the tipping point.

Lucy burned with shame and selfishness.

With one self-obsessed handful of pills, she had made Jonas start to fall apart.

Despite the shock of the truth, Lucy felt a sudden surge of pride in Jonas. There was one thing he had done supremely well: he had protected the boy within him like a tigress does a cub. He had become a protector both personally and professionally; his whole life - conscious and subconscious - had been devoted to keeping that small child from having to face whatever it was that had been done to him.

She realized with a sharp pang that Jonas had been more of a parent than she would ever be. He had worked so hard and done so well. The boy had grown up into a good man, had got a good job and had loved her like no other. He had suffered setbacks and sadness and nothing had broken him.

Until she had tried to kill herself.

And now she understood everything.

Tears started to blur her vision.

'I know you love me, Jonas.'

'Of course I love you!'

'But protecting me is making you hurt