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The footsteps kept coming up the staircase, creeping… then stopping. Creeping… then stopping. Sick with fear, I realized I had two options. To stay hidden under the bed and hope he didn't find me, or scramble out now, break the window, and scream into the street. Break glass, Ant had said. People always came running, always phoned the police.

The door softly opened. Too late: he was in the room. There was a pause as he assessed the situation, and then his footsteps stole on. I put my fist in my mouth to stop myself screaming. I heard him first at the chest of drawers, scooping up the loose change Ant kept in a saucer. Then drawers opened softly, but didn't shut. Next I heard him at my dressing table, rustling in my jewellery box. Despite my terror I wondered how old he was. Was he on drugs? With a knife? I bit my fist, willing my body not to shake, to rustle and give me away. He came towards the bed. I could sense him standing there above me, breathing. I stared, wide-eyed into the darkness, nerves as taut as violin strings, ready to wriggle out backwards, spring up and keep the bed between us. Then, improbably, awfully, the mattress above me sagged heavily as the springs gave way. My eyes bulged in the darkness. He'd got in my bed. This was beyond my stunned intelligence. A tramp? A vagrant? I lay there, rigid with horror. Then he cleared his throat. I slowly took my fist out of my mouth.

‘Ant?’ I said, mostly under my breath.

‘Yes?’ came back a cautious response from above.

It still took me a moment. I scrambled out of there on my tummy like a crab, stumbled to my feet and darted to the light switch by the door. As I illuminated the room and swung about, we stared at one another in astonishment.

‘Where did you spring from?’ he gaped, sitting bolt upright in bed in his old Balliol T-shirt, clutching the duvet, looking about twelve.

‘Under the bed!’ I gasped.

‘Why?’

‘Because I thought you were a bloody burglar, that's why! What are you doing here, Ant?’

‘I live here!’

‘Yes, but you were coming back tomorrow.’ Fear had sucked the air from my lungs and I sounded like I'd inhaled a helium balloon. ‘I was about to break a window, couldn't reach the panic button – what were you doing in my jewellery box?’

‘I wasn't in your jewellery box, I was putting my watch down.’

‘Opening drawers, scooping up money—’

‘Putting my clothes away, putting down money – for God's sake, Evie!’

I stared at him in disbelief. ‘How did you get in?’

‘Through the door.’

‘But the window. I heard it—’

‘You left it open. I shut it.’

‘Why didn't you ring?’

‘Because it's the middle of the night. I didn't want to wake you.’

‘But you must have known I wasn't in bed!’

‘Only when I got in!’

‘Didn't you think it was a bit odd?’

‘Yes, but I assumed you were at the farm or something. I wasn't going to go looking for you. I've just driven a hundred and fifty miles, for heaven's sake!’

We stared at each other, temporarily mute. I came to first.

‘Oh, Ant…’ I flew to him. Threw my arms around his neck and he held me close. I could hear his heart doing gymnastics like mine. ‘I was so scared,’ I breathed in his ear. ‘So scared.’

‘I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry,’ he whispered back. ‘You scared the living daylights out of me too, as a matter of fact.’

We held on tight like that for a minute. Eventually I drew back; sat opposite him on the bed, still gripping his hands. My heart rate was coming down a bit.

‘Why are you here?’

‘Because when I got your terse little text, I suddenly realized what you might be thinking. I knew I had to come back. It hadn't occurred to me until then.’ I looked at him. My text. What had I said? Fine. Yes, a bit terse, but then I'd felt terse. He took my shoulders. Gave me a lopsided, intent look.

‘What's this about, Ant?’ I managed, as something familiar tightened inside me.

‘It's about Bella. But it's not what you're thinking.’ He shook my shoulders gently, a little reproof. Those eyes were kind. Full. But I still couldn't read them.

‘What is it then?’ I whispered.