Now.

A crash jolts me awake. Broken floorboard lifting and smacking against its solid joist. The slap of bare feet on old, wooden stairs. Rising.

Over and over, that song. High pitched. Piercing. Face into pillow, I cover my ears but it grows louder with each step, sneaking between my fingers, relentless. I turn on the lamp. Try to wake up, turn over, force the haze from my vision but still it saturates the air. Still it takes its hold.

She drifts through the doorway, as she does each morning. That tiny frame, cradling her tear-soaked teddy in pale arms, fingernails bitten to the quick.

‘I had a nightmare,’ she says. ‘Can I sleep in here?’

I slap myself on the cheek, shake my head from side to side. Bite down hard on my knuckles. Knock...

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