music, turned off abruptly; and finally voices, muffled and indecipherable human voices.
‘Who is it?’
‘How the fuck do I know?’ Mark reached for the light switch.
‘Don’t turn that on!’
‘Why not?’
‘Because they’ll know we’re here!’ I slammed the window closed, pulled the shutters together. Mark didn’t even bother to answer, but he left the light off. He sat on the edge of the bed, pulling on his jumper and jeans over his pyjamas.
‘What are you doing?’ I didn’t know why we were whispering.
‘I’m going out there!’
‘Don’t be ridiculous! You don’t know anything about who it is. They might be dangerous. There’s obviously quite a few of them and there’s only two of us!’ I sat beside him. ‘Please, Mark. Unless we call the police – why don’t we call the police?’
The breath sagged out of him, he put his head between his hands. ‘I don’t know. I can’t think in the dark,’ he said. ‘What’s the time?’
I fumbled for my mobile. The illuminated screen said 12.43; my hand looked luminous under the glare. ‘What difference does that make?’
Mark’s idea was to wait until first light and then he would go up there and see what was going on. ‘They don’t seem to want to rape and pillage straight away,’ he said.
Part of me was relieved that we weren’t joining battle with this unknown enemy in the middle of the night; the other half of me knew that it was going to be a very, very long time until dawn.
2.11 a.m. 2.56 a.m. 3.42 a.m. 4.29 a.m.
‘Ruth, where’s the phone? For Christ’s sake, where’s the bloody phone?’
Under the duvet, that’s where it was, my hand wrapped around it, warm and safe like a new baby checked on the hour, every hour. I must have finally fallen asleep, but here was Mark, in the bedroom in his coat, yelling at me, clumps of mud falling on the floorboards, it didn’t make sense. And then I remembered the night visitors.
I sat up in bed. ‘Oh God, have you been up there? Who are they?’
‘I need to phone the police!’ He chucked the pile of books from the bedside table onto the floor, turned over the heap of clothes on the chair. ‘Bloody travellers, it’s travellers parked up beyond the drive, against the hedge up there. It must have been them in the night, breaking in!’
‘Travellers? What sort of travellers? How many?’
My heart gathered pace – fear of these travellers, fear of Mark, fear for Mark. His voice was rising, ‘Where’s the phone?’ He turned back to me. ‘Travellers, about a dozen, I don’t know what sort, I didn’t stop for coffee and a chat.’
‘How did they get in?’ I began.
Mark interrupted. ‘God knows! I didn’t think it was possible. I haven’t checked.’
‘Didn’t you ask them?’
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