Her eyes fly open, her heart thudding under the weight of the doona.
The room is middle-of-the-night dark. A noise woke her up. The click of a door. Dream or real? She strains to hear. Silence, except for her own panicked breathing.
She swings her legs out of bed to check on Tilly. She is used to making this journey in the dark; turning on lights would make it easier to navigate but harder to fall back asleep afterwards. Her eyes adjust, the carpet cushioning her footsteps across the landing. The house is warm after the hot March day, with heavy rain forecast for later in the week.
The rain is badly needed but Beth isn’t looking forward to it. There’s a leak in the garage roof that strikes with the same unpredictability as her ex.
Tilly is lying on her side, the sheets kicked off, her lava lamp bathing the room with a pink hue. She’s snoring softly, her hair in its usual tangle, and Beth is overcome with a rush of love. Seven years old. Enjoy this age, other mums have told her. They’re fairly independent but still need you; still playing and riding their bikes, instead of being glued to their phones and social media. Beth is enjoying it, when she’s not stressing about making ends meet, or worrying about Kane.
She backs out of Tilly’s room, leaving the door ajar, which her daughter insists upon. She is almost back to her own bedroom when she stops short. Another faint sound from downstairs. The roll of a drawer being opened? Someone is down there.
Beth knows what to do, she has practised for this, but that doesn’t make it any less terrifying. What is less than a four-metre walk feels like four kilometres; she waits between each step to regain her balance and listen for further sounds. The bedside table is nothing more than a black shadow. Her hand feels around its surface, cautious not to knock the glass of water or the photo-frame, before closing in on the familiar shape of the alarm fob. Now step by careful step back to Tilly’s bedroom, closing the door as softly as she can, locking it from the inside.
Beth sits on the bed and takes Tilly’s small hand in hers; her daughter is going to be petrified when she wakes up. Beth braces herself, steadies her own shaking hands, before pressing down hard on the red button.
The wail of the alarm splits the night apart…
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