No time to worry about Paddy Mac. Just grab a box, pack a box, take it out, chuck it in the car, go back for another one. That’s all I dare think about right now.

—

Heard a noise in the conservatory. But one look through the door says I’m not going in there.

Black tendrils, like the roots of an upside-down tree. It’s absolutely full of them in there, crammed floor to ceiling, all waving in the air.

Something’s going to happen soon. And I don’t want to be here when it does.

—

I still haven’t finished in Aunt Kat’s study. So much stuff still in here!

No time to do any kind of pick and choose – just throw it all in the box and get it out of here. I’ll sort it out later.

—

They’re outside, too. Those tree-root tendrils or whatever they are. All round the house now. Thickets of them.

Like the whole place is on alert. On the defensive.

—

I’m running out of boxes. Just tip it out on the back seat of the car, empty, go back and get some more. Use the box like a shovel if I have to. Running out of time!