He firmly locked the front door. Suzie screamed, followed by the rumble of the van’s engine and the crunch of the tyres on gravel as he drove away from the house. I snuggled under the duvet, relishing the silence that followed.

It had been a long mid-term, with the weather shifting between moods as wildly as we did.  Halloween night was spent dragging Suzie around the estate in her witch’s costume, both of us drenched to the skin, and I came home with the worst kind of sugar as my reward.

Don’t even try to look at that phone, I think — the moment I do, my peace will be ruined.

I lie on my side, claiming his half of the bed. The warmth of his body still lingers — but the snoring has stopped. I stretch out my toes, then curl them back again. My calves ache from the Sunday morning spin class. I must remember to drink tonic water; Dave, the new fitness instructor, had recommended it. Not a bad piece of gear, I think — though he’s only a kid.

The rain beats against the window. I picture Suzie causing a fuss at the playschool gate.

Not your concern — he’s on duty this morning; keep enjoying the silence, I think.

My neighbour shouts, “Get out of bed,” to her two teenage sons.

Oh no — that’s all still to come, I think, frowning.

I say aloud, “Go back to the silence.”

I begin practising mindful breathing.

In for two and out for five.

One, two — hold, then slowly I repeat one, two, three, four, five — out.

I start to relax, and my breathing deepens. With my eyes closed, I sink into the softness of the mattress beneath me. The noise in my mind fades until there is nothing left but silence. I feel like a weightless balloon, rising into the sky. My breath moves on its own — lungs contracting and expanding like a quiet machine. The silence and I become one. There is nothing to do.

The mobile rings.

I jolt and glance at the screen — it’s the playschool.

“Hi,” I answer, eyelids half-closed.

“Is that Mrs Smith, Suzie’s Mum?” a young voice asked.

“Yes,” I reply, eyes now fully open.

“Suzie just threw up, and we’ve checked her temperature —it’s on the high side,” the young voice continues. “It’s Lucy here at the crèche.”

“She was fine this morning,” I said, feeling a flush of guilt — I hadn’t been on duty.

“Are you able to come in and pick her up as soon as possible?” she asked. “It’s policy. Sorry about that.”

“I’ll be there in about fifteen minutes,” I said, shoulders slumping.

“Great, see you then, Mrs Smith,” she said, and the phone went quiet.

I step onto the cold laminate floor, feeling my body settle.

So much for the sound of silence, I think, as I let out a long sigh.