That night I moved my things out to the lounge, intending to sleep on the couch, and I closed the bedroom door behind me. The view from the couch was uncomfortable, though - straight out through the kitchen, through the undressed glass doors to the garden. I had never noticed it when Jose was with me. Now, under moonlight, leaves, washing and shadows kept the vague scene in continuous motion. A few times I got up to check what it was I had seen, but each time I'd seen nothing.

At one point I dozed and dreamed - that a naked man was in the bangalow palms, that he was stroking his giant penis, slowly and purposefully, watching the house, watching me through the doors. I shouted at him to leave. He threw a pebble against the window. I looked for curtains to draw, but there were none. He threw a stone, then began climbing out on the bowed leaves towards the house. He held a rock in his fists and smashed it against the glass, and it shattered, and I woke.

I lay for a while calming down, then decided to retreat to Lacey and Ian's room. I could wash their sheets and have everything returned to normal before their return. I thought about going for a walk, about looking for Jose but I knew that I needed sleep. In the morning I would have to go to the medical centre to arrange for renewal of my sickness leave. And how would I even begin to find her, anyway? She had been disappeared by forces I couldn't even attempt to understand. When I thought of her I thought of her in the city, somewhere, walking, running, traveling - but when I looked for a reason for this image there was none. For all I knew she was dead, or transformed entirely - in other words, dead. There was no reason to think that she existed alongside the imposter dog, in the way I was thinking of her.  But even if she did, and even if I did find her, how would I know it was her? I wasn't at all sure that I was capable, now, of being sure.