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initial payment towards the cost of clothes for foster children, in addition to a weekly allowance. Then, foster carers received occasional payments, which barely covered the cost of the child’s food, let alone anything else, and many often received nothing at all.
    I fed Adrian again, as usual, at 10.30 p.m.; then John winded him and settled him in his cot while I had my bath. All was quiet in Dawn’s room and I silently opened her bedroom door to check she was all right. She was curled on her side and fast asleep. I came out, quietly closing the door behind me. Aware that Adrian would be waking at about 3.00 a.m. for a feed, John and I were both in bed and asleep by eleven o’clock. But when I woke, it wasn’t to Adrian’s cry.

Chapter Four
Apparition
    T he room was dark, save for the faintest glimmer of light coming through a crack in the curtains from the streetlamp. Assuming I had woken because I had heard Adrian waking for his feed, I stayed where I was, nestled in the small of John’s back, listening for Adrian’s next cry. Then I heard a noise, one I couldn’t place. I turned to look at the bedside clock and, as I did, I screamed. Across the room, beside Adrian’s cot, was a shadow.
    I sat bolt upright. ‘My God! What are you doing here?’
    I switched on the bedside lamp as I got out of bed. John was immediately awake, out of bed, and switching on the main light.
    ‘Dawn?’ he said as we crossed to her. ‘What are you doing?’
    My scream and the light had woken Adrian and he let out a sharp cry. I picked him up and looked at Dawn, my heart thumping wildly and my mouth dry. She was in her pyjamas, eyes open and staring at me. But something in her look said that she wasn’t seeing me: her eyes were glazed and unfocused, and her face was set and expressionless.
    ‘Dawn?’ I said, and looked at John. He was pale from the shock of suddenly waking to find someone in our room. ‘Dawn?’ I tried again. But there was nothing – no movement of her face or body, not even a blink. Nothing to say she could hear or see me, or that she was even aware of our presence.
    I cradled Adrian close to my chest and glanced at the bedside clock. It was 1.30 a.m. Dawn remained standing perfectly still and staring straight ahead. She could have been made of stone for all her lack of movement and her fixed staring eyes.
    ‘Dawn?’ John said. Then he moved his hand slowly up and down in front of her face. She didn’t blink or move a muscle but remained staring, unfocused. I felt my stomach tighten.
    ‘Is she sleepwalking?’ John said quietly.
    ‘I don’t know.’ His expression mirrored mine in fright and concern.
    We both looked at Dawn, into her face and eyes. To have someone standing in front of you, apparently awake, but not seeing or hearing, not outwardly functioning at all, was the most chilling experience I have ever had. She was like a breathing statue, or a ghost. Devoid of all expression and movement, she was like the walking dead.
    Adrian was still close to my chest, and the comfort of being held had sent him back to sleep. I could have returned him to his cot but I still held him protectively; something told me I needed to protect him – from what I couldn’t have said.
    ‘What shall we do?’ I asked John. I continued to gaze, mesmerised, into Dawn’s lifeless eyes.
    ‘Take her back to her bed?’ John suggested.
    ‘I suppose so, but how?’
    I had never personally seen, known or heard of anyone sleepwalking, although I had seen it portrayed in horror films and psychological thrillers. Whether it was from those, or something I had once read, I didn’t know, but I thought that it could be harmful to abruptly wake a person when they were sleepwalking.
    ‘Dawn?’ I said very quietly. ‘Dawn, can you hear me?’
    There was nothing, just the same lifeless stare.
    ‘Dawn, I think you should go back to bed,’ John said softly, as impotent as I was to know what to do next.
    There was still nothing