Beatrice wakes early, but something is wrong. Where is the usual roaring of traffic beyond her bedroom window? Where is her neighbour upstairs who stomps down the stairs every morning on his way to work? Where is the shrill screaming of children as they walk to school?

In the second before she opens her eyes, floating weightlessly between consciousness and sleep, Beatrice convinces herself that the world has ended and that she is the last person alive.

But then she opens her eyes, and the illusion shatters. She is staring up at the ceiling in her childhood bedroom and she remembers that she is visiting her parents for the weekend.

It is not silent, as she originally thought; the world outside is filled with birdsong. The morning is sweet and gorgeous. Pale golden sunlight slants in through the gap between the curtains. A smile curves Beatrice’s lips as she kicks back the sheets and stretches luxuriously.

With sudden childish excitement, she jumps out of bed and races out of her room, down the stairs and out the front door.

Grass tickles her bare feet and she wriggles her toes against the mud. The bright blue sky stretches out above her and fields roll in gentle waves in every direction. Her parents’ house is the only building for miles. Sunlight glints on the drops of dew glittering like scattered jewels amongst the grass. Standing beneath the spring sky, with the clean fresh air in her lungs and the sun on her skin, the city, with its grey streets crowded with disgruntled commuters, could not have seemed farther away.

Beatrice races across the grass towards the wood, taking delight in the way her hair streams behind her and the easy movement of her sleepy, sun-drenched limbs.

Beneath the trees, the wood is coming back to life after its long winter slumber. Sunlight trickles in through the interlacing branches overhead, creating a shifting pattern on the ground, and sun-bright daffodils gaze hopefully towards the sky. Movement flickers at the corner of Beatrice’s eye as a rabbit darts through the undergrowth, and a fox stands watching her with warm amber eyes. Wood pigeons coo gently and the stream murmurs on its winding path between the trees.

Beatrice steps into the cool silvery water and a pleasant shiver travels up her bare legs. She knows if she stands there long enough fish will start to dart around her toes.

This place had been her refuge as a child. Whenever things became too much, if other kids were being cruel to her at school, or her parents were throwing a dinner party she wanted to escape from, she could slip out through the front door and, after just a few minutes of walking through the wood, feel calm again.

She could never be completely content with walls pressing in on all sides and skyscrapers glowering down at her with a thousand windows like all-seeing eyes. She enjoys nothing better than lying on the grass in the shade of a sprawling tree, with her eyes closed and the sunshine glowing pink on the inside of her eyelids, and the warm breeze whispering through the leaves above her head.

Beatrice turns for home. Her mother is waiting for her in the hall, with a familiar expression of disapproval clouding her eyes, and an indulgent smile twitching at the corner of her lips. She reaches across and plucks a leaf from her daughter’s hair.

Beatrice smiles, and shrugs.

“Old habits,” she says.