I arrived on Halcyon Drive to the sound of rising birds. It was still dark, and I found myself wondering whether this could have waited until morning. The drive was ominously lit with staggered lamps; beneath one of them an inquisitive fox rifled through the remains of overturned rubbish. Strangely – and this only further fuelled my sudden sense of unease – it didn’t rush away at the sight of my approaching. Instead, it cocked an ear and made a horrific mewling noise, before returning to the pile of empty milk-cartons and stripped chicken bones scattered haphazardly along the kerb.
