Friday, 16th September 2005.

Caffeine Interlude

Mr and Mrs Knight stayed over yesterday.

They arrived late in the evening, having come straight from Shropshire. We pretended to be asleep. This morning I got up as normal, showered and dressed before peeking into the lounge, where they lay asleep on the sofa bed. I fed the cat, who was purring round my legs while sounding off his usual morning whine, the pellets clattering into the dish - but they didn't stir. The dog was padding around, so I pulled the screen door shut with an unintentionally heavy thud. Still nothing.

I went to the sink and began to put away last night's washing up. The glasses were easy enough but the pans were slightly off-balanced in the cupboard - before I knew it one of them had fallen to the floor with a loud crash, the lid spinning to a standstill. Gingerly, I peered round the door, certain that this would have woken them, but they were totally out of it.

Breakfast: I put bread in the toaster and then went over to the DVD tower, past my slumbering in-laws, to fetch the medication that lay on a shelf with the anime. The pill boxes shook and rattled as I lifted them past Mr Knight's head, but he was still completely unconscious. I left the room, being very careful not to step on the dog.

Back in the kitchen, I made Emily tea, but decided not to wake them. The kettle boiled, clicked off, and I waved away the steam before picked up the kettle from its base unit. As the water splashed silently into the mug, Mrs Knight's eyes flew open and she sat up, more or less instantly, in a state of sudden alertness. The whole thing reminded me of the moment in 28 Days Later when Jim's cry of "Is anybody there?" in the middle of the church is answered when one of the infected sits bolt upright, staring at him with wide, hideous eyes.

And all it took was one little teabag. I swear it's a form of radar.