I see her at the kitchen island, writing or drawing something. Her hair is hanging down, obscuring her face. There is music, instrumental and low-key. Elaine takes a sip from a tumbler without looking up, and then continues to do what she has been doing. My idea of spying suddenly seems very stupid: watching a normal woman at home, at night, doing normal things. Soon I might be perving on her doing the ironing. I lean back into the hedge, and think about the walk back to my bike. And then what? Ring Marko, and ask if I can stay with him? I concede the main reason I came on this foray was to do something — anything except sit in my house, think painful thoughts, and drink myself into oblivion.

I look back at Elaine, and she is in the same position, still doing whatever she was doing. Then a man appears from another part of the house, and she doesn’t acknowledge his existence. He is short, older. He walks to her, and puts a hand on her back. She still doesn’t look up. I know who he is. It is Ben Ruder, in her kitchen, treating her like an old friend or even a lover. I think I’m choking, and begin hoping that alcohol abuse is causing me to have delusions or sight problems. Elaine gets up and goes to the stove, and I focus on the man. I was right the first time — it is Ben, of all people, and I am jealous. Jealous of this awful little man. I realise I was enjoying just watching her, and if Ben hadn’t materialised I probably would have gone on being a peeping Tom as she went about her normal life: washing the dishes, doing the accounts, finishing a meal. Even more startling is the fact that, through all this, I haven’t had a thought of Sarah. This fact means she might even condone my voyeurism.