When she got to her building, he was lurking outside, leaning with one foot up against the wall; that irritating, entitled, suggestive slouch that was already becoming too familiar to her. He was wearing a pair of silvery white headphones and he nodded along to the music, nonchalant, twirling his hat in his fingers. That fact that Ellis Brown knew where she lived enraged her more than frightened her – he clearly had nothing better to do than sneak around after her. She couldn’t bring herself to call it stalking – that seemed too dramatic, somehow; too threatening. This arsehole was a two-bit faker, and out of Vincent’s home she’d stopped feeling threatened by him; now she was just put out, annoyed. Maybe she was dangerously underreacting to the risk. Countless women had made the same mistake, the threat seeming unreal until it was too late.

She could pretend she didn’t see him, pretend this was not where she lived, walk by on the other side of the street, but already at this distance, half a block away, she knew it was pointless. He knew exactly where she lived. Still, she stopped three doors away from her entrance, hoping to draw him away from her building as if it would undo the damage.

When he realised Petra wasn’t going to step any closer, he came over to her, flipping the headphones down around his neck.

‘What do you want?’ she said.

‘There are things you should know about your friend. Let’s go inside. It’s cold.’

‘No. I’m not inviting you into my flat. Say what you have to say.’

He shrugged. ‘You don’t trust me, do you?’ he said.

‘I have no reason to. Just tell me what you want to tell me.’

He smiled, his thin lips stretching over unnaturally veneered teeth, and his shark eyes narrowed. Petra realised, probably a bit too late, that she should dial down the hostility – not because he didn’t deserve it, but to protect herself. But still, her gut told her that he wasn’t a threat – physically at least. If anything, under the showy swagger and the stage make-up, he seemed fragile, a shell. It was his words and his games she’d need to be careful of. ‘Alright – let’s cut to it, then. Vincent’s planning to do something stupid.’

‘What?’

‘You know about Beccie. He told you his daughter died. But he didn’t tell you how.’

‘It was you watching us in the pub the other night, wasn’t it? You were listening to every word we said.’

He shrugged again.

‘So you’ll know he told me that Beccie was sick.’

‘Correct. And that she needed a kidney transplant, but that it didn’t work out. Do you want to know why?’

‘Tell me.’

‘He and Beccie were on the low-budget level of their medical insurance, and the procedure was not considered essential.’

‘But it would have saved her life.’

‘MyHealth disagreed. They calculated there was a sixty per cent chance she would die anyway. I’ve looked into it, and the actuary’s risk assessments in similar cases become more favourable the higher your MyHealth membership tier.’