By day she’d see the cheering bloom of the crocuses and daffodils that were already starting to poke their heads out and promise the end of a bland and grey winter. But playgrounds were a different prospect after dark, and Petra stuck to the periphery, and was relieved when she made it across to the broader, busier avenue that led into town. There were living people and moving cars here, and she slotted in alongside them and made her way towards the top of the Parade, where the bus rank and the late-night supermarket were busy with workers going home and diners and drinkers arriving for the evening.

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.’