I sat at the desk, trying to puzzle it out. I’d seen Tom watching me a few times, hovering by my desk, even angling his phone towards me, I thought. If he was Carson, he must have found out my fake identity in time to apply for the internship, tracking me down to this place where I was hidden away. But how? Had he chosen to study veterinary science to end up here? Was that too far-fetched?

I clicked on the other CV. There was less detail for Callum Stevenson. His first job at sixteen was working in a pet shop. So he’d always liked animals – Marilyn would have taken note of that when filling the internships. A-levels at a comprehensive, the glowing grades you need to become a vet. Some other work at university, positions on various student committees, part-time jobs. This kid had to work for a living, and yet he’d done well. Was he Carson, not Tom? The name stuck with me for some reason. Stevenson. It was common enough. Had I heard it before somewhere? Maybe I could look them both up on Facebook and—

I jumped as a noise reached my ears. In the next room, the dogs were stirring again. Whines, a few barks. Someone was coming. One of the interns maybe, and they’d find me looking at their information.

‘Hello?’ I called cautiously. I got up from my chair. Footsteps at the front of the building, coming through the reception area. Had I locked the door behind me? No, I hadn’t. Stupid.

My heart was in my throat as the footsteps came closer. I saw a dark shape through the frosted glass of the door. But it wasn’t either boy. It was someone I’d never have expected to see here.

‘Casey.’

They called me by my name. They knew me.

Casey

Casey

JUNE 2007

In prison I couldn’t sleep because of the constant screaming and crying, the sheer racket of the place, and the constant terror, jolting awake in the night realising this was real, I was on Death Row. Now, released from prison two years ago, after the miracle of my appeal trial, and back safe and sound in the UK, I couldn’t sleep because my husband was snoring.