It was just the usual at first. Dialled your number prefixed with 141. Walked over to the window and watched as you picked up the phone.

‘Hello?’

Silence.

‘Hello? Look, take me off your call list. I’m not interested.’ You dropped the handset on the sofa before bending, I presumed, to untie your laces.

I meant for that to be it. I swear I did. I was done. Satisfied. I even turned and headed for the door. But as I did, the feelings gnawed at me. Took hold. Made me think of things. See things burnt on my eyelids as I blinked. Images of her from that day.

It wouldn’t have happened if I’d had to input the digits individually.

The redial button made it so easy.

I returned to the window, pressed again.

‘Hello? For fuck’s sake.’

The line died.

You threw the handset down onto the cushion next to you. Put your feet up on a new glass coffee table that I hadn’t known about. This disgruntled me further. I wasn’t part of your private life anymore.

I pressed the button again. This time it rang out and I watched you ignoring it, ignoring me. Pause. Then again. You were staring at it. Cross-armed, cross-legged. Your one visible socked foot moving up and down anxiously. I wanted to tell you that you needn’t have worried. That it was only me.

I pressed it again.

And again.

And again.

I couldn’t stop. I wanted to. Believe me. But the more you ignored me, the more I needed your acknowledgement.

Until finally you picked up.

‘Who the fuck is this? Hello? Hello? Whoever this is, stop calling me.’ You lowered your hand for a moment. I waited for the line to go dead, but you raised it back to your ear. ‘Fiona, is this you? Is this you, Fiona? It is, isn’t it? You fucking nut-job . . . Oh my God, if you don’t stop this, I’m going to report you to the police.’

I ended the call.

Stepped away from the window. Jelly legs causing me to stumble. My heart thumped against my ribs. Once again my hypnotic state was over and I threw the phone onto the chair like a hot smoking gun.

For the next …

For the next couple of days I could think of nothing else.

I avoided your eyes and presence. Terrified of triggering a moment when you’d look at me and it would all suddenly click. Realize it wasn’t Fiona at all.

It was around two on the Friday, as I was filling in Alison’s charity-walk sponsor form (for which I could only afford a fiver instead of a tenner like everyone else), when I thought the dreaded moment had arrived.