‘Well. Yes. Isn’t that what’s been going on here? It’s not just physical violence, you know. Silence can be violence.’ He smiles and nudges me. ‘See what I did there? Seriously, though, I’ve got some numbers if you need them.’

I hadn’t thought of myself like that. Not as a victim. More of a survivor. A fighter. For justice. But I guess whatever happens now that’s how a lot of people will see me. A victim. So I can only be either mad or a victim. Which one made me do all this? Insanity or survival?

It doesn’t feel like that. Just as I realised when Jack took the kids, life goes on whether you like it or not. And I don’t want to be a victim. I want a life. Even admitting that feels like a risk, but I’m testing myself. Am I up for it? Yes. Yes.

I take a good look around. It’s mainly boxes of different sizes with mounds of newspaper and prints of academic papers between them.

‘OK, just throw all the papers in the skip.’

He thinks. ‘Or I can get the recycling guy to come round.’

I need to go.

‘Great. Whatever you can do by tonight would be great. Here’s the key. I just need to get ready, then I have to go out. Give me a call if you need to check on anything.’

He takes the key and stands in the front garden talking on his phone. I take a shower and dress, then watch him for a moment as I collect my things. Suddenly he’s captivating.

He waves as I go to the car. In twenty minutes I’m in the staffroom at the university surrounded by my colleagues. Eileen represents.

‘My God, Caroline. We heard what happened over Jack. You were right all along. We just want to tell you that you have our full support. And that lovely policewoman who was here yesterday told us about that man who has been following you. She was very thorough. Wanted all the footage of you in the university going back months. He must have been following you for ages.’

My blood boils. In one way this couldn’t have worked out better. I knew that some of my colleagues thought I was completely off my rocker. ‘Why would they take her kids otherwise, and all those boxes …?’ I heard Candice Potter from Art Therapy say one day. Oh yes. Several of them thought I was mad. Now they’re all having a rethink.

But bloody DS Percy’s been nosing around here. Finding out about me. I have a horrible suspicion that this isn’t over yet for her. But all she’s going to find is Emma Atkinson. With a brown envelope. Not my problem.

‘I know. I never even suspected. I’ve been very lucky.’