Of course it fucking would. But why would someone do this? None of it makes sense. There’s always the possibility that I completely blacked out and someone took the pictures then. But some of them were taken in the bar, at the end of the night when things were getting really steamy. I usually remember most of the night, even if it is fuzzy, the next day. I would have remembered if the same person had been there, wouldn’t I? I don’t deserve this. I don’t.

I wait for half an hour, until I would be due to get home, and then I hide Monica’s laptop behind a plastic panel in the greenhouse. I don’t want whoever is waiting for me when I get home to find it. Even if I am arrested, there will be nothing to connect me with Monica.

It’s about a quarter of a mile walk through the park and then a nice housing estate to my house. No one is waiting for me when I arrive, so I just let myself in. I stack up today’s takeaway menus on top of the enormous pile at the end of the hallway and then I flick on my own laptop and look at Christine’s timeline.

Oh dear. Christine’s marriage seems to be going the same way as mine now it’s all out in the open. Her husband is furious and he’s threatening to kill you and Christine. And Monica. I’m suddenly alert to the fact that if you’ve reported Monica’s profile to the police and Christine’s husband brings it to their attention, they might, just might, start snooping. I’m covered so far, but I’d better be careful.

I look at the photos again. I’m in deep shit here. This isn’t just blackmail. I only ever used the credit cards I took once, just to make them know they had done something wrong. To punish them, I suppose. I check the background, so familiar, but now I’m looking for cameras. I spot one, the bulb panoramic type, and another by the fire exit. They’d be everywhere and I’d definitely be seen leaving. But no one can prove I took those cards. All they can prove is that I was there.

I need to think about this. I can’t just sit here and do nothing about it, but I need to turn it over and look at it from all sides. You’re setting me up. Pushing me to do something rash. Something that will implicate me. Or maybe you’re not. Maybe this is meant to scare me. Which is quite funny in a way because, after what I’ve been through, you would need to try a lot harder.