But that will have to wait. My body shakes with anticipation as I sit in the vehicle that I bought in a fake name. I type ‘Frances Burrows’ in the search box – Facebook is still useful even if it isn’t my current weapon of choice – and I see that she runs a lovely little café. I almost click on the map but then remember that the police might well be monitoring this.

Instead, I get out of the car with the journal. I hurry over to the hot house and push it behind the plastic panel. I feel almost sad being parted from it, but I have all I need on the flash drive and if I get caught with it the game’s up.

A voice somewhere in my head is saying, This is dangerous, Caroline. Jack is dangerous, but I already know this, don’t I? I already know you or your crony has followed me and you’re moving in for your final attack on my credibility. And that’s why I have to protect myself, and to have this car, hidden away, so you can’t follow me.

If you’re following me to the car park I will see you, either in a vehicle or on foot. It’s open and there’s nowhere to hide. I’ll leave home each way on foot. I’ll leave by next door’s back gate – I haven’t got a back gate; the garden is completely enclosed. But I’ll climb over the fence at exactly eight-thirty when I know the fucking dog is being fed.

My own car will still be parked outside my house. You, or whoever you’ve got following me, will think that it’s all getting to me and I’m taking time off work. That’s if you dare come near the house, which I seriously doubt as the last thing you want is me invoking the injunction. Not with the evidence piling up, Jack. That would look bad, wouldn’t it?

Chapter Fifteen

Frances Burrows. I almost feel sorry for her, but not quite. From her Facebook profile she looks quiet and almost mousy. She’s married, no children, two dogs. I check and yes, she’s friends with you. Of course she is. She’s commented on a picture of you diving in the Great Barrier Reef: Nice work, Jack xx

Two kisses. I push the flash drive into the laptop on my knee and load the pictures of you and Frances. She’s not your usual type at all. She’s not flashy or wearing designer clothes. These pictures are the most hurtful of all so far. I know you, Jack, and you look like you are falling in love with her.