I look up at a glimpse of light coming towards me. It must be headlights on the road – the first car that’s passed since the estate agent zoomed off. It’s moving slowly for a car though, and as I blink tears away, I see it’s only one beam of light, not two, and it’s on the grassy verge, not the road.

Just a dog walker, I tell myself. Mountain lions wouldn’t carry torches so it’s nothing to worry about.

Until whoever it is stops at the edge of my driveway and the beam of the torch settles on the house, and then slides across the gravel to point directly at the car. Or, more specifically, my red, wet, snotty face in the car, and the owner of the torch moves towards me.

I recognise the faded jeans and the fall of dark hair across shoulders.

Oh, come on. It’s like he’s got radar to detect the worst possible moment and time his arrival accordingly. I’ve still got tears streaming down my face and I’ve been crying so hard that I can barely catch my hitching breath. I cannot deal with him right now.

If I stay still, maybe he won’t see me, but I know it’s hoping for too much. It’s dark and the light is on inside the car – I’m literally a flame to a petulant moth. I sink down in the seat and pull the blanket up further over my face so I can barely see out, but it’s no good, I can feel the beam of torchlight on me, coming closer.

I do the sensible, adult thing and stare stubbornly at the house, pretending I haven’t seen him. Maybe he’ll get the hint and go away? I stare resolutely ahead, even though I can sense the shadow outside the car window and see the beam of light disappear as he turns the torch off.

It still makes me jump when he knocks on the window.

Bugger. I sniff hard and turn away to swipe my hands over my face, trying to brush away the evidence. Maybe it’s dark enough that he won’t notice the red puffiness?

I paste a smile on my face and turn back to roll down the window just as he’s about to knock on it again.

‘Noel,’ I say, my voice thick, the fake smile pulling painfully on the skin of my lips.

‘What are you doing out here?’ His voice has that same half-amused half-sarcastic tone that he had earlier. He rests his arm along the open window and his head appears in the gap, but he suddenly looks taken aback and his voice turns serious. ‘Are you crying?’

Well, one point for observation, I suppose.