Normally when I was alone I wouldn’t answer the door, but the television was blaring, and I knew it could be heard from the hallway outside. I wore the pyjamas mother had sent me for Christmas, pink fleece with tiny penguins on. Not the best outfit to speak to a stranger in. It had to be a stranger surely, Ian must have meant the text for someone else and it was just a coincidence someone was at the door. I crept closer , tiptoeing along the carpet, and almost screamed when I got close and the knocking resumed, impatient this time.

‘Eve, it’s me.’ Ian’s voice travelled through the solid wood door and I clapped a hand over my mouth, backing up. Frozen for a few seconds as my mind raced at the same speed as my heart. How had he found me? Fuck, I had to get out of here. No time.

Rushing to the bathroom, I twisted the caps off the contact lens case, struggling to put them in with shaking hands as the seconds ticked by. I couldn’t answer the door without them, it would be suicide. More knocking came, urgent. He wasn’t going to go away.

Rushing back to the front door and steeling myself, I swung it open; a huge bouquet of dark red roses was pushed towards me. Ian didn’t strike me as the romantic type. My heart racing, I gasped as I took them from the outstretched hand. I lowered the blooms to inhale their fragrance. It seemed like the right thing to do. My hands still shaking. Even framed by the beautiful petals, his eyes were evil. Cold, heartless and cruel.

‘What took you so long?’ he said, grinning.

Sunday 28 January 2018

‘The question is, did you mean to kill him?’ Hicks asks, staring intently at me.

I hold his gaze, refusing to blink. The interview has stepped up a gear since the break. Detective Hicks looks like he has a point to prove. I have to hold my own. Terry, the duty solicitor, advised me against answering any more questions and reverting to my right to give no comment. Defiant, I told him I was going to tell the truth. He looked bewildered. Anyone would think I have a problem with authority.

‘No, I did not.’ I will not allow myself to be rattled, I’ve come this far.

‘But you do have anger issues?’ he continues.

‘Do I?’ Where is this going?

‘Apparently so, according to the report from your psychiatrist.’ He removes some papers from a folder he brought into the room a few minutes ago. Damn it Doctor Almara. Whatever happened to patient–doctor fucking confidentiality? ‘As well as considerable emotional trauma, Miss Harding appears to have repressed anger issues due to the unresolved sexual assault which happened in September 2017. No offender being found has contributed to these feelings of rage which she has confessed to,’ he reads.