Meeting Jessica at the office was interesting. She seemed nice, in her forties, dressed in floaty florals with thick black tights and a cardigan. If anything, she seemed more nervous of me than the other way around. She had already moved herself into my desk, my belongings stacked neatly in a box to one side. I could see she felt a bit awkward. She jumped up as soon as I walked in, offering me a limp handshake and saying she’d heard a lot of good things about me. Everyone in the office stared at my hair. Stuart said he liked it, but I wasn’t sure I believed him.

He was happy for me to do a few hours a day, stretched out over the week and, to be honest, I thought that might be dragging it out. I wasn’t going to complain, I was being paid for the entire four week notice period, so I was getting off lightly. There really wasn’t much to hand over, especially as Jessica had been doing pretty much the same job for a competitor. It was hardly as if she needed showing the ropes. We started looking at the photo library where all the stock images were held, and I showed her how Stuart liked them to be filed. We put in a request to IT to give her access to the shared drive, so she would be able to see past press releases and the templates for all internal and external communications. That was enough for one day.

When I got back home, Ben was still asleep and I was pleased I didn’t have to lie to him about where I was going. I gathered my things – the rape alarm which had arrived whilst I was out was the first thing to go in my bag. I couldn’t decide whether to take a book, it risked my full attention not being where it should, but it was a good cover. Who would notice a girl sat on a bench reading?

I’d had a change of heart about the stakeout. I wasn’t going to let one disappointment put me off. It was foolish of me to believe it would be so easy. That I’d spend a few hours in the same place and he’d just stroll on by. Imagine if he did? Anticipation made my skin tingle. What would I do if I actually saw him? I hadn’t thought about anything else since the idea occurred to me. Where did he live? How did he live? Did he work full-time? Could he be married with a family? The idea sickened me. I couldn’t bear to entertain the notion that he had a wife at home. One who was oblivious to his vile behaviour. Before, I hadn’t wanted to think about him at all, but now I seemed to spend every waking moment contemplating what he was doing.