This had to stop. My life had been messed with enough, I had to take back control. I was going to find him. Now.

I spent eight hours over the course of the next three days sat in in the same spot, in the park, waiting for him to appear. No one that resembled his height, build or swagger came past. The weather had taken a turn for the worst and I rarely saw anyone other than dog walkers. No one else wanted to come out in the rain. I took to running laps of the park to relieve the frustration and at the club I punched the bag until one of my knuckles split, but it didn’t make me feel any better.

I’d hoped to spend the weekend with Jane for her birthday. I called her on Friday wishing her happy birthday. Thinking that perhaps I’d be brave enough to make the trip to Balham. To get away and go out for drinks to celebrate. When I caught her, she’d just finished work and was on her way home to pack. Apprehensive to tell me her doctor friend had booked a weekend away to Bath and she was leaving in a couple of hours. Could we postpone birthday drinks until next weekend? I was happy for her, it was about time someone treated her well. But I couldn’t help feeling disappointed not to see her.

Saturday 28 October 2017

On Saturday morning, I decided attempting a three mile run would make more difference to my mental health than being sat on a park bench, freezing cold, for another pointless stake-out. As I pounded the pavement, every time my feet made contact, my shoulders loosened a little more. I would run until my legs stopped working. Some of the houses I passed already had Halloween decorations in their windows or carved pumpkins outside. I loved their ghoulish designs.

Without paying much attention to my route, I jogged down the road which ran parallel to the park; intending to do a loop of the town. My muscles ached, but the pain was addictive. It made me push harder and run faster. I was thrilled with the level of fitness I’d achieved in such a short space of time. Running was addictive. I sucked in air like fuel, panting hard, focusing on the horizon. I was in the zone, my arms pumping to a steady rhythm.

A hundred yards ahead, in the distance, a man was walking along the same stretch of pavement. I slowed as I watched him. A stitch stabbing at my side. There was something about the way he moved that seemed vaguely familiar. He kept stopping and starting, like he was waiting to run a race and had gone before the gun fired.