Registering at the gym was tedious and it was another outgoing I couldn’t afford, but it was necessary. I’d have to cancel the boxing club, it would be a shame, but I couldn’t afford both. Pulse gym was almost double what I was already paying, but it was my way of getting closer to Ian. The manager, Ahmed, gave me a tour and the induction, showing me how to use all the equipment. There was no pool, no steam or sauna and no frills. A basic gym, but I had to get used to it. I was going to be working out a lot. I did suggest a punchbag or speedball as we walked around, which seemed to go down well with Ahmed, so I could live in hope.

When I left, I visited the opticians and asked which colour contact lenses would transform my eye colour the most.

‘Your eyes are so pretty; most people would kill for that shade of green. I think the blue would turn them a deep turquoise shade. It would complement your hair more than the brown ones.’ The female assistant was helpful and showed me all the options.

I bought two packs which could be worn for two weeks before being thrown away. It had turned into an expensive day. Every time I tried to save money, I ended up needing something else.

Reluctant to go home and face Ben, I decided to go for a coffee. Baristas wasn’t one of the major players, although the coffee was just as good. Susie, the owner, was a cheery, buxom woman who wore bright red lipstick. I knew from our first conversation that her husband worked away on an oil rig in the North Sea. She’d joke that it was the best place for him. I loved the quaint little shop, but the real pull for me was the small internet café at the back and the lack of cameras inside. I bought a latte and sat searching anonymously for information on crime scene forensics, blood splatter analysis and DNA. My mind raced with possibilities on what I would do if I couldn’t get any evidence against Ian. Just how far was I willing to go?

I enjoyed visualising how it might play out. Like watching a movie in my head, but I couldn’t imagine doing any of the things I was picturing. For now, I just wanted to watch. I wanted to watch him like he’d watched me that fateful morning. Deciding if I was a good choice. How did he choose? What were his influences: was it the way I walked? My size must have been a factor, easy to overpower. My hair colour even? Maybe he wouldn’t like the blonde? Time would tell.