I’m sure they will be in contact with the restaurant, interview the waitress. She will report that there was nothing out of the ordinary about our date last night. Any CCTV in the restaurant or the town will confirm the same. They won’t know I struggled to finish my meal because I was so nervous about what was to follow. They won’t know I almost retched when Ian played footsie with me under the table whilst we waited for the bill. They don’t know I was willingly heading into the lion’s den, eyes wide open.

Tuesday 31 October 2017

I eased into a jog, pushing the treadmill to 5km an hour. It was about my pace, maybe a bit slower, but I planned to stay on there for a while. There were six treadmills, and these were always the most popular piece of equipment at any gym. Those and the weights.

There were seven people in the gym, including me. Four men and three women. One of the women was wearing a tiny crop top and shorts. She had more on her face in the way of make-up than clothes on her body. Women like her frequented every gym, they were the girls who never worked up a sweat but wanted cute pictures for their Instagram page.

For the first time ever, I’d made an effort in what I was wearing to work out. My clothes were tight, arms on show, but I was never going to bare my midriff to the world. Before I left, I put on some waterproof mascara and pink nail varnish. I was there to be noticed after all.

An hour in and it was gone six in the evening, but no sign of him yet. I’d been here at the same time yesterday, convinced as it was a Monday he’d show, but he didn’t. It had taken all my courage to venture out after dark and by the time I’d arrived I was a bag of nerves. With every step I’d envisaged footsteps behind me. I’d held my rape alarm in one hand and my keys in the other. I was disappointed that after the effort he didn’t show, so I had to try again. I needed to see him in the flesh, make sure I hadn’t imagined him.