It felt strange reading about an event that I’d experienced, written with so little emotion, just the facts. I carried on scrolling, then ran a search for ‘assault’ on the newspaper’s website. There were plenty of bar brawls and closing time punch-ups but nothing from the end of October. I searched further back, looking at the summer months. A sexual assault on a teenager in an alleyway, in July, after a night out looked like it could be one of his. There was also another attempted attack in June. A lone-women walking home after visiting her friends in the early evening. That one was in daylight, but her attacker had fled the scene after she screamed. Looking at the locations, they were all nearby. I had no idea how long Ian had been stalking the streets of Sutton, but now I was convinced I wasn’t the first.

28

WEDNESDAY 22 NOVEMBER 2017

By the middle of the third week, Ian’s routine had become clear. He visited the gym most Sundays, Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays, always a variation on the same exercise plan. Generally starting with the treadmill, he would run for thirty minutes, then row for twenty, followed by some free weights. It appeared, from watching him interact, that he was friendly with other members. It didn’t seem like he treated women any differently from men. On the face of it he looked like a gentleman. I’d seen him open the door to allow them through first and witnessed him let Laura ahead of him in the queue for the water. He seemed to know Ahmed well and often chatted to some of the other regulars. I had built up to smiling at everyone with the occasional hello but hadn’t spoken to him yet. My social skills were lacking.

Interaction with strangers didn’t come easily to me. Trying to interact with the man that had brutalised me was even harder. I used my time to watch his every move, study his face, his mannerisms and expressions. I strained to hear conversations he was part of. On the surface he looked and acted like a regular guy which I found hard to rationalise. Ian was confident but from a distance he seemed smug to me, although no one else appeared to notice.

It was Wednesday when Ian said hello for the first time as we passed each other. Perhaps as a result of my skimpier gym clothes? I had been shopping in the morning, after having my roots done, my scalp now baby pink, and invested in a skin-tight black vest and some bright orange shorts. They were so short, they could have passed for hot pants. Three weeks of reconnaissance and I knew I had to up my game. The new outfit seemed to have worked. Pushing myself to keep moving when he spoke, my body stalled, and I was rooted to the spot. I mumbled hello back and blushed.