This can’t be right. I start hunting through the other files for something that could explain what I’m seeing.

That’s when I find myself looking at my own Spacetime entries, offered to Elstree courtesy of O herself. Straight out of my supposedly secure BigSky encrypted personal system. Martin Elstree has records of all my professional dreams.

Secret Diary of a Prawn Star 1-17

Secret Diary of a Prawn Star 18-39

Secret Diary of a Prawn Star 40-54

My heart stops and starts and stutters. She has hacked my earring. Elstree’s been into my dream files, right up to the most recent one. And he has been surveilling me all along, right back to before we ever met.

Of course, I knew they’d worked together. She did introduce us. But why would she share them with him of all people? Martin must be the actual Creeper, then. Did she give him the files to make it easier for him to attack me? And he had the cheek to offer to represent me!

I just can’t believe she would do this. Can’t get my head round it at all.

I Spacetime Mrs H-W.

‘Oh, hello, Charlotte. I’m about to go into the Underground.’

‘This won’t take long. I just need to know why you were paid for the work you and I did.’

There’s a pause.

‘I’m not sure I can discuss this with you. I signed a non-disclosure agreement.’

‘But you tricked me. I think you owe me an explanation.’

‘You’ll have to take it up with the party who hired me, I’m afraid.’

‘I’m taking it up with you. I know what the inside of your head looks like, so I suggest you tell me the truth.’

‘Are you threatening me?’

‘Tell me the truth, Mrs Haugh-Wombaur.’

‘Well, Charlotte, I don’t really know why I was paid. I was told it was for a scientific study and that’s really all I know. If you want to find out more, you’ll have to ask the scientists.’

‘What scientists? Martin Elstree is not a scientist, so why was he paying you?’

‘I’m heading into the Underground now. We’re done. I’m going to block you, Charlotte, and if you try to contact me again I’ll report you to the Council for Alternative Therapies. Just a friendly warning.’

Dead link.

I’m so hopping mad that I nearly pass out on the floor then and there.

‘Report me to the Council for Alternative Therapies?’ Ranting sleepily, I stagger around the flat and then out onto the balcony. ‘What are they going to do to me, a past-life regression and toenail analysis? Ooh, I’m scared.’

But it’s like the bottom has dropped out of me. It’s all unravelling in my head now. O really did this to me. I can’t take it in.