‘I know, and it’s my own stupid fault,’ he says. ‘If I’m honest with myself, I was hoping you’d changed your mind . . .’

‘About what?’ I ask.

He looks away as if ashamed, and I realize what he means. ‘But she was here waiting for me instead,’ he says.

‘So you’ve been here all this time?’

He nods. ‘I thought she was going to kill me.’

A stable door creaks and we look at each other, wide-eyed and terrified.

‘Hurry, there’s a hammer over there,’ he says. ‘If you dislodge this bar, I’ll be able to free myself.’

‘Why didn’t you tell me you were really called Michael Talbot?’ I ask, as I hit the bars of the stool with all my might, the metal curling an inch with every strike.

‘I was too scared to give you my real name in the beginning,’ he says. ‘And by the time I realized I could trust you, I knew if I told you the truth, you probably wouldn’t trust me.’

He takes a sharp intake of breath and I can feel his body going rigid.

‘No!’ screams a woman’s voice.

I freeze, unable to look up for fear of seeing a madwoman standing there, pointing a gun in my face.

‘Oh my god,’ she shouts. ‘No.’

I slowly bring my head up, steeling myself. But nothing could prepare me for what I see.

Even with her dishevelled blonde hair falling onto her face and my brain’s refusal to see what’s there, there’s no denying who it is.

‘Anna?’

27

My heart stops. The blood being pumped around my body seems to suspend in mid-flow.

Of all the conspiracy theories that have been rattling around my head these past few days, Anna being involved in any way was just not on my radar. Why would it be?

‘I-I don’t understand,’ I falter. ‘What are you doing here?’

She backs herself up against the stall wall. ‘When they said it was you, I didn’t believe them, but they were right.’ She covers her mouth in a futile attempt to stifle her sobs.

My head feels as if it’s about to explode as I try to make sense of what’s going on. ‘What are you talking about? Who told you it was me?’

‘The police,’ she cries. ‘They’ve told me everything; the emails, the hotel CCTV, the phone . . .’

‘The police think this is your doing?’ asks Michael incredulously, looking at me.

I nod numbly, whilst still trying to work out what Anna’s doing here and why she’s been talking to the police.

‘They’ve even found her footprint in your blood,’ cries Anna.

‘Jesus Christ,’ says Michael. ‘She’s set you up.’