She heard her parents leave for work before she stepped outside of her room. She didn’t want to speak to them. All they wanted to talk about these last couple of days were her feelings and whether she was sure she didn’t need to see a counsellor about what happened to Mr Morrell. She could tell they were glad he was dead, too. She wasn’t mad at them for being concerned but she found it strange that they hadn’t picked up on how odd Tim was. Half scared and half excited by Tim’s presence, she had started to make up little scenarios in her head of Tim finding ways to spend time with her, finding ways to be in the room with her.

When she came downstairs the kitchen was empty, but her mother had left a toasted sandwich on the counter for her. There was a note on the fridge, a list of instructions for the weekend. She would read it later. She picked up the sandwich and went to stand by the French doors to the garden. She watched the guest house from the corner of her eye while she ate. To her surprise the door opened and Tim came outside. She wasn’t ready for this. He walked over to the house and stared straight at her. He had a very leisurely stride, swinging his arms and tilting his head to the side as he moved, always squinting a little. He knocked on the door and Jasmine opened it.

‘Your dad asked me to check if you had rehearsals tonight or something and need me to take you after school?’

‘No. They haven’t started yet; I told him that already. I’ll be home at the usual time. My friend Felicity is coming to stay tonight.’

‘Great.’ He pushed the door to close it.

‘Do you want some breakfast?’ Jasmine blurted without thinking. She wanted to ask him about the night at the fair and this was the first opportunity she had had. ‘I could make you a cheese toastie.’

‘Thanks, that would be nice.’

She walked over to the cupboard and pulled the toasted sandwich maker out. It was still a little warm from when her mother had used it earlier. Tim walked over to the counter and leaned against it, folding his arms. His biceps bulged a little and she tried not to look. He was fit but not muscular. His slender body was at least a foot taller than her own and she wondered if that was why he seemed to lean back in any scenario, to seem smaller and less intimidating. His eyes were always slightly narrowed, almost squinting, like he was scrutinising everything; it was another thing about him that made her suspicious.

She buttered the bread, all the while aware of him watching her.

‘Did you go back out after you brought me home the night of the fair?’ she asked, trying to sound nonchalant.