Strange that I later ended up living in a cottage in the grounds of a huge country estate that was almost empty at nights; but by then I was in full recluse mode and craved the isolation. Even at the time of the break-in I was already on my way to becoming reclusive. Mum was dead and I hadn’t seen Pete for more than ten years – since we had the row over Samantha, who I also never saw again after that horrible night. I had nobody except the band. But I was fine. Happy, mostly. Loving my success. I didn’t even miss Pete and Samantha anymore. I didn’t need anybody.

On the night of the break-in, I cooked myself a chickpea curry, watched something mindless on TV and drank one more glass of red than I ought to have, considering I’d been intending to have an alcohol-free day. My phone rang just before the ten o’clock news, and I glared at it. Who was calling me at this time of night?

When I saw that it was ‘The Pointless I’, I contemplated ignoring it, but I knew that he’d just keep ringing until I picked up. It infuriated me that he knew I was unlikely to be out partying.

‘It’s a bit late, Iain; could it wait till the morning?’

‘Hello Merry, how you doing, darling?’ Just from those words I could tell he was drunk.

I rolled my eyes. ‘In fact, let me call you back, I’m about to—’

‘Let me stop you there. Tomorrow’s no good. It’s tonight I’m interested in. And what I’m interested in is you and me getting together – a little nightcap, see where the mood takes us, and—’

It was my turn to cut him off. ‘Iain. I’m sorry, you’re a…’ I couldn’t bring myself to say ‘great guy’, ‘…really good marketing manager,’ I finished instead. ‘But I’m about to go to bed. I have no intention of any sort of nightcap with you. And I don’t know why you’re asking. The answer hasn’t changed since the last time you propositioned me. Or the time before.’

It was becoming boring, actually, and I was sure that he only tried it because he couldn’t bear the thought of any woman not wanting to sleep with him. I was pretty certain he didn’t even fancy me. He was a good-looking man but he left me cold, with his bulgy pecs in too-tight T-shirts, overpowering aftershave and thickly oiled black hair.

‘Well, there’s something pacif … spec … spas,’ he stumbled over the word, but I couldn’t muster even a wry smile.

‘Specific.’

‘Yah, that. I’m round the corner from you and—’

‘You know where I live?’

‘For sure, Merry, how else do you think we know where to send your royalty statements?’

‘Fuck’s sake, it’s supposed to be confidential!’