I bump into Clare and Ellie from my prenatal classes pushing a designer buggy with a beige canopy. They both look tired, yet so normal. They had a boy, too, also named Jack.

It’s the first time I’ve met their Jack and vice versa, so we are all obliged to go through the baby introductions and the obligatory sharing of sympathy when it comes to sleep deprivation.

“Let’s catch up properly next week,” says Ellie. “Florence from the group is going to organize a picnic in the park.”

“Sounds good,” I say automatically.

Ellie looks completely fine, serene, even. She does not look traumatized by something as natural as giving birth. Which means that there’s definitely something wrong with me. I turn back.

Camilla is sitting on our back doorstep, waiting for me, clearly desperate for yet another furtive chat.

“I feel like a sitting duck,” she says.

I open the door and we walk into the kitchen. “We do need to do something. He blamed Tamsin for the creepy messages, but something Emily said makes me think it was him all along.”

I outline my plan.

“Have you gone out of your mind?” Camilla says. “This will make things worse! We’ll never get away with it.”

I quite like the fact that she doesn’t watch what she says around me. Everyone else avoids certain words which may imply that I’m not coping as well as Nina did. Camilla does no such thing. It’s strangely refreshing and comforting to be around someone with no filter, someone who doesn’t treat me as if I’m fragile.

“All we have to do is threaten him, make him see that he really has no choice but to shut up.”

“It’s blackmail,” she says.

“Well, come up with a better idea. I’m trying to help. Surely you can think of a reason you need to go round to his office? How hard can it be? I’ll come out of this situation mostly all right. You, on the other hand...”

“Yes, I know. He’s trying to have me investigated for murder.”

“Well then, even better. You have a perfectly valid reason to visit him. Persuade him he’s got it wrong. Use your imagination.”

“Okay, I’ll do it,” she says. “I don’t have a choice. What am I looking for?”

“Client records we could threaten to leak to make his business lose credibility or, better still, proof that he was behind all the threatening cards. We received a ridiculous plaque-type thing as an anonymous wedding gift. While not threatening, it may help prove something.”

“Greg is not stupid,” she says. “If he’s gone to all the trouble of executing some malicious campaign to scare you, he’s not going to use a traceable debit card to buy them or nip down to the local convenience store to be served—and remembered by—Mrs. Miller, is he?”

“Fair point, but he’ll have slipped up somewhere.”

I hope.

“I doubt it. He wouldn’t be so keen to run off to the police if he thought he’d get caught, too. He’s a private investigator. He must have loads of nifty techniques.”