She had no choice but to go to Victor’s and find out. And there was no point in putting it off. She’d go immediately. Her hands slipped over her stomach again. Afterwards, she’d go to the pharmacy, buy a pregnancy test and confirm what she knew.

Fifteen minutes later, Jodie was dressed in jeans, a dark flannel shirt she rarely wore and her walking shoes for comfort and speed. She had no idea what she was going to face, it was better to be prepared. Her hair was loose, bouncing around her face in waves. She grabbed it in her hand and tied it back with a band.

The addition of a heavy, shapeless, navy coat and she was satisfied. She looked tough, severe, sexless. Ready to face whatever it was that was going to be thrown at her.

She grabbed her house keys and left.

It wasn’t far to where Victor lived. Jodie walked briskly, long strides beating the path to the address he’d given her; a dilapidated house, in a row of the same. Each was fronted by a tiny overgrown garden, the only colour among the weeds coming from discarded beer cans and plastic wrappers that would never decompose.

Doorbells were set in the wooden frame to the right of the door. Twelve of them, strangely set one atop the other and all identified by a faded letter rather than a name. Jodie’s finger hovered over the H, then pressed quickly.

If the bell was ringing inside, it wasn’t audible from where she stood, her lip curling as she took in the shabby, unkempt premises. The bottom-right corner of the wooden front door had rot, leaving a hole she was sure mice could easily get through. She remembered the mouse Victor had sent her and shivered.

The thought sent anger darting through her. She put her finger to the bell and pressed again, keeping it there for several seconds. The pathway was narrow, the road busy but she stepped back as far as she could and looked up to the windows above. There was no sign anyone was staring down, no curtain twitching, no face appearing.

She’d almost decided to leave when the door opened inward, wood scraping against the tiled floor, a sound beloved of horror movies that would have made her laugh if the circumstances weren’t so… bloody terrifying. She took a deep breath on that thought and let it out slowly, reminding herself, yet again, she was no longer fourteen.

Her breath caught. The man who stood there, one hand on the door, the other raised palm outward in a static wave, looked old and frail, his jaundiced skin telling Jodie, the nurse, that there might be something seriously wrong with him.