She laughed in disbelief, the sound loud enough to draw attention from a woman further down the carriage who looked at her warily before turning away.

The phone number of the recruitment agency was in her mobile. She’d ring Nate Bisby and tell him she’d changed her mind. It had been a crazy idea anyway.

Crazy. But why then did she feel such disappointment? Perhaps because he’d said that being a nurse wasn’t essential… after all, if the NMC ruled against her she might not be one for much longer. She flicked the corner of Flynn’s card. It would be no harm in going along for the interview. They probably wouldn’t offer her the position anyway, but it would be good experience.

By the time the train reached Gravesend, she’d finished reading the information in the file. It seemed such a great company to work for. No wonder Flynn loved it. She debated ringing him to tell him, maybe even get some advice, but decided against when she remembered how negative he’d been about the idea. He might be even less keen on the idea of her working for the same company.

She could ring Rivka or any of her other girlfriends for advice but she knew what they’d say… that she shouldn’t make a decision about her future based on pleasing a man she barely knew, and one who may drift out of her life as quickly as he’d drifted in. It was exactly what she’d have said to them in the same situation.

Her thoughts stuck on the job conundrum, she walked on automatic and was barely aware she’d turned into Wilfred Street. Only when she was standing outside her house with the key in her hand did she notice the package hanging from the door. ‘Shit!’ she said, stepping backwards, stumbling from the kerb onto the road. Like the last package, this one was blue, neatly tied with a matching ribbon, a loop of which hung over the doorknob, the slight breeze billowing down the street making it sway gently.

Jodie looked up and down the street. Was Victor standing somewhere watching? ‘Bastard!’ She shouted the word, it echoed and drew no answer.

The package taunted her. She yanked it from the doorknob and flung it away as far as she could, then opened the door and hurried inside. But there was no comfort on that side of the door. She pictured the shoes, lying there, perhaps being run over by a passing car or being drenched from the threatening rain. With a cry of frustration, she went back out, ran to pick the package up and took it inside.

Already the ribbon was grubby, and the neat parcel dented from where it had hit the road. She dropped it on the table and looked at it, anger fizzing through her veins. She’d really had enough.