‘You locked out?’ he said when he reached her house, his voice dripping with sympathy that he hoped didn’t sound as fake to the younger man as it did to him.

‘No, a simple mix-up with my girlfriend.’

‘I hope it gets sorted soon.’ Victor looked up at the twilight navy-blue sky. ‘Forecast is for rain tonight.’ He’d no idea what the forecast was but it sounded knowledgeable. He walked on.

At the other end of the short street, he continued around the corner, turned and peered back. He’d be safe there until the man decided to give up and go home.

Victor watched him for a moment then pulled back and leaned against the wall of the house. What could have gone wrong between them? He’d seen Jodie with other men, but he’d been afraid this one might have been more serious. No other man had stayed over more than one night, no other man had arrived with a packed bag as if they planned to stay for even longer. It looked as though it might have ended, but Victor’s interest was piqued… what was it about this man that had fascinated Jodie until today. And even more interesting, what had he done to upset her?

Victor waited until the man headed his direction before hurrying away and taking cover in a doorway further along the street.

But when lover boy was at a safe distance, Victor followed. It was time he found out more.

25

Jodie didn’t sleep but she didn’t expect to. Instead, she lay wide awake as thoughts and worries swirled through her head. If she went downstairs, she knew she’d listen to the messages Flynn had left and she couldn’t face that yet. In the morning… in the cold light of reality that came with the dawn… then she’d be able to.

She had forgotten to shut the curtains but it wasn’t sunshine that made her open her eyes, the morning being grey and dull and her room still in semi-darkness. It was the grim, gloomy inevitability of her life. She’d get over Flynn… because she had to… she’d find some way of dealing with Victor… again because she had to … and she’d apply for, and take when offered, that part-time nursing position.

But lying there, feeling sorry for herself wasn’t going to achieve anything. She sat up and swung her feet to the floor, frowning at the dirty mark her shoes had left on the duvet cover, annoyed with herself for being so sloppy… for being so very, very stupid.

She stood abruptly and turned to pull the cover and sheets off the bed. Keeping busy, that was the key.

Thirty minutes later, dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, she had packed the washing machine. Its churning and humming, followed minutes later by the rumble of the kettle boiling, were relaxing sounds of normality.