For once, she accepted this excuse without demur, happy for them to stick together until this man was caught. Her older boy, Andrew, had offered to take compassionate leave and come home to look after them, but he was doing so well at work that she was reluctant to disrupt it. Luckily, she worked from home, so she had no need to leave Callum at all. It would get better with time, and eventually the man would be brought in, hopefully sooner rather than later. Until then she would just have to be strong and see them through it. At first, she had been surprised at the attention the police were giving the case. Then she learned that on the following nights, he had got into more homes and had even killed an old woman.

Annie stretched and yawned. The sun was up now, and a new day was dawning. She went downstairs and thought about breakfast. Callum wouldn’t be up for another hour at least, so she decided to treat herself to a cooked breakfast, something usually reserved for holidays. Maybe the smell of bacon would even tempt her lad from his pit.

The police would be calling today. They were trying to find something that connected her with the other women the intruder had visited. As she dumped an egg into a sizzling frying pan, she had an idea. What if she and the other women actually met up and shared not only their experience but what they might have in common? You never knew, they might come up with whatever had led this dreadful man to seek them and their children out.

She bustled about, relishing the mouth-watering aroma of fried breakfast, feeling a bit of the old feisty Annie returning. Come on, Annie. You managed to raise two lovely boys while mourning the death of your beloved husband, surely you can do something to help get this wretch off the streets?

The other women would feel the same, she was sure, and if any held back, she’d make sure they came forward in the end.

The breakfast was delicious. Annie enjoyed every mouthful, and then repeated the process half an hour later for her pleasantly surprised son.

She had been given the names of the other women, to see if she recognised either of them — Sylvia Wilson and Fleur Harper. The names remained engraved in her brain. She’d seen on the news that the dead woman was called Nancy Cutler. Annie decided that as soon as she’d cleared the breakfast things, she’d track down Sylvia and Fleur and invite them for a coffee. She had no idea what kind of women they were, but if dearly loved children were involved, they had to be keen to do what they could.