He looks old: his face is weathered and his grey hair sticks up in all directions – therefore, he’s hopefully pretty harmless – and possibly homeless given the state of his clothes and his dishevelled appearance.

‘Can I help you?’ I say as I draw closer.

‘I certainly hope so,’ he says, standing. He’s taller than I expected from his seated position. A battered-looking army-green holdall lies at his feet, but I don’t think he’s selling anything. I instinctively keep some distance between us and stand with my arms crossed. I wait for him to continue.

‘I’m looking for someone,’ he says. ‘A Nicholas Miller. I couldn’t get an answer.’ The man glances back at the house, then returns his gaze to me. ‘Is he still at work?’

His words ring several alarms all at once.

This man knows Nick’s name. And he knows his address. Or previous one, at least. I’d put him in the same age bracket as the man responsible for the alleged abductions in the Seventies. In my mind, all of these factors point to him being the one who sent the bracelet to Nick believing he still lived here. Which means I have some kind of a monster on my doorstep.

My mind won’t work fast enough; I can’t think of any plausible lies I can fob him off with.

‘He doesn’t live here anymore, I’m afraid. And I’ve no forwarding address. What did you want him for?’

I realise as soon as the words have left my mouth that he’ll know I’m not telling the entire truth here. Who would bother asking what he wants unless they knew the person of interest?

‘You’re his ex, then,’ the man says, flatly.

My heart crashes against my ribcage. I don’t bother denying it; I’ve already messed up.

‘Do you want to speak to him in a professional capacity?’ I ask, pre-empting the reason for his visit. Does he want to give Nick further evidence – more of his trophies from people he abducted and murdered? Or give a full confession? He looks as though he’s got one foot in the grave – perhaps this is his attempt at making peace before he dies. But his questionable appearance doesn’t mean he’s not dangerous.

I want to get inside the house, get my mobile and call Nick immediately. I shouldn’t be dealing with this shit. I knew it would come to this; knew we were unsafe here. Why didn’t Nick listen to me? I’m contemplating the idea of bypassing Nick and dialling 999 as soon as I can. Thank God the boys are with Jo and Keeley.

‘Yes … and no,’ he says.