I step out into the bright, chilly sunshine, relieved to be out of the house. I am more shaken by the phone call this morning than I care to admit, and I am glad to be headed out for the afternoon, out of reach of that hissing, vitriolic voice. Walking quickly, the back of my neck itches where the wool of my scarf meets it, and as I reach up to loosen it, I think, from the corner of my eye, I see someone behind me. Pausing, I turn, scanning the pavement behind me. There are plenty of people there, all going about their day, but no one is looking at me. Following me.

I let out a breath I don’t realize I am holding, and then start to walk again, conscious of the heels of my ankle boots as they strike the concrete. My heart sinks as I approach the underpass that leads to Amanda’s house. I could walk round the long way, up and over the dual carriageway, but it’s busy and there isn’t much of a footpath. Turning, I can see that the path behind me is empty. There is only me, and the long tunnel in front of me.

Don’t be ridiculous, Emily, I chide myself, it was a voice at the end of the phone. There’s no one following you. Just walk.

Tentatively I take a step forward, pulling my hat off my head and pushing my hair away from my ears. Nothing. It’s fine. I step forward again, my shoulders easing down, my breath coming a little easier in my chest. Idiot. I allow myself a little breath of laughter as I fix my eyes on the white, cloudy sky, rimmed by bare tree branches at the end of the underpass. A faint smell of piss and something musty hits my nose, and I speed up, my heels striking the concrete with a dull thud.

And then I do hear it. A second footstep in time with mine, then faster than mine, and muffling a shriek into my scarf I start to run, too frightened to look over my shoulder at whoever is chasing me, too scared to slow down even though my chest is hurting through lack of oxygen. I tear through the tunnel and out the other side, only slowing when I am out into the daylight. A burly man walking an English bull terrier gives me a curious glance as I bend at the waist sucking in gasping lungfuls of air.

I raise my eyes to the tunnel, but it is dark. No one comes running from the mouth of it, and after a few seconds a cyclist whizzes through, legs pumping, eyes hidden by sunglasses.

Idiot, I think again, there wasn’t anyone chasing you, you didn’t even hear footsteps. It was a bloody cyclist.