‘What was her name?’ spat Bill. His father was so incandescent, he barely noticed the mess on the carpet.

Staggering, Paul managed to get up from the couch and wiped his mouth before uttering the name that would haunt him forever. ‘Claire.’

‘Well, I hope she was worth it, you fucking rapist,’ finished Bill, before he’d turned away and collapsed back into his armchair, the blame for his wife’s illness firmly placed on his son.

Paul, mind and body spent, knew it was pointless to even bother arguing with him.

Afterwards, he’d gone to the hospital and sat with his mother, her listless body held together with machines. He didn’t leave her side until she died three days later.

Now, as Paul walked towards the hospital cleaning staff room, his rucksack slung over one shoulder, his hat pulled down low over his forehead, he tried not to think about his last interaction with Bill. Bill was right but it didn’t make him any less than a dickhead and he couldn’t care less about his dad.

But Claire.

Claire had always haunted him. Over the years and despite the distance, he had followed her life. It hadn’t been difficult to keep track of her movements – Castlefield was a small town and she hadn’t gone far. And then Facebook had arrived, and her life was all there laid out in front of him, without him even needing to leave the squalor of his bedsit. The photos of her only increased his desire for her. Tracking her was so easy, he almost missed the old-fashioned methods. His footsteps trailing her, his simple disguise of a hat, scarf and big coat in winter, baseball cap and sunglasses in summer, making him blend into the busy crowds of the city centre. He rarely went to Castlefield – that would be too risky, but he knew where her office was, what time she took her lunch, and where she liked to eat.

Over the years, he’d got lucky a few times like when he’d risked getting close enough to overhear her making some plans for the weekend as she chatted with colleagues in the queue in the café during a break. One time, he’d trailed her to a bus stop and at the last second he had followed her on, squeezing between the crowd of passengers.

Once mobile phones became the norm, information was available to him instantly. He watched her at weekends then with her family, her husband and children, but the jealousy was almost unbearable. It was like watching the life he could have had, and he preferred to watch Claire when she was alone. During that time, he could pretend that she was his, that their love had not gone so horribly wrong. He wanted her so badly and while she may have ruined their last encounter, he would make sure their next one would be one she would never forget.

*