‘Ah, damn, I forgot to pick it up yesterday,’ he says, rubbing his eyes. ‘I better go and get some. Your sister gets tetchy if she doesn’t have her cup of builder’s tea and I’m guessing she’ll have quite the headache this morning.’

I watch as he grabs his wallet and keys from the kitchen table and heads out of the door.

Suddenly alone, I feel vulnerable. I look out of the window at the tangle of garden with its hidden corners and twisty pathways. Anyone could be hiding out there. I go to the French windows, make sure Jack locked them properly. He did. Of course he did. Stop worrying. But then I hear something outside. Rustling. Is someone there or is it just the breeze whistling through the trees? I can’t be sure, but what I do know is that I feel unsafe here, exposed.

I decide to go upstairs and get dressed, distract myself. After my shower I carefully apply some make-up and take my favourite blue sundress out of the wardrobe. I always feel happy when I wear it.

I open the curtains and look out at the common. There’s a golden haze hanging above it, another beautiful summer’s day. I see old Mr Allen walking his dog, a mother and child sitting on a yellow picnic blanket patterned with bright-red stars, and a man in a suit, striding across the overgrown path, head bowed over his phone. Beyond them, I see joggers and commuters, nannies with their charges. The day is breaking open.

But as I stand here looking out at all those people going about their business I feel an overwhelming sense of sadness. I had been like them once, happy, busy, focused, planning my future with the man I loved. And then it was all ripped away from me, in a heartbeat.

Hearing Jack’s key in the lock, I step away from the window, but as I do so my phone bleeps. I pick it up. It’s a text message from a number I don’t recognize. I hear Jack’s footsteps on the stone floor downstairs as I open the message and read the words.

You looked beautiful just now. Blue has always been the perfect colour for you.

My body goes cold despite the heat of the day.

Without thinking, I click on the number and wait for it to ring but it’s a dead line.

If this is Connor, has he set up another new number? And if so, why is the line dead?

My brain fizzes with fear and confusion.

One thing is certain: whoever sent this can see up to my window and they’re out there right now.

Watching.

20. Then

July 2018