‘But best of all were your stories,’ he says, his voice light as though addressing a child. ‘Isn’t that just the best thing about social media? The fact that we don’t need books and stupid authors any more because now we can make up our own stories, and we’re in control, not them. Yours were just wonderful. But the one I liked the best was the one of you and your sister going for a walk on Wimbledon Common. You both looked so happy. It was like something from a dream. That’s how I found the lovely house you live in with your sister, the one you fled to when it all went wrong with your boyfriend. I helped you along the way, of course …’

‘What … what are you talking about?’

‘Those abortion pamphlets you threw in the bin outside your flat,’ he says manically. ‘I felt that boyfriend of yours needed to know what pain he’d put you through and, hopefully, you’d break up. So I fished them out and put them on the doorstep.’

My body goes cold. This man has followed me everywhere. I think back to that afternoon when I woke to find Connor standing over me, the appointment card in his hand.

‘But even then, after all of my work, you still couldn’t see me,’ he says, an edge to his voice now. ‘In fact, you looked right through me every time our paths crossed. That’s when I realized I was nothing more than a story in a book.’

‘No,’ I whimper as he presses tighter on my neck. ‘That’s not true. You’re a real person, a good person who had bad things happen to him. You don’t have to do this. You can stop it now and go on to have a normal life, be happy.’

He loosens his grip. I try to get up but his hand is still pressed into the base of my back.

‘What do you mean?’ he says, his voice cracking. ‘You mean, we could … we could make a life together? You and me?’

He pulls my face towards him and for one horrible moment I think he’s going to kiss me, but then the sound of a siren fills the corridor and he freezes.

‘No, Iris,’ he hisses, his eyes blazing. ‘Tell me you haven’t been so stupid?’

38. Now

I try to scream but his hand is pressed over my mouth as he drags me down the stairs. The sirens stop and I hear the thud of car doors slamming and heavy boots on the gravel drive.

The police are here. Only seconds away. But now he’s dragging me into the garden and his arm is around my neck so I can’t shout.