“It’s like a zoo in here, what did you say?”

“When are you back?”

“The kids want to stay the night; they’ve done some homework and now they’re having fun. Eve’s made food.”

“It’s school tomorrow.”

“Come on, Gracie.”

“No.”

His reply was lost in the noise and laughter. She’d ended the call and turned off the ignition. She sat in the car for a while; a young woman walked past in the downpour, with plastic bags of shopping and a toddler on either side. A teenager locked his bright orange bike to the railings. The landlady made a brief appearance, bulky in her padded anorak, her red hair hidden under the hood. She smoked a cigarette while her Pekingese urinated on the grass, then both disappeared back into her flat. Grace checked every shadowy doorway then got out, locked her car, and walked to the door—walked, not ran—staring straight ahead. When footsteps approached from behind, going fast, her head sang with panic. She cringed as a young bloke brushed by, jogging at speed. He was shorter than her attacker had been but wore a hoody like his. One of the four who used to hang out by the dumpsters, she was convinced. The boy vanished around the corner of the building. She hurried inside, checked the lift was unoccupied and, after it reached the thirteenth floor, that the narrow hallway was empty. She unlocked the front door, stepped inside, and slammed it behind her. She was safe.

The second cup of tea has now gone cold. She should get up, get on. Martin will be back soon. Once the children are in bed, they will curl close on the sofa as they used to do. She’ll share her news properly and he’ll put his arm around her and tell her that leaving her job was exactly the right thing to do. They’ll start to make plans and then they’ll go to bed together. They’ll make love, she promises herself. The drama of the evening will finish on a happy note; the kind of ending dramas are supposed to have. The flat is very quiet. She walks to the kitchen and turns on the radio. She could have joined them at the party though he didn’t suggest that. It’s too late now, and besides, she might have blurted out her news when she’d prefer to tell him in private. She’ll make the flat very tidy and then they can relax. She puts the breakfast cereal away and wipes down the appliances, polishing the surfaces till they shine; all the time, an image of the hooded boy who ran past her flickers in and out of her mind. It’s time to share exactly what happened to her that night in July and how she’s been feeling since. Martin will help, even if he simply listens with his arm around her; that will help.