Rebecca’s nerves had calmed considerably with a strong coffee. It wasn’t until she left the kitchen, though, that she realized the front door was open. Tutting and cursing her girls for forever leaving something open – the fridge, the milk top, and now the bloody front door – she slammed it shut before she wandered upstairs, expecting to find Alastair in bed. Curiously, he wasn’t there. Yet, on closer inspection, both the bedside cabinet drawers were open. Something was afoot, but she couldn’t put her finger on what it was. Brooke’s room was also unoccupied. She noticed two suitcases partially packed on the bed and ran into Poppy’s room only to find she wasn’t there. A cold sensation ripped through her like an icy winter wind.

Her first thought was that Alastair had left and taken the girls with him. With her hands shaking, she rang him on his mobile, but it just went to voicemail. When she called Poppy’s number next, she could hear her daughter’s phone ringing in her bedroom. Her nerves were now seriously on edge and her trepidation wasn’t lessened when she tried Brooke’s number and this one too went straight to voicemail.

The bastard! He had done it. All those times he’d threatened to leave. How could he do this to her? She’d given him whatever he wanted – always – but now he’d turned his back on her and walked out. Sitting on her bed with her face in her hands, she cried like a baby.

***

The witching hour. Zara awoke to feel as though she’d slept on concrete slabs; her body ached all over. Tossing and turning, her mind tried to unravel the mess. She hadn’t mentioned her concerns to Neil or anyone. It was something she would normally never do. Her father had taught her that. ‘Whenever things are going arse-up,’ he would say, ‘keep your thoughts to yourself, until you are sure you know what to do next.’ It had proved time and time again to be the right course of action. She had to be sure of her conclusion – Eric, in some way, was involved in the plot to take her down. She was pretty sure of that. Proving it, though, might be challenging.

The bandaged wrist, the strong aftershave, and the fact that the man was huge, it all pointed to him. Yet why would he do this to her? Why, in fact, would he want to do this to her? Well, in all honesty she did have a clue! There was the small matter of her kicking his advances into touch and slicing his wrist. But was he trying to worm his way into her affections or were his overtures simply a means to discover how her business ticked so that he could gradually take it down and replace it with this evil shit drug called Flakka?