She could smell nothing but exhaust fumes and the perfume of an elderly lady who had just walked past with a small white fluffy dog. She could see no one she knew. And yet. Norah had always trusted her instinct, and her instinct told her that something wasn’t right. Someone was watching her. Norah scanned the pavement. The bustle caused by people getting on and off the tram made it hard to get a clear picture, but a quick glance revealed nothing out of the ordinary. No weird beggarwomen—nothing at all to arouse her interest. She turned back to the tram, which had closed its doors and was about to move off, and her eye was caught by a figure who turned away just as she looked at him. Was it coincidence or had he deliberately avoided her gaze? Norah had no time to find out because at that moment the tram started off.

She watched it go, thinking hard. The figure she’d seen had been a man—she was pretty sure of that. But it was as much as she could say with any certainty. Norah decided to walk the few hundred metres to her flat. She saw the rear lights of the tram as it approached the next stop, and as it retreated, her sense of alarm faded. She walked briskly to get warm, but then realised that she hadn’t come out on the square as she’d meant to. Taking her phone out of her bag to look at Google Maps, she saw another text from the unfamiliar number.

They don’t deserve you.

Norah frowned. Her fingers hovered over the touchpad of her phone for a second. Then she clicked on the green telephone symbol and waited. She had to know who’d written. The dial tone sounded, then she was informed that the person she was calling was unavailable. No voicemail, nothing. Norah hung up and wrote:

Who are you?

No answer.

Coward, Norah wrote.

She entered her address into Google Maps, then changed her mind and searched for The Goldfinch. She knew it was a new, trendy restaurant with a bar, and when she saw that it was only a fifteen-minute walk away, she set off into the night.

The windows of the restaurant lay before her like an illuminated painting. Dark floorboards, petrol-coloured walls. Dozens of little brass-coloured lamps cast a warm light on the faces of the people at the window table who sat deep in conversation, goblets of golden liquid in front of them. One woman whose blonde hair fell in waves over her shoulders was so close that Norah could see her cherry-red nail varnish. The woman said something, tossing back her head with a laugh, and the man next to her—evidently her partner—shook his head, grinning; it looked as if the joke was on him. He raised his glass and toasted her. Another woman at their table, a beautiful redhead with short hair and elfin features, smiled and took a sip from her glass. More glowing people.