‘Good dog!’ I muttered, cheerfully. I wanted the man to hear my voice; to let him know I wasn’t frightened.

We began to walk out of the northern end of the park, up towards the Goldsmiths’ Centre, one of the newer constructions in the area. At once, the man fell into step behind me. I heard his feet hitting the pavement and tried to quicken my own pace. Unfortunately, the dog wouldn’t have it. He’d been distracted by an overflowing bin and although I tugged at the leash, he refused to move.

The top floor of my flat was in sight, poking over the other buildings. If I shouted loud enough, Jill might even hear. But shouting for help is one of the things people in horror films don’t often do and it was the same for me now. I wasn’t certain that there was anything to worry about. My imagination could be playing tricks on me. There was no one around to hear me anyway, and if I shouted, it might actually encourage whoever this man was to launch his attack. I glanced round and saw that he was holding something low down, at waist height. It glinted in his hand. A knife?

I made a decision, leaned down and released the dog. Wasn’t he supposed to protect me? If he sensed the master was in danger, maybe he would turn round, bark and gnash his teeth.

The dog ran back to the bin.

Worse still, I’d got the timing wrong. By the time I stood up with the leash in my hand, I realised that the man had reached me. There he was, looming over me, his face a silhouette. I stared. Then he spoke my name and I recognised his voice.

‘Jordan!’ I muttered. ‘What a lovely surprise!’

I wasn’t sure what to say. Why was Jordan Williams here? Had he deliberately set out to frighten me? Why wasn’t he onstage? No. The play would have finished forty-five minutes ago – ample time to get changed and take the tube across to Farringdon. He wasn’t carrying a knife. Now that he was standing in front of me, I saw that it was a mobile phone in his hand.

‘Hello, Anthony.’

‘What are you doing here? I thought you lived in …’ I realised I had no idea where he lived.

‘I live in Hoxton. But sometimes I come home this way. When I need to clear my head.’

‘How did the play go tonight?’

‘It was good.’

‘Decent audience?’

‘We weren’t full. But they enjoyed it.’

We stood there, face to face, slightly ridiculous in the open air with the dog scavenging for pieces of Kentucky Fried Chicken.

‘I was hoping to see you,’ he admitted. ‘I was going to stop at your flat if the lights were on, but as I came out of the station, I saw you crossing the road with your dog so I followed you here.’

‘Why?’ I realised I was sounding defensive, but even though I now knew who I was dealing with, Jordan still seemed quite menacing. This was, after all, the man who had threatened Harriet Throsby, who had hurt Sky Palmer and was, I’d been told, on the verge of leaving his wife. If it had been Tirian or Ewan surprising me in an ex-cemetery in the middle of the night, I would have been much more relaxed. They were more my size. ‘It’s quite late, Jordan. Maybe we could talk tomorrow.’