I walk briskly along the Watershed and cross the footbridge over the river. I wouldn’t normally go home this way – it can feel a bit lonely in the dark walking through Queen’s Square at this time of night – but it’s the most direct route to our flat from the pub. Queen’s Square is deserted, as most of the Georgian buildings that line the pavements are now offices, and I quicken my steps, trying to stop my imagination running away with me. But I’m sure I hear footsteps again. They sound heavy, like men’s boots. The rain is harder now and the wind tugs at my umbrella. I focus on my destination, walking as quickly as I can without running, and soon I exit the square and am passing the Llandoger Trow pub. I can see a few people huddled together outside it, smoking under an umbrella, the light from within casting an amber glow onto the cobbled pavement. A woman carrying a briefcase emerges from the building opposite and walks briskly in the other direction and I instantly feel safer, until I turn right onto the river and I’m alone again.

I’m sure I can still hear the footsteps. Heavy and determined. I stop and turn around, ready to confront whoever is behind me, but there is nobody. Someone laughs, piercing the silence. I walk on, but as the river falls away and I’m enveloped by the tall buildings either side of me I can see shadows lurking in every doorway. It’s my imagination, I tell myself. There’s nothing here. I’m just feeling unnerved after reliving past events this evening, that’s all. But I deliberately walk in the middle of the cobbled road anyway, praying no cars turn down this way, until I reach my block.

I fumble for my key, but don’t allow myself to panic. I turn the lock and let myself into the lobby, closing the heavy glass door behind me with relief. But as I do so I notice a light flash in the lower window of the derelict building opposite. A torch, perhaps. But it’s gone.

Before I have time to think any more about it, my phone vibrates in my coat pocket. I retrieve it to see Margot’s name flashing up on the screen.

Chapter 14

14

August 1994

Flora was falling in love. She was certain of it. She’d never felt like this before. And Dylan was so different from anyone she’d ever met. They’d only been seeing each other for seven days, but it had been the best week of her life. Dylan made her feel so special. And he was nineteen. Nineteen. Three whole years older. She still couldn’t believe her luck that he was interested in her when he could have had anyone. She saw the way other girls flicked their hair and fluttered their eyelashes whenever he was around.