My initial instinct was to block the number. But then they’d only get a new one. If I let this number keep messaging me then when the police investigated my gruesome murder, they’d have all the evidence in one conversation. Plus, I’d tried ignoring them – running away – and it hadn’t worked. As I tramped along the country lanes and footpaths, Hope strapped to my chest, one thought repeatedly sifted to the surface: I would rather know than constantly wonder about it. If things reached the point where I felt genuinely in danger – if, please no, they gave even the slightest indication that they knew where I was – I would speak to the police. I would definitely speak to Daniel. And then I would have to decide whether to face them, flip things around and try to contact the Alami family, or pack my bags and find somewhere else to hide.

The following day, Tuesday morning, I’d heard nothing more. I drove into Mansfield and bought a new phone, updating my Ferrington contacts and my family with my new number and then putting my old phone in my bedside drawer with the promise to myself that I’d only check it once a day. A promise I managed to keep for an impressive hour and fifty-seven minutes.

‘You need to stop worrying about what they might do to you,’ Daniel told me, as we tucked into a late dinner of pumpkin gnocchi on Friday evening, once Hope had settled in her cot.

‘What?’ I dropped my fork, splashing creamy sauce on my jumper, which made feigning cheerful confusion at his comment rather pointless. I did gather my wits quickly enough to realise that the they he was talking about wasn’t the they I was worrying about.

‘When I took Hope for her nine-month check-up today, people mentioned it, but I don’t think anyone’s gunning for you.’

‘What did they say?’

Daniel pushed a couple of pieces of gnocchi around his plate.

‘Come on. Whatever it is, I promise you I’ll have heard worse.’

‘They aren’t so much angry, as, well… that’s not true. People are angry. But at this stage it’s no more than chuntering over village gossip. The receptionist probably summed it up best.’

I braced myself.

‘She called you a deluded, impertinent pipsqueak and asked me to make sure you stop meddling in matters you know nothing about.’

‘So, I can probably show my face in the village without risking a stint in the stocks?’

‘In the Old Side, sure,’ Daniel shrugged, his eyes glinting. ‘I can’t vouch for those snivelling, whiny New Siders.’

It being a Friday, and us being wild and crazy young things, we decided to find a boxset on the TV. Carrying our drinks into the living room, we picked an old BBC detective series, and settled back to watch. I don’t know if it was because we were sharing a bottle of wine, but Daniel had sat next to me on the sofa. Positioned directly in the middle of his cushion, feet propped on the coffee table, I was nevertheless finding it increasingly challenging to concentrate.