The bell jangled and she walked in. Helen was not surprised. She had grown used to her appearing over the years, saying very little, then disappearing again. Like she was reminding Helen she was there. As if Helen could forget.

After flicking her eyes at Helen, she said, “You look like you’ve been in a fight.”

“You should see the other person,” Helen replied without humour.

She walked further into the shop, paused by the table of Helen’s books, took another step forward. “Written anything good lately?” Her voice was little over a whisper.

“Was it you?” Helen asked.

“Was what?”

“The photo.”

She frowned, looked directly at Helen fleetingly with those strange eyes of hers, then looked away just as quickly. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Someone sent me a photo – of her.”

She paled, stepped back, edging towards the door. “Well, it wasn’t me. Why would I?”

“Yeah, you’re right. Why would you?” Helen’s voice was calm, steady, but her heart was not. It was jumping and thudding with anger, fear, anxiety. She wanted to scream at her, shout, tell her to do something, say something, after all this time. Swear at her and see her flinch. Hit her.

Push her.

“That means someone else knows. The photos.” Her body stiffened in realisation.

Helen sighed. It wasn’t worth it. “It doesn’t mean anything. It could be just a coincidence or something.”

Her hair was a mess as usual, unruly, sticking out in places, flattened or thinning in others. More grey strands ran through it these days and over the years she had lost much of the youthful beauty Helen had envied when they were younger. Now she looked folded in on herself.

She backed away and left the shop without another word.

Helen watched her walk away with narrowed eyes.

*

Helen managed to make it through to the afternoon on autopilot, stuck to her chair, her hands slotting biscuit after biscuit between her lips like letters in a postbox. She was not even tasting them. They were just filling the void in her gut.

Someone knew something. What did they want? Just to torment her? Play with her?

Or some sort of revenge? Drive her crazy with paranoia before throwing her to the wolves? And did Matt have something to do with it?

She looked down and the biscuit packet was empty. She pushed it to the bottom of the wastepaper bin in disgust.

She heard the bell jangle again. It was Jenni, bundled up in a thick fur coat and hat, as though it was the middle of winter instead of early October.

“Hi, Helen,” she said, unwrapping her layers as she walked through to the back room.