‘I was passing and wondered if you fancied grabbing breakfast. I guessed you’d be alone.’ He scanned the flat, checking for telltale signs that someone might have stayed over.

‘If you don’t mind I’d rather not. I’ve got plans,’ I lied.

‘Go on. Just a quick bite to start the day? Then I’ll leave you in peace. Promise.’

Without invitation, he sat down and splayed his mammoth body across the sofa. His feet were so large I had to move round them to get past. You couldn’t hide from Oliver.

‘If you go and let me get ready, I’ll meet you at Joe’s Café in the High Street. Give me half an hour.’ It was the only way to get Oliver out of the flat.

I moved to the front door and opened it wide. I painted on a smile while he made his exit.

‘Thirty minutes. Sounds like a plan,’ he shouted over his shoulder.

This was the first time Oliver had come uninvited to my flat; turned up without warning. I needed to put him straight; tell him that I didn’t like random callers and he should phone if he needed to speak to me. After the night of the funeral, I knew he couldn’t be trusted.

Joe’s Café was packed with early-morning market traders. Oliver stood when I walked in and pulled a chair out for me.

‘Coffee? Tea? Full English? My treat.’

‘Just tea and toast.’

Oliver waited patiently in the queue and all I could think of was how often Mitch and I had come here together. We used to buy one breakfast, ask for two plates and neatly halve the food. Mitch would dip his soldiers in the runny egg and pop one end in my mouth while chewing off the other in his own.

‘Do you fancy doing something later? Maybe a film or get a takeaway and stay in?’

I’m not sure why I didn’t scotch any ideas Oliver might have had then and there. Tell him the truth and that we’d never be more than friends and work colleagues. Instead I took the easy way out. I didn’t feel up to confrontation. I’d put him straight at a later date, when I was more prepared.

‘I’m sorry. I’ve already made other plans. Jodi and I are catching up.’

‘I thought you did that on a Friday evening,’ he said. The upturn of his lips looked like a snarl. He wasn’t stupid. That’s when I realised he knew what I did on a Friday evening.

27

Rebecca

Oliver’s early morning visit had made me uneasy, and not a little scared. On the way back from breakfast I took a detour by way of the security shop, Boltons. Discussing double locks, window bolts and alarm systems gave me a sense of purpose. I needed to feel safe in my own home.