The girl pushed the boy off the swing and I moseyed on, wishing the father luck with his charges. That would be us one day but we would be here together, holding each other’s hands as well as those of our children.

I strolled over to the lake path, keeping well behind Rebecca who was up ahead. I saw the large gentleman and his two charges head back towards the car park. Then something very unsettling happened. Rebecca fell over; perhaps a sprained ankle. She slithered to the ground and for a second I nearly blew my cover and rushed across to pick her up and offer words of comfort. Her friend, joined by a small concerned group of walkers, stopped to help. I put my dark glasses on to shield my eyes from the sun and from danger of recognition.

Rebecca wasn’t looking in my direction. Her eye had caught sight of the father leaving the park. I knew this because she turned back to look at him a second time; then she collapsed. I’m intuitive, always have been. Rebecca knew the giant. I was certain and I felt that perhaps they shared an unsavoury history.

Okay. It was a rather outlandish summation but my mother always taught me to trust my instincts. The trip to the park had thrown up a piece of the jigsaw; the jigsaw that made up Rebecca Carrington. Her surname had been offered up to me by an indiscreet receptionist at the gym. If I was going to complete the puzzle, and capture her heart, I needed all the information at my fingertips. There was work to be done.

39

Rebecca

The sun came out, weak but determined and heralded a winter brightness which shone through my skylight. It was exactly two months since I’d moved in. After a couple of glasses of wine one night, I gathered the nerve to climb the flimsy stepladder and yank the green blind off. Dead moths and flies plummeted to earth, decaying remnants from a forgotten graveyard.

It was a Saturday. Jodi and Taylor had managed to persuade me to attend their one-year anniversary at the local pub. My regular fitness regime had armed me with renewed vigour and a welcome, though cautious, level of confidence. On Monday I had a couple of interviews lined up and felt at last that things were turning a corner.

I decided to forgo the treadmill and headed early for the park, clad in a navy hooded sweatshirt and shorts. Vanessa, who ran a clothes shop in Highgate Village, was limbering up when I got there.

‘Rebecca? Oh my god! Long time no see.’ She stared at me, not quite sure if she’d got it right. ‘It must be almost ten years.’