I sit on Beth and Carys’s sofa flicking through the Sunday papers. I purposely haven’t bought any newspapers since Joe’s birthday – that awful morning when I first read the column Darcy stole from me. Beth and Carys buy a more serious, left-wing newspaper – one that doesn’t have throwaway pieces like mine or Darcy’s, so it doesn’t hurt too much to read it.

‘Please come,’ Carys says, putting a cup of tea on the side table next to me. ‘You’ll love Tom and Sally. They’ve said the more the merrier.’

I appreciate Carys inviting me to their friends’ house for Sunday lunch, but the last thing I want is to be sociable. I can barely string two sentences together today, let alone make small talk with total strangers.

‘Yes, come,’ Beth says coming into the lounge and sitting on the sofa opposite.

‘Thanks, guys,’ I say, meaning it, ‘but I’m not good company.’ I lay the newspapers back down on the table and pick up my tea.

‘Want me to stay with you?’ Beth offers. ‘Carys and Megan won’t mind going without me. We can curl up and watch girly movies and eat cake.’

Carys smiles. ‘Sure. That’s cool with me.’

‘You two are the best, but no, Beth. You go. You’re already dressed up to go out. Anyway, I think I’ll be better off on my own today.’

‘You sure?’ Beth asks with a frown. ‘I’m worried about you. You’ve had a traumatic experience, and bloody Jared should’ve been more supportive. You’re his wife for goodness sake!’

‘I think the whole thing has freaked him out,’ I say, not quite sure why I’m defending him, when what I actually want to do is yell at him.

‘Hmm,’ Beth replies.

Carys remains tactfully silent on the subject of my husband.

Last night, when I arrived at Beth’s, I broke down and told her what Jared had said. How he’d compared me to my birth mother. How he thought I was having some kind of mental breakdown. Beth wanted to march straight round there and give him a piece of her mind. She’s my adopted parents’ natural daughter, and when I went to live with them, at the age of ten, she took me under her wing and nurtured me. Made me feel so loved and welcome. She’s always been there for me. She’s my sister, but she’s also my best friend.

‘When are we going?’ Megan pokes her head around the lounge door.

‘Any minute,’ Carys replies. ‘You need to go and have a wee before we leave.’

‘I don’t need a—’

Carys gives her a look, and Megan drops her shoulders and goes dutifully to the loo. Beth gets to her feet.

‘Have a great time,’ I say, trying to sound cheerful. ‘Thanks so much for letting me crash here… again.’

‘I feel bad leaving you alone after what you’ve just been through,’ Beth says.

‘Don’t be daft. Go. Eat lunch. I’ll be fine. I’m happy to relax here.’

‘If you’re sure,’ Carys says.

I finally shoo them out of the house with further blandishments to ease their consciences.

As the front door closes, I heave a sigh of relief, even as the first brutal wave of melancholy hits me in the chest. I’m in no mood to hang out with strangers, yet the sense of abandonment knocks the breath from my body. Nothing and no one could make me feel okay today – well, Joe could. And maybe Jared. I wish with all my heart that he would come over and apologise. That he would tell me he trusts me and believes in me and that he knows I’m right about Darcy. I know that’s not going to happen. My accusations against Darcy have unnerved him, and the police allegations have confirmed his fears. He thinks I’m losing my mind. He doesn’t know what to do. And now neither do I.

I get up from the sofa, wishing I could pick something up and smash it. If this was my house I would hurl something heavy at the wall. But I don’t think my sister would appreciate me vandalising their pristine flat. I need to do something to relieve my anger and hurt. My skin prickles, my brain races. I need to get out of here. I march into the spare room and throw on an extra jumper. Then I grab my coat, hat, gloves and the spare set of flat keys Beth gave me, and I leave the flat, slamming the door behind me.

I’ve walked and walked and walked, almost to Hengistbury Head and back again. Until the soles of my feet throb and my legs ache. Trying to tire myself out so that I’ll sleep tonight. So that I won’t think about what a mess my life has become. Now I’m back at Branksome Beach where all the benches have been taken by sickeningly happy families and loved-up couples, so I’m perched on the edge of the concrete promenade, my legs dangling above the sand. The damp seeps through my jeans, numbing my thighs and backside. I shift position a little, but that just makes it worse. The weak, winter sun throws out zero heat, and the lukewarm coffee in my gloved hands isn’t comforting me like I hoped it might.

Sunday on the beach is not a great place for a sad, lonely person to come. Not when the sun is shining and the place is packed out with cheerful people. I had hoped to walk off my anger. Instead, it seems to be building to a crescendo. A hard, bitter lump sits in my chest and I can’t shake it free.

I remember back to the summer when we all came down here for the day. When we gathered on rugs beneath sun umbrellas to shade us from the blistering sunshine. It was a perfect moment in time. Our happy, secure family. Even when Darcy and Mike happened upon us that evening, I welcomed them. Introduced them to my loved ones. I had no idea the woman would become my enemy. That she would pick apart the strands of my life like a poorly made jumper.

It seems the harder I try to hold onto everything, the more it’s slipping away. I don’t know what to do next. When I try to explain to my family and to the police about Darcy’s subtle games, I end up sounding crazy. But if I do nothing, then my life falls apart anyway. It’s a win-win for Darcy. And I still have no idea why she’s got it in for me.

Tipping out the remnants of my coffee, I watch the foamy liquid splatter onto the sand. It’s too weak, too cold to finish. The sun is already sinking. I suppose I’d better go back to Beth’s before I freeze. I heave myself up, my cold joints protesting, my bad knee clicking. There’s a blue bin to my right. I drop my empty coffee cup into it, tug my hat down over my ears and start walking.

The beach empties out as the sun dips behind the low cliffs. I think I’ll head back along the top path to make the most of the last rays. Leaving the beach, I turn off into Branksome Chine – one of the narrow gullies that leads down to the sea. The muddy path has been paved over, flanked by steep, thickly wooded banks, dotted with ornate Victorian street lamps. As I huff my way up the steep incline, my breaths puff out into miniature clouds that hover and melt. No one else is around, but I’m too wrapped up in my thoughts to feel uneasy about the lack of people. Anyway, it’s not far to the cliff top.

I reach the last few steps and turn left onto the narrow ridge path, the sky darkening over the sea, the citrus rays of the sun splaying out from behind a thin veil of cloud, like pale shooting stars. An elderly black Labrador trots past me, his equally elderly owner coming into view seconds later. He nods good evening and continues on his way. I pause for a moment to get my breath. At least I’ve warmed up now.

The sun dips still lower, so I start moving again. I hear soft footsteps behind me. My heart jolts, but this is a popular dog-walking route so I shouldn’t be worried. Nevertheless, I pick up my pace. Not far until I reach the road.

The footsteps are closer now. I think I’ll let whoever it is go past me. I stop and move to the side, glancing behind… and my heart freezes.

It’s him.

It’s my stalker.

After Darcy’s interference, I thought he had left me alone for good. To see him this close up is bone chilling, the sunlight catching his bearded face. He is tall, burly, strong-looking and his blue eyes have locked onto mine. He’s wearing the same brown corduroy coat as last time, but he’s not wearing his fisherman’s hat today. Instead, a woollen beanie is pulled down over his ears, his longish hair curling out beneath it. He opens his mouth as if he’s about to say something but I have no wish to hold a conversation with this man. I’m held in place by fear for a split second before my fight-or-flight reflex kicks in – and I’m no fighter – so I turn and I run.

I hear his footfalls behind me, gaining. I have no breath left to scream.

‘Stop!’ he growls.

Yeah, right. I put on an extra spurt of speed. I don’t know where from. My lungs are squeezed tight, my thighs and calves already burning from my mammoth walk, and steep climb up the chine, my knee grinding in agony – I’m sure I’m going to need an operation on it soon – if I manage to live that long. If this guy catches me, I dread to think what he’ll do – Rape? Murder? Worse?

I hear his breathing now, merging with my own. Oh please, no. I can’t outrun this man. He’s almost on me. I try to scream but my breath is taken, my lungs squeezed from the effort of running. His fingers close around my shoulder. I squeal and manage to jerk away and veer off the path into the woods. As soon as I do so, I realise this was a bad idea. There’s no daylight in here, no chance of a passer-by to save me. Branches twist and bracken crunches underfoot. Twigs claw at my face and now I’m crying with terror. His fingers scrape the backs of my arms. ‘Stop!’ he snarls again, frustration and anger in his voice.

I scream thinly as his arms lock around my body and he tackles me to the ground. We crash into the undergrowth, his weight pinning me. Soggy leaves and mud slide into my mouth and up my nose. I cough and spit and choke. A bird calls out a warning. Too late for me.

‘Help!’ I try to yell, but my voice comes out weak and croaky. His hand slides over my face, smothering my mouth and nose. I can’t breathe. Shit. Is this it? Will I ever see Joe again? Am I going to die today?