Picking up my key ring I creep down the darkened hallway towards the door, wincing as my keys chink together. Stretching out my hand I slip the key into the lock and twist, holding my breath, but it’s already locked. I must have done it automatically. I’m just stepping backwards when the letter box rattles open and eyes shine through the slot.

‘Callie? Are you there? It’s me. Chris.’

It takes a few seconds to register the name. The voice. Callie’s colleague.

‘Chris?’ I flick on the light and unlock the front door and crack it open. He’s wrapped up in a black overcoat and still somehow smells faintly of the dental surgery.

‘What are you doing here?’ I am ready to slam the door shut if I need to. ‘Did you follow me?’ I remember I’d told Sara as I left the dentist that I’d be calling into the pub. Was it Chris who followed me home from the Prince of Wales?

‘What? God. No. I took your address from your registration form. Sara found this in reception after you left.’ He holds out the bracelet with hearts that Sam had bought me. ‘She thought it might be yours.’

‘It is.’ I stretch out my hand. He drops the bracelet into my cupped palm, and I curl my fingers around it. I was sure it had been zipped in the compartment in my bag but I suppose it could have slipped out when I pulled out my purse.

‘It must have fallen off when you paid. I thought as you’re on my way home…’

‘How did you get here?’ It sounds like an accusation rather than a question.

‘I drove. Look. Sorry, Callie. I didn’t mean to upset you.’

‘Jenna. It’s Jenna.’ I snap.

‘Sorry, sorry it’s just so… It’s the hair.’ He begins to back away. ‘Sorry,’ he says again as he turns and thumps down the stairs

I slam the front door and pull the chain across before dashing towards the kitchen window and flinging it open, straining my ears for the sound of a car starting, but the street is quiet. Dark. And I can’t hear anything at all.

* * *

The phone is now charged enough to switch on and I find it isn’t as old as Sara had thought. The flurry of texts and calls are dated just before Callie died. As I read the text messages the hairs on my arm stand on end.

There’s only one contact listed. It’s a number. Not a name. And all the calls and texts are to and from that person, and I scan through them.

‘I tried to meet you but he followed me.’ Callie says in one of them.

‘Be careful.’ is the reply.

There’s a flurry of incoming texts dated the night Callie died, but no replies from Callie were sent.

Who was Callie texting? Was she having an affair? I have to know. Almost without thinking I dial the number in the contact list on Callie’s phone, making sure I withhold my own number. It rings and rings and just when I am about to give up there’s a click. The sound of a breath. I stay still. Silent. Waiting for them to speak first. There’s something in the background. Something familiar but I can’t quite place it. I close my eyes. What is it? That noise?

I rub my forehead as though I can make an image appear to accompany the sound, like a genie in a bottle. The breathing on the other end of the phone becomes ragged and there’s the soft sound of a throat clearing but I can’t tell if it’s a man or a woman.

‘Hello,’ I say at last, unable to wait any longer. There’s a whirring in my ear as the line goes dead, and I try calling again, this time from Callie’s phone but a robotic voice tells me the mobile is currently switched off. What now?

* * *

The kitchen is in darkness except for the green glow of the clock on the hob. It’s 1.00 a.m. and my eyes are burning with the need to sleep, but I can’t tear myself away from the window. I’ve been kneeling for so long on the wooden chair I usually sit on to eat my breakfast, the pins and needles in my feet have faded into numbness. The walk home from the pub has unsettled me, and I can’t stop thinking about Neil. Each time I think I’ll go to bed something outside catches my eye. A shadow lurking behind a parked car, a shape shifting in a doorway. The night is still. Mostly silent, except from the hum of my fridge, but every now and then a sound pierces the air: the yowling of a cat, the thrum of a car in the distance. I’m clinging to Callie’s mobile phone as if it’s driftwood, my mind racing. Who was watching her? Are they watching me? I look up and down the street but I can’t see anyone.

At last I uncurl my body and stumble as I try to stand, stamping life into my dead feet. Too tired to clean my teeth I dowse my pillow with lavender oil to help relax me, and fall into bed but as I wait for exhaustion to claim me I wonder yet again if the front door is properly locked, if I am really safe. I get up and rattle the handle and check the bolt is across but I don’t feel reassured. Someone followed me. I know they did. In bed, I toss and turn until I click on my bedside lamp and a golden glow fills the room and, at last, reassured by the soft light, I close my eyes.

Sleep, when it comes, is fitful. Faces looming towards me: Chris; Neil; Nathan. Callie crying for help. When I wake in the early hours I reread the texts on Callie’s phone. Someone was watching her, following her, and panic pinballs in my chest as I think that now they might be following me.