Freddie dutifully took the pills that Jenny had left for him, and while his temperature had definitely gone down, he still felt insubstantial, unsteady.

He did as he was told and didn’t call her, but God it was difficult. So many times his thumb strayed to her name and hovered, hesitated, retreated. No, just trust her. She said to trust her. She’s not stupid, and now she knows the facts she’ll do the right thing. She will.

However, as time ticked, being alone in the house grew harder to bear. He shouldn’t have slept. He shouldn’t have let her go. He should tell the police about David, not made her that stupid promise…

* * *

He killed time by having another long shower, and when he got out, he saw that he had a missed call from her. No message though. Surely that meant he could call? He pressed her name with one shaking finger, held the phone next to his hot skin, and listened to it ring ring ring itself out. When he tried again it had been turned off.

He closed his eyes then, feeling dizzy, feeling sick. Something bad had happened… it must have done… he imagined her hiding, maybe somewhere in that huge house; suddenly her phone rings, and David, incensed, follows the sound, finds her…

A few seconds later he got a text from an unknown number.

It’s Jen, I’m using this phone. DON’T call the other one! Will explain later. Have you heard from Ryan?

Yes, where are you? Is everything OK?

I’m with him now. Lot’s happened but need to tell you face-to-face… don’t worry though we’re both safe.

Meet now then? Come here?

We’re driving. Narrowboat nearer and yours might not be safe. Will explain I promise XOXO

What’s happening????

She didn’t reply.

His imagination, sluggish with fatigue, slid further into fear. Jenny and Ryan, speeding towards the city, white with terror, bristling with evidence, David in hot pursuit. And all Freddie could do was wait. Shrugging on his coat, he left the flat, and started to walk to the pub on the other side of town.

The mist that had receded during the day was rolling back in from the hills to the city, and even though he dawdled as much as he could, he still arrived at the virtually empty pub half an hour early. The same cute little barman was serving, and he did the same cute little thing with drinks – a double gin for the price of a single, which Freddie took before thinking that he probably shouldn’t be drinking when he was ill and taking those pills Jenny had given him.

He texted the number Jenny had called from.

I’m here now.

There was no reply.

Are you OK Jen? What happened?

No answer.

Knowing he shouldn’t, he called her, but the phone was turned off. Don’t panic, Fred, don’t panic. Doesn’t mean anything. Could have run out of battery… she could be in a tunnel or something. Who knows. He drank another gin – too quickly – feeling the effects almost immediately.

Then Ryan messaged him:

Is Jenny with you?

No! She was with you, wasn’t she? What’s happened?

We got separated she said she was coming to see you, look around for her.

She’s not here I would’ve seen her what’s happened?

Find her!

What’s happening?

Then the whole conversation deleted itself.

CALL ME!

He texted Jenny, and almost immediately his phone buzzed with her message back:

Come and get me something bad’s happened I’m under the canal bridge behind the pub please come now!

And Freddie put his phone away and dashed to the back door. The cold hit him with an almost physical force and the gin and pills made him more unsteady. The steps to the towpath were slippery. The canal was black and still as tar.

Freddie’s heart sped up. His face glittered with heat. Sickness and fear combined.

‘Jen?’ he called and his voice sounded young, so young to his own ears. ‘Jenny?’

QUIET!

Ryan messaged:

I’ve found her. Please hurry!

The side of the bridge showed abruptly through the fog.

Ryan told him:

I can see you, stay there.

And Freddie did. The gentle lap of the water was close, in the distance, music, and then, behind him, was Ryan.

Freddie didn’t feel the knife in his back and, spinning around clumsily, he didn’t feel it in his chest either – four stab wounds in total the police counted later. He was too busy looking at the face of his attacker. His eyes widened, his mouth opened as if to speak, and then folded in on itself, primly, like an old maid, and, quickly, he slipped into cold blankness. Cold water. And then he felt nothing at all.