Nathan’s garden gate creaks as I push it open. My muscles are taut with tension as I rap the silver knocker. His shadow moves towards the opaque glass. Sweat beads on my temples. His keys jangle. My pulse gets faster and faster. The front door swings open. Nathan stands, shower wet, towel wrapped around his waist. Getting ready for whoever he spoke to on the phone and arranged to meet at ten, no doubt.

‘Jenna?’ He hesitates for a moment, confusion in his eyes. ‘Do you want to come in?’

Oh God. Can I really do this?

* * *

Nathan has gone to dress and I’ve told him I’ll sort out some drinks. I know I don’t have long before he comes back downstairs, but now I’m in his house I don’t know if I can go through with it. In the kitchen I stand at the sink, looking out at the garden. The sky is streaked red as the fiery sun dips. I feel as though I could race towards it with my hand outstretched and touch it. The world is so beautiful. It’s the people that make it ugly, and I want to curl in a ball and howl with the unfairness of it all. The prisons are packed full of rapists, murderers, child abusers – why should they live, their hearts strong and steady, while my life ebbs away? But if I kill Nathan aren’t I as bad as them? I just don’t know. I dig my fingers into my scalp as though I can silence the voice in my head telling me not to do this, and I think I should just go home, but the strains of Nathan whistling as though he hasn’t a care in the world drift down the stairs and it causes a spike in my anger. I make my decision.

Pulling two glasses and a bottle from the cupboard I glug Jack Daniels into one of the tumblers, sharp and sour. I can’t keep my hand steady and I try again and again to pull the stopper from the vial I’ve stolen from work, and the harder I try the more my hand sweats. The glass is slippery and my grip is weak. I yank the tea towel from its hook near the oven and try again. This time there’s a loosening, a give, and I tip the contents into the amber liquid and swirl it around with my finger. I slosh apple juice into my glass and for a second I am tempted to add a splash of alcohol. It doesn’t seem important any more if I drink, as I feel so awful I’m convinced I’m rejecting Callie’s heart, but I need a clear head. I pick up both drinks. It’s an effort to hold them. They feel the weight of bricks in my hands. I’m really, really sick.

It’s just a cold.

I’m ready.

* * *

In the lounge, I can’t settle. Above me, the floorboards shift as Nathan moves around his bedroom. In the photo, over the mantlepiece, Callie’s eyes appear to follow me as I pace around the room. She looks so joyful, standing on the bridge, laughing. There’s nothing quite like that feeling of being utterly loved, utterly happy, and in that moment I bet she thought she’d feel that way for ever. I think back to the last picture of her with her bruised and swollen face and think about the damage we do to each other when relationships crack and crumble. I pull out my mobile and text Sam ‘I’m so, so sorry for everything’ I’m not entirely sure if I’m apologising for what I’ve done or what I’m about to do. My eyes sting with unshed tears but I can’t cry. Not yet. Footsteps thump down the stairs; it isn’t too late to change my mind, I know, but as Nathan walks into the room I cross the cream rug and hand him his glass.

‘Thanks,’ he says. ‘You don’t look good, Jenna.’ He presses his palm against my forehead. ‘You’re burning up.’

I move my head back to dislodge his hand and pain pulses behind my eyes. The urge to have someone take charge, look after me, is overwhelming, but I call to mind the dread my heart has known. I want Nathan to feel that. To know what it’s like to feel helpless and terrified.

‘It’s a cold. It’s nothing. Sorry I haven’t answered your texts the past few days. I thought we could talk?’

‘I’d love to but I don’t have long. I’m going out tonight.’

‘Where?’ I keep my tone casual.

‘To meet a friend.’ Whoever he spoke to on the phone was certainly no friend but I shouldn’t be surprised at the ease with which he lies, and suddenly I am icy calm.

‘You’ve time for a drink, surely?’

‘Yes but I thought you meant tea. I’m going to be driving.’ He raises his tumbler to his nose and sniffs. ‘But I haven’t had a Jack Daniels for ages. I suppose one won’t hurt.’ He raises the crystal to his lips, but then lowers the glass before he drinks and I swallow back my frustration.

‘Something wrong?’

‘Ice. Do you want some?’

I shake my head – my throat is too tight to speak. Nathan strides from the room and I hear the chink of ice cubes falling from the dispenser in the fridge, and I sink onto the sofa. My legs feel as though they are made of rubber.

‘What are we drinking to?’ Nathan asks as he returns.

‘The truth.’ My voice is an octave higher than normal and I hope he doesn’t notice.

‘Truth?’ He takes a mouthful of his drink and grimaces. ‘There’s no water in this either – trying to kill me?’ He takes another sip, smaller this time.

‘Cheers.’ I down my apple juice in one and as the cool liquid hits my chest I splutter it back into my glass and tears stream as I cough and cough.

Nathan takes my glass and wraps his arm around my shoulders and I don’t have the energy to shrug him off. He passes me a box of tissues and I take one and wipe my eyes. While I’m blowing my nose he fetches a blanket and tucks it around my legs. I wish he’d stop being so kind. A wolf in sheep’s clothing – that’s what Mum would call him, but what if he isn’t?

What if I’ve got it wrong?

But he’s already drained his glass, and I know it’s too late.