George sweeps into the shop like a short, stocky, balding rock star, his designer suit and sunglasses probably worth more than two months of my rent. Pippa and I both subconsciously stand to attention.

‘Morning, ladies,’ he says in his Kentish twang. George moved to the local area from Sittingbourne in Kent twenty years ago with his wife Sophia and their young family. He opened up a shop in Gloucestershire, followed by two more, then this one and finally another in Wiltshire. They’re all called Georgio’s, and he’s installed managers in each of them. Our branch has the honour of being the most profitable. I like to think it’s down to my superb management skills, but if I’m being honest, Pippa’s wealthy friends have probably got a lot to do with it.

‘I see you’ve sold the Cavendish handbag!’ George booms across at me to where I’m pricing up enamel pens at the counter. ‘Nice work!’ The Cavendish handbag is a trial item of stock – George is trying to add in some pricier pieces to test whether our customers’ wallets are deep enough for such rare designer delights. This particular handbag is priced in the low hundreds, and I wasn’t sure if it would sell. Pippa must have sold it yesterday, which was my day off.

‘Pippa?’ I enquire. ‘Did you sell it?’

‘What?’ She’s half-heartedly dusting a jewellery cabinet, her face like a wet weekend. She’s convinced Toby is already going off her, and she doesn’t know how to keep his interest.

‘Did you sell the Cavendish bag from the window yesterday?’

She shakes her head. ‘No.’

‘I hope it hasn’t been nicked,’ George says, his face darkening.

‘I suppose it could have been stolen during the break-in,’ Pippa says.

Pippa and I spend the next few minutes scouring the shop and the back room, but the elusive bag is nowhere to be seen. The shop is absolutely immaculate after the break-in. I came in on Sunday afternoon after CSI had done their thing, and after Mum’s birthday lunch, and I painstakingly swept up every piece of glass and logged every item of damaged stock. I was there until early evening. Finally, at around seven-ish, Joe turned up with fish and chips, which I banned him from bringing into the shop as the smell would have got into all the clothes. So we sat beneath the Market Cross, like a couple of teenagers, and stuffed our faces.

I catch up with George, who’s flicking through the invoices on my desk in the stockroom.

‘We’ve looked everywhere for the bag. It’s not here,’ I admit.

‘Do you remember seeing it in the window on Sunday after the break-in?’ he asks.

I cast my mind back. ‘I’m pretty sure it was still there. I had a scout around the whole shop at the time, checking for missing stock. I would have noticed if it wasn’t there. But, then again, I could be mistaken… can you claim for it on insurance?’

‘Nah. Bloody insurance isn’t worth a damn, Lizzy. My excess is a grand, so there’s no point in claiming.’

I haven’t told George that the break-in might have been carried out by the person who is stalking me. I’m not sure whether he’d be sympathetic, or annoyed. Now that I’m faced with my boss, I’m 99 per cent sure it isn’t him who’s behind the letters. It’s just not his style. George is brash and loud and in-your-face. Leaving creepy letters doesn’t fit his personality. Unless he’s schizophrenic.

‘Well…’ George leans back in the chair and locks his hands behind his head. ‘That’s a right pain in the derrière, isn’t it? I’ll have to order another one. Next time, stick the bag in one of the locked display cases, Lizzy.’

I nod, feeling chastised.

Another possibility is needling away at me. I know it’s unfair, and I don’t have any hard evidence, but I’m starting to believe that Pippa might be stealing goods from the shop. I also think she’s taking money from the till. I don’t know how I’m going to broach the subject. I can’t accuse Pippa outright, and I don’t want to mention it to George in case I’m wrong. I’ll have to do a little more digging…

---

‘Are you coming, Joe?’ I yell up the stairs. ‘It’s almost seven!’

Earlier this morning, I remembered we were supposed to go for dinner with Ian and Ruby next door. I texted Joe to let him know, and received a grumpy message back. He’s not a great socialiser, unless it’s with me or his mates from work. But it was too late to cancel – Ruby and Ian would have already bought food for tonight, and as they’re our neighbours, we can’t get away with pretending to be sick. Besides, I like them. They’re harmless. And I want to keep friendly with all our neighbours in case my stalker shows up and I need moral (or physical) support.

‘Joe!’

‘Coming!’ He stomps down the stairs and I laugh at his expression.

‘What’s so funny?’

‘You are, Mr Grumpy. You will be nice to them, won’t you?’

‘Mmm,’ he says in a non-committal way.

I pop back into the kitchen to check on Frank before we leave. He’s absolutely fine now, thank goodness. We took him to the vet’s on Sunday evening and they gave him the once-over, confirming that, yes, he had cut his paw but it was healing nicely and didn’t need any treatment. They suggested keeping him inside until he could bear weight on it. Consequently, Frank has been alternately miaowing at the back door and sulking.

‘It’s for your own good, Frankie,’ I say, stroking his head. He flicks his ears and turns his head away. ‘Fine, be like that,’ I say. ‘But just remember who gives you your supper.’ I take the wine out of the fridge and grab the bouquet of pink tulips from the kitchen counter. ‘Ready?’ I ask Joe.

He gestures to his ‘going out’ clothes that he’s wearing, and we leave the house and walk the few steps to our neighbours’ front door.

Joe rings the bell and we hear clattering footsteps and cries from the other side of the glass. ‘Get the door, babe!’ Ruby yells.

‘I’m upstairs!’

‘Fuck’s sake, I’m trying to put this stuff in the oven!’

Joe and I glance at one another, our eyes wide, trying not to laugh. A few seconds later, there’s the clip-clop of more measured footsteps on the hall floor, and the front door finally opens.

Ruby stands before us in a skintight, black micro-dress that barely covers her bits, and three-inch-high gold strappy sandals. Her face is beautifully made up, although her eyebrows are a bit heavily drawn in. She looks like she belongs in an exclusive nightclub. I feel way underdressed by comparison in my pink flared skirt and white voile blouse.

‘Lizzy! Joe! Come in.’ Ruby beams at us and then turns towards the stairs. ‘Ian! Get your arse downstairs! They’re here!’

‘You look amazing, Ruby,’ I say.

‘Thanks. So do you.’

I pass her the wine and the flowers.

‘Aw, these are lovely – really classy. Thanks.’

We follow her into the lounge, where an assortment of cereal bowls have been filled to the brim with crisps and peanuts. ‘Sit down. Help yourselves.’ She gestures to the snacks.

Joe and I dutifully sit on the leather sofa and scoop up a few crisps.

‘Can I get you a drink?’ she says. ‘We’ve got beer and vodka, or I’ve got some WKDs in the fridge if you want?’

‘I’ll have a beer, thanks,’ Joe says.

‘I’ll have some of the wine I bought, if that’s okay,’ I say.

‘No problem. Back in a sec.’ Ruby leaves the room.

When she’s gone, Joe eyes up the sea of bowls perched on every available surface. ‘Do you think they like crisps?’ he asks.

‘Don’t be mean,’ I hiss. ‘It looks like they’ve gone to a lot of trouble.’

‘Yeah, they’ve obviously been on some kind of dangerous crisp expedition.’

I shake my head and try not to laugh. We sit there for another five minutes wondering where Ruby can have got to. ‘Maybe I should go and see if she needs any help,’ I muse.

Joe shrugs. ‘If you like.’

I get to my feet and head out into the hall, peering into the kitchen, but it doesn’t look as though anyone’s in there. Then I hear voices coming from upstairs.

‘You’ll have to go and get one,’ Ruby snaps.

‘Where from?’ Ian replies.

‘I dunno. Supermarket, I suppose. Or the offy.’

‘Why didn’t she bring her own?’

‘Everything all right?’ I call up the stairs.

Ruby peers down, her face red. ‘Sorry, we’re coming down.’

‘Is there a problem?’ I ask as Ruby heads down the staircase followed by Ian.

‘Hi.’ I give him a little wave.

‘All right.’ He nods at me. ‘Just gotta go out for a minute.’ He gives Ruby an indecipherable look.

‘Is something wrong?’ I ask again.

‘You’re drinking wine, right?’ Ian asks me.

‘Er, yes, is that okay?’

‘Ian, shut up,’ Ruby says, elbowing him in the arm.

Ian ignores her. ‘We haven’t got a corkscrew. So I’ve just got to go out and get one.’

‘A corkscrew?’

‘For your wine.’

‘It’s okay,’ I say. ‘It’s a screw top. Most wine bottles are screw top now.’

‘Really?’ Ruby says, her shoulders relaxing. ‘It’s just, we don’t drink wine, and you see them on the telly opening wine bottles with corkscrews, so I just thought…’ She dissolves into laughter.

‘You dozy cow.’ Ian gives her arm a friendly push. ‘Give me that.’ He takes the bottle off her. ‘You go back in the lounge, I’ll sort the drinks.’

Ruby and I return to the lounge, where she tells Joe what happened. The ice has been well and truly broken, and I see Ruby visibly relax.

‘I know I’m twenty-three, but this is our first dinner party,’ she admits. ‘Feel proper grown up. I bet you have them all the time, don’t you? I’ve been getting in a state all day. Worried I’m gonna make a mess of everything.’

It’s touching how nervous she’s been about having us over. ‘Don’t worry,’ I say, trying to put her at ease. ‘We’re used to having our tea on our laps in front of the TV, so anything’s a step up from that.’

‘Okay.’ She gives us a warm smile, and I can see that even Joe is charmed by her openness.

‘Here we go.’ Ian kicks open the lounge door and comes in with a tray of drinks. Two cans of lager, a bottle of vodka, a bottle of Coke, an empty glass and a glass of wine. Joe clears a space in the sea of crisps and Ian sets the tray down.

‘Cheers!’ We all clink cans and glasses.

After about ten minutes of chatting on the sofa, we squeeze around the four-seater dining table set up in the corner of the lounge. Dinner is pizza, garlic bread and salad. We all dig in, helping ourselves to the hot slices, which have been served up on two bread boards. The evening is relaxed and fun. Ruby is sweet and Ian is a bit of a lad, but he’s okay.

‘You work in that shop down town, don’t you?’ Ruby asks me.

‘Georgio’s. Yeah, I manage it.’

‘Cool,’ Ruby says through a mouthful of garlic bread.

‘They had a break-in on Saturday night,’ Joe adds.

‘That’s terrible,’ Ruby says, her eyes filling with concern.

‘Did they take much?’ Ian says, getting to his feet. ‘Want another beer?’ he asks Joe.

‘Please,’ Joe replies.

Ian starts towards the door, but stops to listen to my reply.

‘They only cracked the glass,’ I say. ‘No one actually got inside the shop. We don’t think they did, anyway.’

‘Tell them about the magnetic letters,’ Joe prompts.

I give him a look. It’s not something I wanted to talk about this evening. Tonight was going to be a break from all that. ‘It’s nothing,’ I say.

‘It’s not nothing,’ Joe persists.

‘Fine.’ I sigh.

‘You don’t have to tell us…’ Ruby says.

‘No, it’s okay,’ I reply. ‘I don’t mind.’

‘Wait till I get back from the kitchen,’ Ian says. He returns a few seconds later with two cans of cold beer and passes one to Joe before sitting back down next to Ruby.

‘So,’ I continue, ‘you already know about the letters I’ve been getting.’

Ian and Ruby nod, their eyes wide, waiting for me to go on.

‘Well, the glass in the shop door was cracked, but the doors were locked when I got there, and nothing was stolen. But in the fitting room on the floor, someone had used magnetic letters to write me a message.’

‘What message?’ Ian asks.

I swallow. ‘It said: “Hello Lizzy. Me again”.’

‘Shit,’ Ruby says. ‘That’s dark.’

I take a breath. ‘Anyway, I’m not going to let it bother me. It’s just some saddo trying to make their life more interesting.’

‘So you’ve got no idea who’s done it?’ Ian asks.

I shake my head. ‘None whatsoever.’

‘Yes, we have,’ Joe growls. ‘It’s that toff Sebastian Hargreaves.’

‘Erm, we don’t know that,’ I say. Again, thoughts of my sister climb unbidden into my mind.

‘No, but it’s pretty obvious,’ Joe says.

‘No, it’s not. Anyway, I asked Pippa and she said no way is it Seb.’

‘Well, she would say that, wouldn’t she? He’s her brother.’

I try my best to keep my cool and not come back with an angry retort.

‘Once the cops get the results back from the lab, they’ll know one way or the other.’

‘Results?’ Ian asks.

‘CSI,’ Joe explains. ‘Fingerprinting and stuff.’

‘Cool,’ Ian replies.

I try to catch Joe’s eye to glare at him, but he’s not looking my way. Giving up, I turn to Ruby. ‘So, do you work at all?’ I figure that changing the subject is the safest way of not having a full-blown argument in front of the neighbours.

‘Yeah,’ she replies with a curl of her lip. ‘It’s not anywhere near as glamorous as your job, though.’

‘Believe me, my job isn’t glamorous,’ I say, trying to play it down. ‘It mainly consists of unpacking boxes and sticking prices on stuff.’

‘Well, give me cardboard boxes over rich people’s toilets any day.’ She wrinkles her pretty nose.

‘Our Rubes is a cleaner,’ Ian explains.

‘Not just any cleaner.’ She grins. ‘I work for a posh holiday letting company – Cotswold Country Retreats.’

‘Ooh, I’ve heard of them,’ I say, impressed. ‘Their holiday homes are supposed to be amazing. Pippa, who I work with… she’s always going on about them.’

‘Yeah, well, the guests might be loaded, but most of them are filthy slobs. The state of some of the places!’ Ruby goes on to tell us about some of the messes she’s had to clear up. And I’m almost put off my pizza by the grossness of some people.

As Joe polishes off the last pizza slice, the conversation dries up and there’s a brief awkward silence. Ruby gets to her feet. ‘Does anyone want afters? I’ve got Ben and Jerry’s Rocky Road ice cream.’

Everyone nods.

‘I’ll give you a hand,’ Joe says, gathering up the empty plates and following Ruby into the kitchen.

‘So, those letters,’ Ian says, leaning forward. ‘Do you really not know who’s behind them?’ His eyes gleam, and for a moment I get a horrible feeling that he’s going to admit to having sent them. But that’s ridiculous. He’s with Ruby, and seems besotted by her – Ruby is way out of his league in the looks department. Why would Ian be interested in someone like me when he’s got her?

‘No idea,’ I say, clenching my fists beneath the table. There’s something disturbing about Ian and the way he’s looking at me, but I can’t put my finger on exactly what it is. I’ll be relieved when Ruby and Joe come back into the room. On second thoughts, I’m not waiting. I push my chair back and stand up. ‘I’ll go and see if they need any help.’

Ian leans back in his chair and belches. ‘Okay. See you when you get back.’

I leave the room feeling shaken. I’m not even sure why. Maybe it’s simply from being left in a room with a man I barely know. But as I head towards the kitchen, I tell myself that it’s madness to suspect every single person I come into contact with. That’s exactly what this psycho wants – they’re trying to unsettle me, to ruin my quality of life. But I can’t let them succeed. I won’t play the victim. Not any more.