Emma looks up at whoever is behind me, and I turn to see Pippa’s bemused face staring down at me.

‘Pippa?’ I cry. ‘What are you doing here?’ I realise I don’t sound very friendly, but it’s quite a coincidence to see her here at the same time as me. Especially after what’s just happened.

‘I was about to ask you the same thing,’ she replies. ‘And is this… is that you, Emma?’

Emma frowns and then smiles as recognition dawns. ‘Pippa Hargreaves? From dance classes?’

‘How are you?’ Pippa comes around the table to give Emma a hug. ‘Haven’t seen you for yonks. Not since we were teenagers.’

‘Must be at least… fifteen years,’ Emma says.

‘I work with Lizzy now. Or rather for Lizzy.’ Pippa raises an eyebrow and squeezes my shoulder.

‘How come you’re here, Pippa?’ I ask again.

‘I’ve come for a drink with Sebbie. He’s brought me here to cheer me up after Toby dumped me. I’ve been a right old misery guts.’

‘Seb’s here?’ My palms begin to sweat.

‘At the bar.’

I glance over, see his broad back as he waits to order. This is beyond strange. He was in Bristol at the same time I was pushed into the road, and now he’s here, in this out-of-the-way pub at the same time as me and Emma.

‘Don’t suppose you girlies fancy some company?’ Pippa asks, gesturing to the two free chairs at our table.

‘Any other time would’ve been lovely, Pip, but Emma and I are here to discuss some important family stuff.’

Pippa raises her hands. ‘Say no more. We’ll keep out of your hair. Lovely to see you, Emma. We’ll have to catch up another time.’

‘Sure,’ Emma replies. ‘That would be great.’

Pippa walks back to the bar, leaving me shaken.

‘We should leave,’ I hiss across the table to Emma.

‘Leave? Why? We’ve only just got here.’ She scratches her cheek. ‘Is it because Pippa’s here? Does she know what’s been going on?’

‘Some of it.’ I lean forward. ‘But it’s not her I’m worried about. I don’t trust her brother.’

‘Why not?’

‘He “just happened” to be in Bristol at the same time I was pushed into the road, and now he “just happens” to show up here…’

‘Shit.’ Emma leans back in her chair, inhaling deeply. ‘But why would he do it? What’s the reason?’

‘I don’t know. A misplaced crush?’

‘What? On both of us? I doubt it. I’ve never even met the guy.’

‘You have,’ I correct her. ‘He used to be there every week, waiting with his mum while we were at the dance studio.’

‘He was just a kid back then.’

‘Yeah, but he’s not a kid any more,’ I say through clenched teeth. ‘I can’t stay here, not while he’s here too.’

‘You really want to leave?’ Emma asks. ‘We haven’t even talked properly.’

My mind is racing. I’m glad I convinced Joe to stay at home, because if he was here, he would have confronted Seb by now and I know how that conversation would have ended up. ‘I’m not staying.’

‘Fine,’ Emma says. ‘Let’s go. We need to report today’s letters to the police anyway.’

‘Why don’t you follow me to Malmesbury?’ I suggest. ‘We can go to the police station together. Tell them about the letters… and about Seb.’

Emma downs the rest of her drink and nods. ‘Okay.’ She gets to her feet.

‘Hang on,’ I say, motioning her to sit back down. ‘I don’t want Seb or Pippa to see us leaving.’ I angle my chair round so I can see the siblings out of the corner of my eye. They’re still waiting at the bar, their backs to us. ‘Okay, quickly, while they’re getting their drinks, let’s go.’

Swiftly and silently, Emma and I gather our things and walk out of the pub. Once outside, we pick up our pace and almost race across the front patio and down onto the pavement.

‘Where are you parked?’ I gasp, jamming my hands into my armpits, hugging myself tight.

‘Car park,’ she whispers, glancing behind us. She looks as scared as I feel. Either she’s as nervous about Seb as I am, or she’s a bloody good actor.

‘I’m parked on the road. I’ll turn round and you can follow me back. My car’s a red Polo.’

‘I’m in a grey Prius.’

Of course she is. Even her car is perfect. But that doesn’t matter any more. Not now I’ve got my sister back after all these years. I never thought it would ever happen and it’s only now I’m realising just how much I’ve missed her. It looks like I’m going to have to keep us both from harm. I jog back to my car, casting constant glances behind me. I fumble with my car keys, eventually falling into the driver’s seat and slamming the door, my heart racing, skin prickling. I bang down the lock and take a breath. I’d better get going, in case Emma’s already in her car waiting for me. I pull out into the road and immediately stall the engine. With shaking fingers, I restart the car. If I don’t want to have a road accident, I’d better calm down. I take a breath and tell myself it’s just a coincidence that Seb and Pippa are here. I tell myself that everything is going to be okay. I’m going to drive calmly to the police station, and once I’m there, I’ll tell them all my suspicions. Hopefully they’ll be able to help me work out just what the hell is going on.

---

My sister and I park up outside the front of Malmesbury Police Station, a long, low, Cotswold stone building on the outskirts of town. The drive back from the pub went by in a blur of adrenalin. Could Sebastian Hargreaves really be our stalker? But then why would he have brought Pippa with him to the pub? And why let Emma and I see him there in plain view? I can’t seem to think straight any more.

The station smells faintly of mould and antiseptic, and the air inside is cool, drying the faint layer of perspiration on my body. I shiver, rubbing at my goose-bumped arms, wishing I’d brought a cardigan. The lobby is empty – must be a slow crime day in Malmesbury.

We walk up to the front counter together and I ask for Sergeant Llewellyn. The officer behind the desk tells me Llewellyn is due to start her shift in about ten minutes, so Emma and I take a seat, turning down his offer to speak to another officer. The seconds drag as we wait. The lobby is too quiet and exposed to have a conversation, so Emma and I sit in silence. She’s texting, and I’m alternating between staring at the wall clock and watching the front door.

Fifteen minutes later, Llewellyn emerges, not through the front door, but down a corridor at the far end of the lobby.

‘Lizzy,’ she says, coming closer. ‘I heard you were here. How are you? Has something else happened? Hope you haven’t been waiting too long.’ She runs a hand through her short hair.

‘Hi.’ I get to my feet along with Emma, who slides her phone into her bag. ‘This is my sister, Emma. Emma, this is Sergeant Jenny Llewellyn, who’s been dealing with my case.’

‘Hello.’ Emma and Llewellyn nod at one another.

‘Did you want to come and have a chat?’ Llewellyn asks us. ‘I’m afraid we haven’t any further news at this end.’

‘We’ve got news,’ I say. ‘More letters. And another development.’

‘Oh, yes?’ Llewellyn raises an eyebrow.

‘I found out today that Emma’s been receiving the letters too.’

The sergeant transfers her gaze to Emma, who nods. ‘I’ve been reporting the letters to my local station in Bristol,’ she says.

‘You’ve both been receiving threatening letters?’ Llewellyn asks. ‘From the same person, as far as you’re aware?’

‘Yes,’ Emma replies. ‘And, like Lizzy, I was also pushed over.’ She points to her scratched-up face.

Llewellyn shakes her head in sympathy. ‘I see. Okay, let’s go and talk in one of the interview rooms and I can take statements from each of you. Then I’ll speak to Bristol and we can compare notes. Hopefully sharing our info will move us closer to catching whoever’s behind all this.’

Knowing that Emma has been reporting all this activity to the police at the same time as me makes me realise the extent to which the stalker has planned all this. But I still can’t for the life of me figure out why. It’s strange to think that something as awful as this, could be the thing to reconcile me and my sister.

Emma and I follow Llewellyn down the corridor, our shoes squeaking against the linoleum floor. She stops at one of the doors and uses a key to open it. Inside, the room is small and basic, characterless, the air warm and stale. She gestures for us to take a seat. There are two plastic coffee cups on the table in front of us. One with a lipstick ring; the other still full, but the coffee is cold, the milk congealing. Llewellyn mutters something under her breath, picks up the cups and takes them away. ‘Back in a sec.’ She returns a minute later minus the cups. ‘Mind if I record this?’ she asks. ‘Save me scribbling in my pad.’

‘Yes, that’s fine,’ I reply. Emma nods. Somehow, being here at the station makes everything seem more real. More serious. I rub at my arms as though to warm them up, even though I’m not cold any more. Emma glances at me, but I still can’t quite think of her as my ally in all this.

Llewellyn sits opposite us and presses a switch on what I presume must be the recording equipment. She states the date and time and we all say our names for the record. Emma and I spend the next few minutes telling Llewellyn about today’s letters that were addressed wrongly. We show them to her in their sealed polythene bags. Llewellyn then asks Emma for a rundown of the letters she’s been receiving. My sister tells her about the letters, as well as the lipstick-scrawled message on her car windscreen and the incident where she was pushed to the ground.

‘We’ll get the full statements from Bristol,’ Llewellyn says. ‘But it’s helpful to have this information now. Do either of you want to add anything further?’

I go on to tell her my suspicions about Sebastian Hargreaves, explaining that I recently discovered he was in Bristol at the time of the assault, and that he arrived at the Grittleton pub moments after Emma and I arrived.

Llewellyn nods. ‘We’ll interview him,’ she says. ‘Is that it for now? Anything else to add?’

I shake my head, suddenly exhausted.

‘Nothing else,’ Emma says.

‘Do you have any mutual enemies?’ Llewellyn asks. ‘Family feuds? A disgruntled cousin? Anything like that?’

But neither Emma nor I can think of any relation or mutual friend who might want to scare us or threaten us in this way. Apart from each other.

Llewellyn drums her fingernails on the table. ‘The fact that these letters are targeting the pair of you is leading me to believe that this might not be a random stranger. It seems more personal. Maybe an old school friend? A boyfriend you might have had in common?’

My mind immediately jumps to Joe. Emma and I both catch one another’s eye.

Llewellyn picks up on this. ‘Something you want to share?’ she prods.

But I know it’s not him. It’s not Joe. Why would he do this? The kiss with Emma happened years ago. ‘No one I can think of,’ I say quickly, before Emma opens her mouth.

Emma shrugs and shakes her head at Llewellyn, but her lips are pursed and her whole body has gone rigid.

Llewellyn gives us each a hard stare. ‘Okay, well, it might be an idea for the two of you to get together and make a list of all your mutual acquaintances, and think seriously about who might hold a grudge. May not even be a recent thing. Might be something that’s been festering over weeks, or months. Even years.’

As Llewellyn ends the interview, the blood is whooshing in my ears. It seems like Emma and I have an awful lot more talking to do. And this is one conversation I would rather not have. But we can’t put it off. Our unwelcome past is tapping on the window. And there’s no hiding from it. Not any longer.