In theory, getting ready for work this morning shouldn’t have felt too different to normal. Joe was always out of the house before me anyway, so I generally have the house to myself. But, after last night’s scare, the house feels anything but normal. I’m alone. I have no one to talk to. And someone is trying to scare the daylights out of me. Trying to make me feel terrified in my own home. But why? Why can’t they simply tell me what it is they want?

I reported the supposed gas leak to the police last night and, as I predicted, they logged the incident but couldn’t trace the call. So it’s just another incident in a long line of incidents.

I check my phone, finally feeling brave enough to read my messages. I scroll through Joe’s texts. They all say variations of the same thing:

These texts don’t look like they were written by someone who’s trying to scare me. But maybe that’s part of some twisted plan. Pretend to be in love with me while playing with my mind. It makes no difference either way – whether he’s behind everything that’s happened or not, I’m still not going to reply to any of his messages. I’m going to put all this crap on the back burner and I’m going to go to work.

---

True to his word, George is already inside the shop when I arrive, wandering around, checking the place out. At least I managed to speak to Pippa while he was away, although the outcome of that conversation isn’t likely to impress my boss.

‘Hello, Lizzy, love.’ We kiss on both cheeks.

‘Still in holiday mode?’ I ask, staring pointedly at his shorts and polo shirt, rather than one of his usual suits.

‘The missus has booked us in for some wakeboarding thing over at Cerney Lakes. Says our holiday isn’t over yet. I told her, Sophie, love, I’ve got work to do. I can’t be mucking about doing water sports. Got to earn the money to pay for all these holidays she’s been booking. But she’s not having any of it.’

‘Wakeboarding sounds fun, though,’ I reply.

He throws his hands in the air. ‘Not at my age. Not sure the old knees will take it. But I can’t deny it’ll be good to cool down on the water. Warm in here, isn’t it? You got that fan switched on?’

I nod and point to the little machine that’s next to useless in this sweltering heat.

George makes a non-committal noise in his throat. ‘Anyway, shop’s looking great. Which is more than can be said for you. You all right? Looking a bit pale and peaky. You need to get out in the sunshine more, Lizzy.’

I nod, not about to get into all my personal issues with George.

‘You speak to Pippa yet? She’s not here, so I take it you’ve given her the old heave-ho.’ He jingles the keys in his shorts pocket.

‘I spoke to her, yes.’

‘And? She gonna bring back all the stuff she’s nicked?’

I decide to tell a little white lie and repeat what Seb and I agreed. ‘She’s going to add it all up and give you the cash. She just needs a little while longer to get it together.’

‘Fine.’ He nods. ‘I’ll have to hire someone ASAP, but in the meantime, you okay to look after the place on your own? I can cancel today’s wakeboarding if you need me to stay today. Just say the word. To be honest, I need an excuse to get out of it.’

I manage a small laugh. ‘No, you go, George. I’ll be fine.’

‘Damn. Well, okay, but it’s your fault if I break my neck! Only joking. You’re a little diamond, you are.’ He gives my arm a squeeze and turns to go.

‘There’s something else, George.’

‘Oh yeah?’ He turns back to me.

‘I’m going to have to hand in my notice at the cottage.’

‘What? Oh, that’s a shame. Fed up of renting? You and Joe gonna buy somewhere instead?’

‘I doubt it. Joe and I broke up.’ I tense up against the threatening tears.

‘Oh, Lizzy. I’m sorry… no chance of you two getting back together?’

I shake my head. ‘He’s moved out.’

‘Oh.’ He chews his lip for a moment. ‘Well, if you’re having trouble coming up with the rent, I can help out.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Have a couple of months half price. See how you get on.’

‘George! Thank you!’ I can’t believe I’m actually having a bit of good luck for a change.

‘My pleasure, Lizzy. You’ve always been a good tenant. Be sorry to lose you. Must be getting soft in my old age. Right, I’m off. Wish me luck with this wakeboarding malarkey.’

The rest of the day passes quickly enough. I’m rushed off my feet with absolutely no time to think about anything, thank goodness. Despite my brain being occupied with customers, my stomach is constantly queasy and my eyes are scratchy and tired. At least I have a couple of months’ financial breathing space while I figure out where I’m going to live. George certainly surprised me with his generous offer to halve the rent. It’s totally out of character. But I’m not about to complain.

---

Back home after work, I decide that even though I’m shattered, I’m going to make a start on packing up Joe’s things. I can’t bear to look at them, and the sooner he collects his stuff, the sooner I can put his lies behind me and move on with my life. But move on where and how, I have no idea.

I make my way upstairs and heave the largest suitcase down from the loft, dragging it into our bedroom. I open the wardrobe and stare at Joe’s clothes, which have been chucked in any which way. I’ll throw all his clothes and toiletries into the case and then he can pick them up while I’m out tomorrow. He’ll have to bring some boxes for the rest of his things. I try not to remember the two of us moving in here. How excited we were to have our own place. This cottage represented the beginning of my adult life. Of being exactly where I wanted to be. So now what?

My biggest worry about moving is Frank. Most rental places don’t allow pets, especially flats, which is probably what I’m looking at being able to afford, if I’m lucky. I push away images of tiny bedsits, of having to give Frank away. But it surely won’t come to that. Will it? I pull out my first armful of his clothes, a waft of his scent making me catch my breath. Why didn’t Joe come clean at the time? If he’d admitted what he’d done, we could have argued about it and moved on one way or another. But the fact he lied and ruined my relationship with Emma for so many years… it means there’s no way back.

The only upside to all this heartache is that it’s taking my mind off my stalker. I clench my fists and square my shoulders. In fact, if he showed his face right now, far from being scared, I’d probably give him a piece of my mind. But the reality is that I now live alone. I’ll have no one here to turn to when the next letter arrives. And it will arrive, of that I’m sure. My heady moment of bravado is rapidly disappearing.

I spend the next half hour clearing out Joe’s clothes. At least I’ll have more space in the wardrobe, I think, trying to tease out a silver lining. By the time the case is bulging with my ex-boyfriend’s belongings, I’m hot and sweaty and thirsty. I jump in the shower, change into a thin cotton dress and sit on the end of the bed, my eyes closed for a moment, trying not to give in to the sadness. I don’t want to cry. I don’t want to think about any of this. I just want to live a normal life, with a nice boyfriend, a decent job and no stalker. Is that too much to ask?

My stomach lurches as the doorbell rings. Maybe it’s Ruby again. I stand up, smooth back my damp hair and walk down the stairs. Yesterday’s hesitancy to answer the door has gone. I pull open the door. ‘Emma!’

She’s in her work clothes, smart but stressed-looking, several creases lining her brow. ‘Are you okay? I came as soon as I could,’ she says, glancing up and down the road. ‘Is it the stalker again? Or Joe? Why didn’t you return my calls?’

‘Sorry, am I missing something?’ I ask. ‘Come in.’ I step back and she follows me into the hall.’

‘Is Joe…?’

‘Moved out,’ I reply. ‘I was going to call you. I was going to apologise. You were right, about everything. And I was wrong. I’m so sorry, Ems. I’m so, so sorry.’

‘Is this what your message was about?’ she asks, a puzzled look on her face.

‘Message?’

‘Your text message.’

My heart begins to pound. ‘I never sent you a message.’

‘Yes, you did, look.’ Emma pulls her phone out of her bag, pulls up the message and shows me:

‘I never sent that!’

‘You didn’t?’ Emma stares at me intently.

‘No.’ A low bellow of thunder rumbles in the distance, but we’re too caught up in our conversation to remark upon it. ‘So if the message wasn’t from me…’

Emma’s face hardens. We stare at one another, realising at the same time that this is another message from our stalker. The question is, what does it mean? And what do they want?