‘Take as long as you like. Sod work. They did nothing to help you after Mum died, ringing you to ask when you were going back in and sending you emails when you should have been left alone to grieve.’

Peter knows that she’s right. Steve, his manager took it upon himself to badger him every four or five days, asking how he was coping, throwing in the odd comment about how busy they were in the office and how stressful it was picking up the slack in his absence. Peter went back to work just three weeks after Sophia died. It was as if he had never been away. He didn’t attend the court proceedings leading up to Kennedy being prosecuted and waited until the day of sentencing before he showed his face. Both he and his daughter were too wrapped up in their misery to put themselves through any more trauma. They were both filled with relief when it was all over and they could stop reading about it in the local paper.

Afterwards, he mentally blocked it all out, wanting to forget Phillip Kennedy’s name, what he looked like, who he really was. So, Lauren is correct. He owes work nothing. If anything, they are indebted to him for giving up his time and devoting it to them when he should have been allowed to be at home with his family. And yet, part of him didn’t mind. It stopped him thinking, analysing. Feeling guilty every single day. It helped mask the memory of that evening. The one that a year on, he simply cannot forget.

‘Have you got any plans for tonight?’ He squeezes Lauren’s hand and stands up, keen to clear his mind, to shelve his thoughts and erase all thoughts of Sophia from his mind.

‘Me? Nah. A quiet night in with a soppy movie, I think. Where are you going for food?’

‘Just to Metori’s in town. Nothing too fancy and no drinking as I’m driving.’

‘I can take you and pick you up, you know.’

He laughs and taps her hand. ‘I promise you, the next time I go out anywhere, you can drive my car.’

‘Well,’ she says, raising her eyebrows and turning to leave, ‘you know where I am if you want that lift.’

Alice, he thinks, is just Alice – her usual, relaxed, affable self, full of smiles and good cheer. She makes his heart sing. In a matter of a few weeks, he feels lighter than he has in an entire year.

They eat and chat. She drinks two glasses of wine then asks for juice. He sticks to the soft stuff all evening and before he knows it, time has passed and they’re ready to leave. She insists on paying her fair share and he relents. The last thing he wants is a showdown over money in the middle of a restaurant. There is too much riding on this relationship, too much at stake. He doesn’t want to lose her. He does, he abruptly thinks with a jolt, love her. The realisation washes over him in great, fluctuating waves. It’s soon. Too soon, he supposes, but does love have a timeframe? Are there parameters that can be rigidly applied to it?

‘Since you’ve paid your share of the bill, I insist on taking you home.’

She tries to argue but he holds up his hand and refuses to back down.

‘No ifs or buts. There is no way I want you getting into a cab on your own when I can drop you off at your door.’ He takes her hand and guides her towards his vehicle parked on the opposite side of the road, thinking how easy and effortless this all is. How he wishes he had met her before now.

The evening is warm, only the slightest of chills slipping over their skin as they cross and he opens the door for her to get in.

‘Your carriage awaits.’

She lowers herself into the seat and he closes the door and slips into the driver’s side. The conversation is stilted, Alice unusually reserved as they set off. He tries to glance in her direction, to work out why her mood has dipped and why she is now quiet and low-key but her thoughts appear to be elsewhere, her attention unobtainable.

‘Just drop me off at the corner of Walworth Avenue. I can walk from there. Getting parked is a bit of a nightmare if I’m being honest, so the corner is just fine.’ She relaxes and in his peripheral vision, he can see that she is smiling, her eyes fixed on his face as he concentrates on the road ahead. The fear he felt only seconds earlier dissolves. Everything is fine. They are fine. He has to stop this, constantly looking for flaws and negatives, waiting for the time when she ends their relationship.

‘I’d rather drop you off at your door, make sure you get home safely.’

There is a second’s silence before she replies. ‘Honestly, getting down my road is like a slalom with so many parked cars and it’s a really safe area so I don’t mind the walk. I’m only twenty seconds from my house if you drop me there anyway.’

Sympathy and a responsibility for her welfare stabs at him. The last time the taxi dropped her off, he couldn’t help but notice that she didn’t live in a particularly upmarket area and although it wasn’t rundown in the way some streets are, with old sofas stacked on the front garden and wheelie bins tipped sideways, it also wasn’t the most salubrious of places.

‘Okay. Not a problem, but only on one condition.’

‘Which is?’

‘You ring me as soon as you get home so I know you’re safe.’

She laughs, her relaxed manner restored, her voice lighter. ‘It’s a deal.’

He pulls up at the end of Walworth Road as requested and she turns to him, her face a pale shade of grey, soft and unblemished, highlighted and silvered by the moon. ‘Thank you, Peter, for yet another wonderful evening. And I promise to call you as soon as I get in.’

They kiss and he wraps his arms around her. It’s not a long, lingering, passionate embrace but to feel her close to him, to smell her perfume and feel the softness of her skin is enough for him. For now. He doesn’t need bolts of electricity and fireworks going off every time they’re together to excite him. This isn’t just about sex. It is so much more than that. Just having her sitting here next to him is enough to satisfy the yawning abyss that opened up inside of him after Sophia’s death. Her murder brought relief, but it also brought with it fear, bitterness and loneliness.

She climbs out and he watches as she heads up Walworth Road, her silhouette becoming smaller and smaller until she disappears out of sight. He makes sure his phone is connected to his car and sets off at a lick, waiting for her call.

It seems to take forever for it to come through but as soon as he hears her voice telling him that she’s home safe and sound, he relaxes. He heads home and climbs into bed, thoughts of Alice sifting through his brain, unknotting his muscles, loosening the months and months of tension that have built up inside him. He drifts off to sleep a contented man, safe in the knowledge that he and Alice are happy together. This relationship is beginning to feel real. Some things are just meant to be.

24ALICE

My feet hit the pavement like lumps of lead as I pick up my pace, trying to evade his watchful eye while I weave my way through the parked cars. I slip around a corner and hide down an alleyway, my breath coming out in short gasps. I lean back against the wall, the cold bricks cooling my hot flesh through the fabric of my jacket.

I don’t know how long I am able to carry on keeping my real address a secret. Aside from the obvious connection, I also need some distance from Peter, a need for anonymity pushing me on. I want to keep at least a small part of me away from him. He’s had enough of me already.

I drank too much wine the last time we took a taxi together. I can barely to recall the road I directed the driver to. I need to remember or at least I need to hope that Peter too has forgotten, his memory, like mine, blurred and smudged by alcohol and exhaustion and a touch of excitement as he realised he was slowly falling in love with me. When I get home, I will look at Google Maps, try to work out which street it was, which house I chose so I can stick to my original story. I want my lies to at least be consistent.

Only when I think enough time has lapsed do I ring him. I find myself a quiet street corner and huddle down against some signage close to a hedge to limit the echo of my voice.

‘I’m home safe and sound. No need to worry about me any more!’ My voice is almost a squeak, like the chirrup of a small bird. This is how he likes me – fragile and coy, as if I’m a porcelain doll about to shatter into a thousand tiny pieces. I will perpetuate the mythical image he has of me for as long as I can. It has got me this far. Too early yet to ruin what I’ve worked hard to achieve. Too early to reveal my true hand.

‘That’s good. There are so many deviants around these days, it’s frightening. We need to take care.’

I smile at the irony, all the while concurring with his words, cooing softly, assuring him I got home safely without anybody bothering me or following me along the way. We say our goodbyes, agreeing to call each other to arrange another date. I almost laugh out loud at the use of that word. We are both too old and too wise to talk about going out on dates and yet he insists on using that terminology as if we’re a pair of teenagers with a crush. It’s like dealing with a child. He really is making this easy for me. I expected more resistance, a greater level of loyalty towards his wife but it appears he is ready to move on. That’s good. Because so am I.

The walk home takes me over half an hour. I live at the other end of town. My feet are aching by the time I get in, my heels not suited to such a distance. I step inside, kick off my shoes and slump down onto the sofa to catch my breath.

The room swims around me, exhaustion and a slight sensation of being overwhelmed taking over my senses. Tomorrow, I will speak to Jack Downey, ask him for another instalment of my money. I’m certain he has enough cash to pay me a lump sum, but he’s being evasive, claiming he can only access a limited amount each day from the bank. I think it’s bullshit and am certain he has a safe somewhere in the house with enough money in it to pay my salary for a full year but will go along with his excuses until I tire of them, at which point, I will up my demands. Finding those items was a bonus, a nice little addition to the plans I already have in place for Peter and Lauren.

Working for the Downey family was a way of keeping a roof over my head after losing my previous job at the kindergarten and being unable to find another one. I didn’t set out to extort money out of them but I will gladly take it now it’s on offer. Life has taught me that everyone has to get what they can from each and every situation, squeezing dry opportunities until there is nothing left. Life has spit in my face, insulted my intelligence and left me feeling worthless. Why shouldn’t I claw something back from the debris of my existence? As far as I can see, it’s every man for himself in this cruel, harsh world.

I fall into a deep and untroubled slumber almost immediately, and am up and out of the door after a brisk shower and a light breakfast the following morning. Every day brings a new and exciting endeavour. Things are now going my way. God knows I’ve waited long enough.

Elizabeth’s car is still missing from outside the front of the house as I enter the driveway and let myself in the side door as silently as a tomcat on the prowl.

I’m greeted by a wail of protest and enter the hallway to see Fionn crying and kicking out at his father, who is bent down on one knee, trying to tie his son’s shoelaces. A crimson hue covers Jack’s face, spreading down to his neck. Even from this distance, I can see the small beads of perspiration that are standing out on his forehead as he struggles with the crying child. Fionn is a quiet, amenable boy, rarely given to bouts of anger or frustration. I wonder how it has come to this, how the person who is supposed to care for him has enraged his own son to such a point that the child is having a meltdown over something as simple as a shoe.

‘Would you like me to do that?’ I move towards them silently, kicking off my own shoes and shuffling over the tiled floor towards them.

Jack moves back, gratitude combined with resentment etched into his features as I slip seamlessly into his place, holding Fionn’s shoe and placing it on my thigh while I tie the lace. ‘There you go. All sorted. Have you got everything ready for school, little guy?’

He smiles down at me, his eyes still swimming with tears. A small smile curls up the corners of his mouth as he sniffs and wipes at his face with his little hands. ‘I’m all sorted and ready. I’m just missing my mum.’ The tears threaten to come again, his bottom lip trembling, his eyes pink and slick with more tears.

I raise my hand and wag my finger at him playfully. ‘Now, now. No crying, young man. Mum will be back soon enough but for now, we’re going to get you to school and you’re going to see all your friends and have a lovely day.’

He nods and sniffs, his eyes wide as he listens to me before staring over at his dad who is standing, watching us. I can feel the burn of Jack’s gaze in my back, flames of fury licking up and down my spine. I have usurped him, demeaned his status and nudged him aside to help his crying son. Another reason for him to hate me. But then, I would have to care about his sentiments for that fact to affect me, and I don’t. I’m here to do a job and whether he likes it or not, I am better at this kind of thing than he is. He needs me and I am willing to bet that that undeniable fact is making him seethe, the very idea that he cannot manage without me swirling like hot lava somewhere deep in his gut.

I smile and place my arm around Fionn’s shoulder. ‘Right, young man. Go and get your sister. Tell her we’re setting off in five minutes.’