the day the roses got delivered, but maybe he was just trying to be friendly. Anyway, he wouldn’t be making such romantic gestures right on his doorstep, under the nose of his
wife. That reminds me of the lovely Samantha, the keeper of my shameful secret. I groan and put my face in my hands. Since I went to see her at the hospital I’ve had another encounter in the
park, and I’m not even considering going back to the clinic for more tests. I’d completely forgotten about my HIV test. Another ten weeks to go. How could I have grown so desensitized
in such a short time? I know I’m playing Russian roulette with my health by keeping up the encounters with the Dior Man. The Dior Man . . . could he be the mysterious sender of the roses? He
doesn’t know where I live. But he could’ve followed me from the park. No, it would completely destroy what those encounters are about. What are they about? I’m not sure myself,
it’s all gut instinct, some primal urge that doesn’t translate into words. I jump when my phone rings. It’s Bell.
‘Just saying goodbye, hon. Off to catch my plane at the crack of dawn.’
‘Bon voyage, babe. Do you need a lift to the airport?’
‘No, thanks, it’s far too early to drag you out of bed. I’ve booked a cab.’
‘Hope you’ll have a fabulous time. And hope Candice is nice.’
‘Hope so too. I’ll keep you posted. No need to water my plants, I’ll be back on Tuesday. Oh, by the way, did you get your keys back from James?’ There she goes, in her
mother hen mode again.
‘Yes, I did, actually.’
‘Good girl.’ She ignores the note of annoyance in my voice. ‘And promise me one thing.’
‘What?’
‘Stay away from the Heath until I’m back.’
‘Bell . . .’
‘I’m serious, Anna. Don’t go there this weekend. Jog around Waterlow Park if you must. Promise.’
‘OK, I promise,’ I say half-heartedly. I’m not sure I’ll stick to my word.
I put the phone down and pour myself more wine. Something Bell has said makes me feel uneasy. The keys. James has given me his set back, but he could’ve easily made a spare. A chilling
scenario builds in my head. James comes in, for some reason, this morning. Wispa knows him and doesn’t lift a paw when he arrives. James sees the flowers. Gets jealous and angry. Knocks the
vase over. Leaves before Sherie Lou arrives . . . Whoa, stop right there. Am I getting just a teeny-weeny bit jealous that James is dating someone else? Am I developing a dog in the manger
syndrome? Would I actually want him to come over and break some glass just to show that he still cares? The problem is, James is not the jealous type. He would never create such a scene. And
I’m getting paranoid. But the vase incident has unnerved me and, just to put my mind at ease, I decide to change the locks. To save myself the hassle of getting spare keys for all the locks,
I decide that changing just the main mortice will do. I get up, go to the front door and put the chain on.
Nine Days Earlier
Thursday, a day I occasionally work from home, just to catch up on emails without interruptions. Emails, they do make our lives easier, but aren’t they a sneaky
time-thief? They have been gathering in my inbox since the beginning of The Change with a frightening speed, multiplying faster than bacteria in a warm fridge. I need to D&D them urgently, deal
and delete. I ring Claire and let her know I’ll be working from home. Then I call the local locksmiths and arrange for a visit. I’m in luck, they can send out a locksmith with a new
lock almost straight away. By the time I’ve brewed my coffee he’s ringing the doorbell. He doesn’t ask me why I want to change a perfectly good lock, just sets to work with a
knowing nod.
I’m bringing a mug of coffee out for the locksmith when someone calls my name through the open front door. It’s Tom, looking businesslike in dark trousers and a white shirt, clearly
on his way to work.
‘Hi, got a bit
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