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‘So what now?’ Mary said.

‘I’m going to tell him,’ Sally said. ‘Tell him I never want to see him again.’

It was a start. And she didn’t say this, but she would deal with Dylan later.

That Kind of Town

The next day – a Monday, which seemed impossible – Mary was first up. She normally was. She woke around six, followed, at least on school days, by the kids, who had to leave not long past seven, with Ryan normally padding downstairs after they had gone. She suspected he didn’t want to deal with the panic and chaos and arguments about who had moved whose shoes or backpack or lunch. Either way, she was fine. She enjoyed the half-hour or so alone with her coffee.

This morning it was closer to ninety minutes. She had woken earlier than usual, snapping into consciousness, on full alert, the blessed relief of sleep immediately a distant memory.

It was replaced by the flittering presence of her anxiety. Her chest was tight, her stomach knotted, a sense of dread permeating every thought. She took deep, belly breaths, tried to calm her nerves, slow her racing pulse.

She tried the strategy her therapist had given her: Ask yourself a question. Are you OK, in this moment? Never mind what’s to come. Are you safe, and well, right now?

The problem was that this time the answer was Probably not.

As she walked downstairs she felt a mounting trepidation. Was there another note, lying on the couch or in the bread bin, waiting to be discovered? Surely if there had been an intruder in the night, Wally would have barked? He was extremely friendly, and far more likely to end up licking and sniffing an intruder than he was to attack one, but even Wally would have made some noise if an unknown person appeared in the house in the middle of the night.

Presumably he had when the note was left in the fridge. The thought of that – of someone creeping into their house and opening the fridge, the internal light casting their shadow on the wall – brought her up cold. Wally probably barked a bit, then, if they rubbed his head, ignored them. But what if he hadn’t? What would they have done then, if the dog’s barking had threatened to expose them? Killed Wally? Would she have come home to a dead dog?

Wally – as he did every morning – greeted her with a level of excitement she had not felt since she was a child on Christmas Day. It must be so exhilarating to be a dog; long periods of slumber punctuated by joyous reunions with people who had been gone only a few hours, followed by an all-action walk. Mary would stroll through the forest trails; Wally would sprint through the undergrowth, chasing squirrels he would never catch. Did he not realize that they could climb trees? That they could escape at any moment into the world above his head? It wouldn’t have mattered if he did. The thrill for him was in the chase.

She patted him and went to fill the coffee machine. As it percolated she put her hands above her head and stretched, bending left and right to flex her hips. They were stiff in the mornings, and if she didn’t loosen them, they would become progressively more painful as the day wore on.

She lowered her hands and reached for a coffee mug.

And then she saw him.

Trent was standing on his back porch, staring at her. The coffee machine was by the window, so he had a clear view of her.

She stepped away, out of his view. She was wearing a long T-shirt of Ryan’s; it covered her hips to mid-thigh, but as she had stretched it would have ridden up.

She was naked underneath it.

She looked at the window. It was probable that he could only see her top half, T-shirt riding up or not, and even if he could see more, did it really matter?

It did; she felt vulnerable, but also angry. Why was he watching her in the first place? She hated this, hated feeling like she couldn’t make coffee in her own house without him staring at her.

She moved back to the coffee machine and picked up her mug. She filled it, acting as naturally as she could. Then, when it was filled, she looked at his house.

He was gone, his house dark and still.

Behind her, her phone buzzed. Her heart sped up. She imagined a message, anonymous but clearly Trent. I’m watching you. Enjoy your coffee.

She picked it up.

It was – thank God – from Rona.

Hi. Bit last minute, but was wondering if you’re free for lunch?

Normally she would have found an excuse. Rona was best kept at arm’s length; once you accepted one lunch date or had her over for a coffee you would be inundated with further requests. Rona both lacked boundaries and was desperate for close friendship, a combination which invariably ended up with her overwhelming whoever her newest friend was with incessant phone calls and messages and suggestions of ways to spend time together until the friend found a way to set some boundaries, at which point an unpleasant awkwardness would settle into the friendship. With Mary, there had been a time when Rona would just walk into her house, a smile on her face, Hi, I was wondering whether you want to come with me? I’m going to Freeport to return some clothes and there’s a new coffee place opening?

It was harder to say no when you were sitting on the couch, reading a book, with – obviously – nothing better to do, but it happened all the time so she had eventually summoned up her courage. It was a hard conversation, but Mary had had no choice.

Rona, you’re my friend, but it would be better if you knocked on the door before coming in.

A puzzled expression. But that’s what I love about this town. We’re all in and out of each other’s houses!