Sure enough, at that moment – perhaps recognising it had gone too far – the journalist cut short the interview, and the camera panned back to him.

‘Breaking news here in Cambridge – police are investigating the discovery of a body. The victim of a frenzied knife attack is believed to be a young woman in her early twenties—’

Mariana turned off the television. She stared at it for a second, stunned, unable to move. Then she remembered the phone in her hand. She held it up to her ear.

‘Zoe? Are you still there?’

‘I – I think it’s Tara.’

‘What?’

Tara was a close friend of Zoe’s. They were in the same year at St Christopher’s College at Cambridge University. Mariana hesitated, trying not to sound anxious.

‘Why do you say that?’

‘It sounds like Tara – and no one’s seen her – not since yesterday – I keep asking everyone, and I – I’m so scared, I don’t know what to—’

‘Slow down. When was the last time you saw Tara?’

‘Last night.’ Zoe paused. ‘And, Mariana, she – she was being so weird, I—’

‘What do you mean, weird?’

‘She said things – crazy things.’

‘What do you mean, crazy?’

There was a pause, and Zoe replied in a whisper, ‘I can’t get into it now. But will you come?’

‘Of course I will. But, Zoe, listen. Have you spoken to the college? You must tell them – tell the dean.’

‘I don’t know what to say.’

‘Tell them what you just said to me. That you’re worried about her. They’ll contact the police, and Tara’s parents—’

‘Her parents? But – what if I’m wrong?’

‘I’m sure you are wrong,’ Mariana said, sounding a lot more confident than she felt. ‘I’m sure Tara’s fine, but we need to make sure. You understand that, don’t you? Do you want me to call them for you?’

‘No, no, it’s okay … I’ll do it.’

‘Good. Then go to bed, okay? I’ll be there first thing in the morning.’

‘Thanks, Mariana. I love you.’

‘I love you too.’

Mariana ended the call. The white wine she had poured was sitting on the counter untouched. She picked it up, and drained it in one go.

Her hand was trembling as she reached for the bottle and poured herself another glass.

6

Mariana went upstairs and began packing a small bag, in case she had to stay a night or two in Cambridge.

She tried not to let her thoughts run away with her – but it was difficult – she was feeling incredibly anxious. Somewhere out there was a man – presumably it was a man, given the extreme violence of the attack – who was dangerously ill, and had horrifically murdered a young woman … a young woman who possibly lived a few feet away from where her beloved Zoe slept.

The possibility the victim might have been Zoe instead was a thought Mariana tried to ignore, but couldn’t entirely repress. She was feeling sick with a kind of fear she had only felt once before in her life – the day Sebastian died. A feeling of impotence; a powerlessness, a horrible inability to protect those you love.

She glanced at her right hand. She couldn’t stop it trembling. She clenched it into a fist and squeezed it tight. She would not do this – she would not fall apart. Not now. She would stay calm. She would focus.

Zoe needed her – that was all that mattered.

If only Sebastian were here, he’d know what to do. He wouldn’t deliberate, procrastinate, pack an overnight bag – he would have grabbed his keys and run out the door the second he got off the phone with Zoe. That’s what Sebastian would have done. Why hadn’t she?

Because you’re a coward, she thought.

That was the truth. If only she had some of Sebastian’s strength. Some of his courage. Come on, love, she could hear him saying, give me your hand and we’ll face the bastards together.

Mariana climbed into bed and lay there, thinking, drifting to sleep. For the first time in over a year, her last thoughts as she lost consciousness were not about her late husband.

Instead, she found herself thinking about another man: a shadowy figure with a knife who had wreaked such horror upon that poor girl. Mariana’s mind meditated on him as her eyelids fluttered and closed. She wondered about this man. She wondered what he was doing right now, where he was …

And what he was thinking.

7

7th October

Once you kill another human being, there’s no going back.

I see that now. I see I have become altogether a different person.

It’s a bit like being reborn, I suppose. But no ordinary birth – it’s a metamorphosis. What emerges from the ashes is not a phoenix, but an uglier creature: deformed, incapable of flight, a predator using its claws to cut and rip.

I feel in control now, writing this. At this moment in time, I am calm, and sane.

But there is more than one of me.

It’s only a matter of time before the other me rises, bloodthirsty, mad, and seeking revenge. And he won’t rest until he finds it.

I am two people in one mind. Part of me keeps my secrets – he alone knows the truth – but he’s kept prisoner, locked up, sedated, denied a voice. He finds an outlet only when his jailer is momentarily distracted. When I am drunk, or falling asleep, he tries to speak. But it’s not easy. Communication comes in fits and starts – a coded escape plan from a POW camp. The moment he gets too close, a guard scrambles the message. A wall comes up. A blankness fills my mind. The memory I was striving for evaporates.

But I’ll persevere. I must. Somehow, I will find my way through the smoke and darkness and contact him – the sane part of me. The part that doesn’t want to hurt people. There is much he can tell me. Much I need to know. How, and why, I ended up like this – so removed from who I wanted to be – so full of hate and anger – so twisted inside …

Or am I lying to myself? Was I always this way, and didn’t want to admit it?

No – I won’t believe that.

After all, everyone’s entitled to be the hero of their own story. So I must be permitted to be the hero of mine. Even though I’m not.

I’m the villain.

8

The next morning, as Mariana left the house, she thought she saw Henry.

He was standing across the street, hovering behind a tree.

But when she looked back, there was no one to be seen. She must have been imagining it, she decided – and even if she weren’t, she had more important things to worry about right now. She banished Henry from her mind, and took the tube to King’s Cross.

At the station, she got on the fast train to Cambridge. It was a sunny day, and the sky was a perfect blue, streaked with only a few wisps of white cloud. She sat by the window, looking out as the train sped past green hedgerows and expanses of golden wheat swaying in the breeze like a shifting yellow sea.

Mariana was grateful to have the sun on her face – she was shivering, but from anxiety, not lack of warmth. She couldn’t stop worrying about what had happened. She’d not heard from Zoe since last night. Mariana had texted her this morning but had yet to receive a reply.

Perhaps it was all a false alarm; perhaps Zoe had been wrong?

Mariana sincerely hoped so – and not just because she knew Tara personally: they’d had her to stay for a weekend in London a few months before Sebastian died. But Mariana was mainly, selfishly, concerned with Tara for Zoe’s sake.

Zoe had had a difficult adolescence for a variety of reasons, which she had managed to overcome, more than overcome – ‘triumphantly transcend’ was how Sebastian put it – culminating with her being offered a place to read English at Cambridge University. Tara was the first friend Zoe made there, and losing Tara, Mariana thought, and in such unimaginably awful circumstances, might well derail Zoe entirely.

For some reason, Mariana couldn’t stop thinking about their phone call. Something was bothering her.

She couldn’t quite put her finger on what, exactly.

Was it Zoe’s tone? Mariana had a feeling Zoe was holding something back. Was it the slight hesitation, even evasion, when she asked Zoe what were the ‘crazy’ things that Tara had said?

I can’t get into it now.

Why not?

What exactly had Tara said to her?

Perhaps it’s nothing, Mariana thought. Stop it – stop doing this. She had nearly an hour to go on the train; she couldn’t sit here driving herself crazy. She’d be a wreck when she arrived. She needed to distract herself.

She reached into her bag and pulled out a magazine – the British Journal of Psychiatry. She flicked through it, but couldn’t concentrate on any of the articles.

Inevitably, her mind kept returning to Sebastian. The thought of going back to Cambridge without him filled Mariana with dread. She hadn’t been back since his death.