6
Arriving at work the following morning, I confided to Hannah that I had actually visited Richard at home. Dumping a lump of pastry on the worktop, she wiped her floury hands on her apron, and popped tea bags into a two-person pot. A moment later she ushered me into the café and set two mugs of tea on a table between us. Leaning forward, she listened, agog, as I told her how Richard had invited me into his house and offered me a drink.
‘I hope you didn’t accept it,’ she said, her voice sharp with alarm.
‘Please don’t act like you’re my mother. In any case, you were the one who insisted I go and see him.’
‘To talk to him, yes. Not to go inside his house. What if he attacked you there, where no one could see what was happening?’
‘And you call me melodramatic,’ I replied, trying not to
