The hairs on the back of my neck prickle in a way that they haven’t since that fateful night with Hannah. I look around me but all I see is what I should; a café and bakery full of smiling, happy patrons. Again there is the sense of being watched, something I just can’t shake off even as I tell myself sternly to pull myself together.
I ask Trina, the girl serving at the bakery counter for a couple of the sun-dried tomato focaccia rolls as I know they are my mum’s favourite and she said she would be dropping by today to go over a few of the details for Taylor’s party. She gives me a wide smile and asks how I’m getting on and we chat for a couple more minutes about how she is enjoying the job since she started a few weeks ago. Yet even as I stand there, I can’t shake the feeling that someo
