15
After two sleepless nights and strange looks from Peter, I rang Poppy and asked her to make the call. My nervous rear refused to stay still, squeaking against the leather of the sofa in my impatience. Four minutes and twenty-seven seconds after disconnection, the phone rang.
I snatched it up. “Poppy?”
“It’s arranged,” she said. “He knows where the supermarket is, said he was there last week. Did you know that, sweetie?”
“I had a feeling, but I didn’t know.”
“Are you sure about this?” Her tone portrayed concern. “I think he’s been stalking you.”
“That’s what predators do best, Pop.”
Obviously unimpressed by my humour attempt, she remained silent.
“Sorry, that wasn’t funny.”
“No, it wasn’t. Are you sure you’re doing the right thing?”
“I can’t just walk away without talking to hi
