It was soon after Gabriel left this morning. I had a shower and saw him out the bathroom window. He was closer this time. He was standing outside the bus stop. Like he was casually waiting for the bus.
I don’t know who he thinks he’s fooling.
I got dressed quickly and went into the kitchen to have a better look. But he was gone.
I decided to tell Gabriel about it when he got home. I thought he’d brush it off, but he took it seriously. He seemed quite worried.
“Is it Jean-Felix?” he said straightaway.
“No, of course not. How can you even think that?”
I tried to sound surprised and indignant. But in truth I had wondered that too. The man and Jean-Felix are the same build. It could be Jean-Felix, but even so—I just don’t want to believe it. He wouldn’t try and frighten me like that. Would he?
“What’s Jean-Felix’s number?” Gabriel said. “I’m calling him right now.”
“Darling, don’t, please. I’m sure it’s not him.”
“Positive?”
“Absolutely. Nothing happened. I don’t know why I’m making such a big deal out of it. It’s nothing.”
“How long was he there for?”
“Not long—an hour or so—and then he vanished.”
“What do you mean, vanished?”
“He just disappeared.”
“Uh-huh. Is there any chance you could be imagining this?”
Something about the way he said that annoyed me. “I’m not imagining it. I need you to believe me.”
“I do believe you.”
But I could tell he didn’t totally believe me. He only partly believed me. Part of him was just humoring me. Which makes me angry, if I’m honest. So angry I have to stop here—or I might write something I’ll regret.
AUGUST 14
I jumped out of bed as soon as I woke up. I checked the window, hoping the man would be there again—so Gabriel could see him too—but there was no sign of him. So I felt even more stupid.
This afternoon I decided to go for a walk, despite the heat. I wanted to be in the park, away from the buildings and roads and other people—and be alone with my thoughts. I walked up to Parliament Hill, passing the bodies of sunbathers strewn around on either side of the path. I found a bench that was unoccupied, and I sat down. I stared out at London glinting in the distance.
While I was there, I was conscious the whole time of something. I kept looking over my shoulder—but couldn’t see anyone. But someone was there, the whole time. I could feel it. I was being watched.
On my way back, I walked past the pond. I happened to look up—and there he was, the man. He was standing across the water on the other side, too far away to see clearly, but it was him. I knew it was him. He was standing perfectly still, motionless, staring right at me.
I felt an icy shiver of fear. I acted out of instinct:
“Jean-Felix?” I shouted. “Is that you? Stop it. Stop following me!”
He didn’t move. I acted as fast as I could. I reached into my pocket, pulled out my phone, and took a photo of him. What good it will do, I have no idea. Then I turned and started walking quickly to the end of the pond, not letting myself look back until I reached the main path. I was scared he was going to be right behind me.
I turned around—and he was gone.
I hope it’s not Jean-Felix. I really do.
When I got home, I was feeling on edge. I drew the blinds and turned off the lights. I peered out the window—and there he was:
The man was standing on the street, staring up at me. I froze—I didn’t know what to do.
I nearly jumped out of my skin when someone called my name:
“Alicia? Alicia, are you there?”
It was that awful woman from next door. Barbie Hellmann. I left the window and went to the back door and opened it. Barbie had let herself in the side gate and was in the garden, clutching a bottle of wine.
“Hi, honey. I saw you weren’t in your studio. I wondered where you were.”
“I was out, I just got back.”
“Time for a drink?” She said this in a baby voice she sometimes uses and that I find irritating.
“Actually, I should get back to work.”
“Just a quick one. And then I have to go. I’ve got my Italian class tonight. Okay?”
Without waiting for a reply, she came in. She said something about how