The next day, the alarm on my phone rang at seven, and I shut it off and burrowed under the duvet. I didn't want to face the outside world that day. Or, in fact, ever.

A message from Tate at eight woke me up again. Apparently, he'd arranged a glazier, and Tate must have had some clout because the guy hammered on the door twenty minutes later. I threw on a dressing gown and ran downstairs, where I thanked him profusely as I made us both cups of tea.

"Made a bit of a mess, didn't they, love? Bloody kids."

Another who was quick to write my problem off. "Have you seen this a lot around here?"

"A couple of villages over, they chucked a rubbish bin through the window of the chippy."

Could I be overreacting?

An hour later, I had a shiny new window, and the man waved to me as he climbed into his van.

"Wait—how much do I owe you?"

"Nothing. All been taken care of."

"By Tate?"

"You want to hold on to that one, love."

Wonderful. Although I appreciated Tate's generosity, his gesture would hardly do much to quash my new reputation as a gold-digger. I wished he'd asked me first so I could have declined his offer.

Rather than risk the wrath of the village, I stayed home for the rest of the morning and listed as many new items as I could on eBay. And while rummaging at the back of the dining room, I found treasure under a pile of zebra-print onesies. A shiny red mountain bike had been hidden from view while the burglar did his worst, still with pristine tyres and plastic sleeves over the paintwork.

Why had Aunt Ellie bought a bicycle she'd never ridden?

Good grief, why was I even asking myself that question? The woman had also bought a set of musical garden gnomes, each dressed in a different coloured bikini, for crying out loud. That line-up made the bicycle look relatively normal.

My discovery meant I now had wheels. Slightly labour-intensive ones, granted, but I didn't have to rely on the bus anymore. A bubble of laughter escaped at my unexpected freedom.

Although I wouldn't be trying my new ride out today—the gloomy sky outside threatened a downpour, and the branches of the old tree outside the window scraped on the rain-speckled glass as the wind did its worst. The thought of venturing beyond the front door made me shudder.

Instead, as the heavens opened, I went full hermit and curled up in bed again, watching a film about guinea-pig commandos on the tiny portable television in Aunt Ellie's bedroom. For a minute, I regretted selling the giant TV from the lounge. If I had to live as a recluse for the rest of my time in Upper Foxford, the extra definition would have been a bonus.

The black clouds over Upper Foxford had lifted by the next morning, and after a good night's sleep, a little of the darkness in my mood floated away with them. It was time to try out my new bike. And the new gloves and scarf I'd found in the piles of peril, because it was chilly outside.

I turned left out of the driveway to avoid the centre of the village, only to hear the toot of a horn behind me.

"Need a lift somewhere?" Warren asked through his open window.

"Thanks for the offer, but I'm quite happy cycling."

"Quicker in the car."

"I'm not going anywhere in particular. It's more...exercise. I need exercise."

"Okay, well, have fun. Don't forget I'm always around if you do need to go anywhere."

I smiled, thankful that at least one person other than Tate was still speaking to me. "I've got your number."

His number and a whole lot of guilt, because I'd turned down Warren and then had dinner with Tate. I honestly had intended to enjoy the single life when I came to Upper Foxford, but what if Warren thought I'd lied? Stupid Olivia, always digging myself into holes.

After Warren disappeared off around the bend, I pushed all thoughts of men out of my head and spent a pleasant morning getting lost in the local countryside. The fresh air in my lungs gave me the energy I'd been missing, and before I knew it, I'd cycled through four villages and ended up in a fifth. Where had I heard the name Stonystead recently? I racked my brains and recalled Tate's mention of petty vandalism. If I hadn't been gasping for a drink, I'd have kept cycling.

The pub on the main road wasn't a particularly pretty one, but the barman greeted me warmly, which was a pleasant change after the last few days.

"Just a drink, or would you like to see the lunch menu?"

My stomach chose that moment to let out a grumble. "Maybe I'll just grab a snack."

Most of the food was fried—chips, spring rolls, scampi—but that came as a welcome relief after the snooty food at The Cock and Bull.

"Can I have a chicken-and-mushroom pie with chunky chips, please? Oh, and a lemonade."

"Coming right up. Haven't seen you around here before."

"I live in Upper Foxford."

He raised an eyebrow. "Slumming it over here, aren't you?"

"Why would you think that?"

"Lower Foxford's not so bad, but the folk in Upper and Middleton Foxford look down their noses at us."

"They don't think much of me, either, so I'll fit right in."

He laughed and gave me a gap-toothed smile. "Maybe we'll see a bit more of you, then?"

"You can count on it."

When I got home, pleasantly full, I parked the bike in the rickety old woodshed at the edge of the garden. It still had a small pile of rotting logs stacked in one corner, but now that Lilac Cottage had central heating, the remainder of the space was empty.

The piles of peril had also yielded a padlock and chain, and I secured the bike to a support beam then walked back down the mossy path to the cottage, cursing softly as I passed the remains of the old sofa. Why hadn't I remembered it when Tate brought the horsebox? I wasn't about to impose on him further, so now I'd have to put up with the eyesore until Dave came by with his van again. If I got lucky, the brambles might have a growth spurt and cover it up.

Next door, I heard the click of secateurs—Yvonne was out pruning her bushes. I raised my hand in greeting.

"Hello! Lovely afternoon, isn't it?"

She looked right through me before turning on her heel and marching back into her house. Great. She'd succumbed to the rumours too. I'd been having such a good day, but now my eyes prickled with tears as I pined for my old flat. I'd take being ignored by my neighbours over this outright hostility any day.

There was only one solution.

"Maddie, it's Olivia. How are you?"

"They've only put me on bloody nights again. I barely get to see Dave as it is, and I'm sure that bitch planned it deliberately. The administrator actually smirked when she told me the new rota."

Okay, maybe calling Maddie wouldn't provide the positivity I needed. "I'm so sorry. Could you try looking for a different job? People always need nurses, right?"

"I've started keeping my eye out, but what annoys me most is that I enjoyed working there until she came along. It may sound silly, but the stubborn part of me wants to stick it out in the hope it gets better."

I could understand it—that was how I felt about living in Upper Foxford. Although I didn't have the advantage of having loved it in the first place.

"I don't think it's silly at all. It would be a shame to jump out of the frying pan and into the fire."

"Thank you—somebody who gets it. Dave can't understand why I haven't left already. I can only hope that bitch cracks first. Either that, or I'll get sent down for murder."

"Don't say that. I'm sending virtual hugs."

"How about you bring real hugs at the weekend? Do you remember Valerie from school?"

"The one with the really thick glasses?"

"She had her eyes lasered and married a doctor. Anyway, she's having a party on Saturday, and I'm sure she wouldn't mind if you came as my plus one."

What would I do if I stayed in Upper Foxford? Sit at home watching an American crime series on channel five? I had quite enough drama in my life already, thank you, and I didn't even want to think about dead bodies. A trip back to the big smoke was just what I needed.

"Sounds great. I'll be there."

And for once, I was glad I'd be reliant on public transport. I could have a glass of wine and maybe a cocktail or two. I'd need them.

Little did I know that my alcohol requirements were only going to increase the next day. I did my eBaying—a sideline that was turning into more of a job than my actual job—then put on my leggings to take another bike ride. As well as the escape, I needed to burn off a few calories because my clothes were getting tighter. Granted, the pub in Stonystead wasn't the best place to get diet food, but if I ate a bowl of soup and then came straight back, I'd still be able to fit into my jeans.

But I didn't get that far.

"I don't flipping believe this!"

Nobody was around to hear my wail, but when I saw my bike in the woodshed, complete with slashed tyres and red paint daubed on the seat, I couldn't help myself.

It was a testament to how awful my life had become that I didn't burst into tears or run screaming. On a scale of wild rumours to nasty burglary, slashed tyres only rated as a minor irritation.

Instead of crying, I turned around, walked back into the house, retrieved my emergency bottle of wine, and knocked back most of it. In no time at all, I'd slumped over the kitchen table with my eyes closed. There, that felt much better.

A hand on my shoulder made me jerk awake, and I let out a piercing scream before I snapped my eyes open.

"It's okay, Olivia. It's only me."

"Tate? What are you doing here?"

"You weren't answering your phone, and I got worried. Even more so when I found your back door unlocked."

"I wasn't thinking straight."

He eyed up my wine glass. "A glass of wine? Or the whole bottle?"

"Not quite all of it." There was at least a teaspoonful left in the bottom. "But somebody slashed my bike tyres, so I think I was entitled."

"What? As in slashed them with a knife?"

"I guess so."

"You mean there's some maniac running around with a knife, and you left your door open? Anyone could have got in."

He kind of had a point there. I shuddered at the thought and found I had a headache. "I won't do it again, I promise. Please don't be angry."

His expression softened. "Sorry, I didn't mean to raise my voice. I'm just worried about you, that's all."

"No, you're right. It was stupid."

"I didn't even know you had a bike. Where is it?"

"In the shed out the back."

"I'll arrange to have the tyres replaced."

"You don't have to do that."

"Please, I insist. Shall I stay and keep you company this evening? We could get a takeaway, watch a movie..."

"I don't have a sofa or a television, so that could be difficult." At least, I didn't have a television in the lounge. I wasn't ready to invite Tate up to my bedroom. Yet.

"Then why don't you come over to my place? My housekeeper was off sick today, but it's still reasonably presentable." He gave me a cheeky smile. "I can take your mind off things."

Now, that was an offer I couldn't refuse.

Tate did indeed put on a movie, but I couldn't have told you whether it was a horror flick, a romcom, or a thriller. It might even have been a blank screen. But I could have described every contour of Tate's face, from his smooth forehead, to his perfectly straight nose, to his angular cheekbones. His lips, with their rounded Cupid's bow, were pinker than my cheeks went when he started undoing the buttons of my blouse.

He caught my sharp intake of breath. "Do you want me to stop?"

I quickly shook my head no. His touch took me away from everyday life. Well, his touch and the wine, and I relished the trip. Tate might have been clean-shaven, but my lips still stung from overuse by the time he dropped me home again. Despite his previous offer for me to spend the night, he hadn't got past second base, even though I half wished he'd gone for a home run. I'd need to sit in a bucket of iced water to put out the fire between my legs.

I clutched at Tate's arm as we walked down the path to my front door, praying there wouldn't be a repeat of last time. Tate glanced at the window at the same time as I did, and we let out a synchronised sigh of relief when we saw it was intact.

Tonight, I got more than a chaste kiss as he pushed me up against the front door and wrapped his arms around me, leaving me breathless once more. As he made me forget everything, I slipped my hands inside his shirt and ran my fingers over his chest, so warm in spite of the cool night air.

"Goodnight," he whispered as he pulled away. "I'll call you tomorrow. And don't forget to lock your door."

Words almost escaped me, but I managed to utter, "Goodnight, and I won't," in return.

I fanned myself as he climbed back into his car, and it was only once the roar of the Mercedes's powerful engine faded into the night that I came to my senses and unlocked the front door.

Prickles rose on the back of my neck the instant I stepped into the hallway. Why was the house so cold? I'd definitely left the heating on, and I could feel a draft that was never normally there. The curtains next to me wafted gently in the breeze, casting eerie shadows on the wall. I knew I'd closed all the windows, and I'd checked the back door twice as usual before I left. The chill spreading through the house and my veins told me that somebody had opened one of them for me.

I could hardly run to Bob and Yvonne's house this time, not after Yvonne's reaction to me yesterday afternoon, and I couldn't see the point in calling the police. They'd only send Graham, and by the time he arrived, whoever was here would have had time to bury my body and fly to a non-extradition country. I was still waiting for someone to take my statement after the last episode. My fingers trembled as I dialled Tate, and I cursed under my breath when he didn't answer. Of course, he was driving and would be for the next ten minutes.

I picked up a chunky china dog from the nicknack shelf and crept forward, inch by inch, brandishing the ornament in front of myself like a shield. When I cracked the living room door open, what I saw made me retch, leaving a stream of recycled wine decorating the already disgusting carpet.

The words had been painted in foot-high bright-red letters, the same shade used on my bicycle seat. Drips of paint had run down the wall, and it looked as if the plaster itself were bleeding.

I dropped the dog and snatched up the heavy metal poker sitting next to the fireplace. Remnants of ash in the grate suggested someone had once used the poker for its intended purpose, but for now, it would have to do its duty as a makeshift weapon.

Fear gave way to anger as adrenaline pumped through my veins. I'd had enough. I almost hoped my tormentor was still in the house, because I'd enjoy sticking that damn poker somewhere painful.

My heart pounded as I threw open one door after another, checking every cupboard, nook, and cranny, no matter how tight a fit they might be. But the only evidence of the intruder apart from the wall art in the lounge was the open back door, its hinges squeaking as it blew back and forth.

I slammed it in a fury, and the house rattled. Thankfully, only one small pane of glass had been broken this time, and at least I was now on first-name terms with the glazier. I taped a piece of cardboard over the hole to keep the draft out and balanced a pile of saucepans on the floor behind it. At least if anybody came back, the pans would topple over, and I'd get some warning.

Cold and fear made me shiver as I climbed into bed fully clothed. If I had any more unwelcome visitors, the last thing I wanted was for the crime scene investigators to stand over my corpse and lament my poor taste in pyjamas. Assisted by the alcohol still swimming through my veins, I fell asleep clutching the poker close to my chest.

Just let anybody try to take it off me.

Just let them.