I saw him that night.

In front of Earl Grey House, across the seafront road, are benches overlooking the bay, and he was there: Jasper.

It was late, about ten p.m., and quite dark. The streetlamp cast a little pool of light that nearly reached the benches, and he sat, hunched over, occasionally stealing a glance at my window.

Well, it seemed like that, but he cannot have known which was my room, and my blinds were closed, so he could not see me. I was scared, though, and there was nothing I could do about it.

I could, I suppose, tell Aidan. “Aidan, your Uncle Jasper is following me.” I did not think that would be well received.

I could tell Aunty Reet, or Sangeeta. “There is a man on a bench outside.”

It is hardly a crime, is it, sitting on a bench in the evening?

I kept looking, keeping my light off, carefully opening my blinds. Once I saw him get up and cross the road, and I thought he was coming to knock on the door, but he did not. Instead he walked down the street and got into his car and drove away.

I felt sick. I hardly slept. But at least it answered one question. I knew now that I was not imagining it. Jasper was watching me.

Sometimes knowing the worst can be a relief.