Welcome to Case Closed. You're listening to Sometimes I Lie by Alice Feeney, narrated by Stephanie Racine. Let's pick up where we left off last time.

Then Christmas Day, 2016, early evening.

Paul and I walk home in silence.

He walks quickly, so that I have to hurry to keep up with him.

A fine mist of drizzle permeates the cold air, but I don't mind. I'm just

pleased to be outside to have left Claire's home. That's all that house is now, hers. There is

nothing left of mine within its walls, not even the memories of my own. It's a life I should

have left behind by now, but something has always stopped me from moving on.

Fear of the unknown is always greater than fear of the familiar.

The streets are empty.

I like the quiet stillness of it all.

Peace on suburban earth.

Everyone is locked inside with relatives they don't have to see for the rest of the year, stuffing turkey down their throats, watching nonsense on the television,

unwrapping gifts they neither want nor need, drinking too much, saying too much, thinking too

little.

The drizzle evolves into rain as we pass the petrol station.

It's closed now. Everything is closed.

I've only ever been inside the place twice.

The first time was a few weeks ago to ask a question.

No harm in that. People ask questions all the time.

The cashier studied my face a little harder when I had finished speaking, but he soon concluded that I wasn't about to rob the place. I didn't look the type. He told me that the CCTV was kept

for a week and then automatically deleted. I thanked him, then waited a moment in

...