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, Friday, 23 December, 2016, evening.

I can't make eye contact with the taxi driver as we pull up outside my home.

I could see him repeatedly looking at me in the rearview mirror as he drove me away from the block of flats,

unable to tell whether it was disgust or concern in his eyes.

Maybe it was both.

I hand over the cash and don't wait for the change, mumbling my thanks before climbing out and closing the door.

The first thing I see as the cab drives away is Paul's car parked outside.

He didn't tell me he was coming back tonight.

He's hardly been in touch at all.

I search inside my handbag for a mint and spray myself with a sprits of perfume.

I find my small compact mirror and examine different parts of my face in the glow from the streetlight outside the house.

It's the first time I've had to look myself in the eye since I woke up in someone else's bed.

Most of my makeup has rubbed off, but my mascara has bled down my face.

No wonder the cab driver was staring at me.

I lick my fingers and rub the skin beneath my eyes before checking my reflection once more.

I still look like myself, even though I am not.

I step from the pavement onto our property, crossing an invisible border,

and closing the gate behind me, cementing the decision to proceed with caution. The air is so cold

that the frozen wood needs persuading to shut all the way and burns the tips of my fingers in protest.

...