Chapter 2

I look at Frank, feeling numb. If he's here to blackmail me in exchange for keeping quiet about what he saw, I won't be able to fix this.

‘You okay? You look anxious.'

‘I'm not anxious,' I say in a panicky tone.

Right, I need to calm down and sort this before it gets out of hand. Frank's lost a client – an income – he's got bills to pay, food to buy, times are hard. I've got to pacify him, appeal to his better nature.

‘I thought we were friends,' I say. ‘I thought I could trust you.'

Frank's features soften. ‘We were. We still can be. If only…'

‘It's too late for if onlys.' I rub my temple. ‘The dynamics between us have changed.'

‘Don't pin this all on me,' he says, annoyance slipping into his voice.

‘I'm sorry I had to let you go, but you must understand that I can't train with someone when lines have been crossed.'

‘So, you didn't stroke my chest,' he says, challengingly. I shake my head at his expensive Nike trainers. ‘You didn't flutter your eyelashes at me?' More head shaking. ‘You didn't want me?'

His accusing tone makes me jump, catapulting me back to last Tuesday. We're in the studio, hot and sweaty after a tough workout. He's showing me how to do a stretch. I can't remember what it's called now, something to do with three soldiers; the warrior three pose, that was it. I stretch forward on one leg – lose my balance – his hands on my hips – faces inches apart – his hot breath on my face – and then he…

‘Oh, come on, you can't deny you like me.' His voice breaks into my thoughts, bringing me back to now, and I shudder. ‘Getting all personal, bringing me coffee, breakfast. What was that all about?'

‘You're twisting things,' I snap, mouth dry. ‘You asked me to bring in a sample of Zelda's bakes.' My sister recently set up her own bakery business from home. I was trying to drum up business for her. Frank's got a big following on Instagram, showcasing his exercise routines and healthy eating plans. I certainly wasn't trying to bribe him into bed with half a dozen protein muffins.

‘You told me to hold on to you, then you let go before I was ready.' A little girl skips along the street and we step out of the way, her dark, shiny hair swishing against her narrow shoulders. Her mother follows, phone secured under her hijab, pushing a pram full of grocery bags. ‘If I accidentally touched your chest, it was to stabilise myself.' A car door slams. Olivia, Anna's seventeen-year-old daughter, calls out Mum. ‘But you…' Frank's phone starts ringing.

‘Sorry, got to get this.' Taking a few steps back, he turns and faces Anna's house, securing the carrier bag under his armpit. ‘I'm free next Wednesday afternoon,' he says to his caller. ‘I can book the studio for three. Sounds perfect, yeah.'

A client. What about my client? Anger powers through me. I flick my wrist and my phone lights up – 17.45. If I don't get a move on, Mrs Anderson will start ringing again. I've already changed our appointment twice today. I don't want her to leave me a bad review on Trustpilot.

Frank, who is now sashaying towards his white VW Golf parked halfway down the road, laughs into his handset, and just then a thought slithers into my mind, risky and perilous like a cobra. If I can slip away while he's on that call, he won't get a chance to blackmail me. It'll give me time to think, discuss it with my lovely friend Linda tonight at her dinner party, come up with a plan. Linda's always had a problem-solving mind – even our school teachers said so. I point my remote at my car before I can talk myself out of it. The boot flies open.

‘I'm not spending two hundred quid on a pair of plimsolls.' Anna's raging voice tears through the air. ‘If you don't get in the car by the count of three, I'm going to confiscate your phone.'

‘What?'

‘And your MacBook.'

‘Mum!'

‘And you'll be grounded for a week.'

‘That's child abuse,' Ralf hits back.

And there was I thinking Valley Gardens was drama-free. Peering around the lid of my boot, I spot Frank, leaning against his car, his back to me. I pull out my tripod hurriedly and rest it against the back wing of my car, then squeeze my work bag between the clutter as Ralf threatens Anna with social services. Grabbing my tripod, I hastily shut the boot. But it's too late.

‘Kids, hey?' Anna yells, throwing a glance at Frank, who is swaggering back towards me like a runway model. ‘Anyway, better drop this lot off. Have a lovely evening, Bella.' She says this in a have fun with your hunky visitor way and my face tingles.

‘Nice neighbourhood,' Frank remarks as Anna pulls out of her driveway, wearing a huge pair of dark glasses, even though the sun went down hours ago. He takes in the length of me, hands in pockets, triceps bulging. ‘Are they always this noisy?'

‘They're a lovely family, actually,' I retort, berating myself for faffing about with my bag in the boot instead of making a quick escape. ‘Wasn't it you who always said not to judge?'

‘Fair point. What are you going to do with that?'

‘It's going in the back. No room in the boot.'

‘They make them tiny these days, don't they? Here, let me give you a hand.' Frank's arm brushes against mine.

‘No,' I snap, pulling away. ‘I can manage.'

Lifting his hands up, he says, ‘I was only trying to help.' I scowl as I secure the tripod against the backseat.

‘Right,' Frank says, as I slam the car door. ‘I'm glad we've cleared the air.' He pauses, sticks a finger under his Gucci beanie hat, which rarely leaves his head, even during classes, and scratches. ‘So, we're all good now, yeah?'

‘No,' I interject, raising a palm. ‘You don't get to gaslight me. If you think I was interested in you then you're deluded.' I flash a tight smile at the boy from number 25, who is walking his Siberian Husky. His pooch usually stops outside Mr Stanhope's for a wee. I watch and right on cue, he cocks his leg.

‘Are you always this stubborn?' Frank mutters, running a hand over his face.

‘For whatever reason you had.' I point my finger at him as the lad and his dog shrink into the distance. ‘You wanted more from me.'

‘I didn't.'

‘What was it, a bet that you'd get the ice queen into bed? Yes, I know what they call me at Serval. What did they do to motivate you? Tell you I was out of your league?'

‘It wasn't like that.'

‘Count yourself lucky I didn't report you to Jane.' Jane, Serval's Manager, with her honey blonde ponytail and rock-hard body, is pleasant enough, calls everyone darling, but she's firm – takes no prisoners. You know the kind.

‘Where's all this coming from?' he asks. I laugh incredulously. ‘I think you need to calm down, Bella.'

‘And you need to leave. Now.'

‘Pfft, I've had enough of this crap,' he says in that clipped whispery tone of his. ‘I came here today to have a civilised conversation, bury the hatchet, but look at you, you're hysterical.'

‘If you're so sure I flirted with you, that I was gagging for it, then why are you here, hmm?' Now it's my turn to play mind games. ‘Why are you worried?'

A muscle in his eyelid twitches. Ocular myokymia. It happens to me sometimes. Tom said it can be caused by being overly tired or stressed. Frank's resolve is weakening.

‘I don't want you to start spreading rumours about me, that's all.' Stepping back, he closes his eyes. I watch as his chest rises and falls. I can almost hear him counting to three. ‘I've got some high-profile clients.' I inwardly roll my eyes. Have you, really? Because you've only mentioned it about three hundred times.Shame the only evidence is a photograph on your phone at a charity event with an ex-soap actor.

‘Eighty-per-cent of my clients are female, they trust me, and I'm not having some…'

‘Go on, say it. Some Karen?'

‘I wasn't going to say that.' He scowls, squeezes his fist around the handles of the carrier bag, knuckles protruding. ‘If they get the idea that I'm a flipping pervert they won't hire me, will they? Just don't do anything stupid, Bella.'

‘Relax. I'm not going to say anything to anyone.' Seeing as you know my biggest secret. ‘But only if you promise that this ends now.' I'm about to get into my car when a surge of fear pumps through my veins. ‘How did you know where I live?' I never gave him my address. We always trained at the gym or the park track. It could only mean one thing. He's been stalking me.