"No. No, I didn't know that," Mrs Phillips says. "How very awful."
Kate looks up at Beetlejuice as he leans close to her mother; close enough, she thinks, for her to feel his breath on her face. Kate tugs at her hand. She wants to leave now. There is something about this man that she doesn't like now, either. She doesn't like the way he speaks to her mum, the way he looks at her, the way he doesn't seem to mean any of what he says.
The man leans even closer now, close enough to dig his teeth into her neck, and then he whispers in her ear. Kate can see his lips moving, the spit on his tongue. Her mother's jaw drops and her hand turns icy cold, then her body goes oddly still, like she is frozen in time.
The man raises his hand in the air to bid farewell as he moves swiftly down the street, happily jingling the bucket down by his side. Takes a turn. Then he is gone.
"Come on, Kate, we need to get a hurry on before we miss that bus."
Kate is relieved to see her mum alert again, to see her back to normal. Suddenly, she is full of energy, like she has been on the Lucozade again. Kate has to skip to keep up with her. Her mum moves daintily, like she is walking on hot coals. Suddenly, she stops. She closes her eyes, just for a few seconds, before opening them again. Kate dreads to think what thoughts go through her mind. She puts her palms on Kate's shoulders and speaks very clearly.
"Kate. Wait here. Just one moment. Please, do not move."
Kate watches her mother turn back in the same direction they just came from. Kate has no idea why she is going back, but she is certain nothing good can come of it. Just what did that odd man whisper to her? It is like some magnificent invisible force is pulling her mum by the wrists. Her movements are slower now, more reluctant. She stops again. Stands still. Maybe she is having second thoughts? Then, just as Kate thinks she might turn around and come back - and she really hopes that she does - her mum disappears down a dark, narrow alleyway.
Seconds pass in silence. Kate taps the soles of her black school shoes against the crooked pavement. She eyes the moss that sprouts from the cracks. She begins to worry for her mother.
Her head jerks up. The silence has been broken by the horrific sound of her mother screaming.
DAY NINE 9TH JUNE 2018
Sinking my buttocks deeply into the sofa that curves in a u-shape , my shoulders slope downwards and my hands rest on the flat of my thighs. My feet are somewhere - attached to my legs, no doubt, as they usually are - and yet they're so numb and heavy that I can barely feel them.
My eyes blink open. My back straightens and I pull my shoulders almost up to my ears. What was that? Moments earlier I was oblivious to my surroundings on the boat, my home. I'm here alone because it is the middle of the day and Erica is in her workshop. Now I push my neck forward and squint, actively searching for things, chasing shadows - seeking out danger. Stop doing this. You know it is all in your head; all in your mind.
I close my eyes again. Force them shut. Teasing my forehead with the tips of my fingers, I sink my face into the comfort and security of my palms. I count one, two, three as I inhale through my nose; count one, two, three as I exhale out from my mouth. My body feels so heavy that I am disappearing into the floor, tumbling into the grotty, rancid canal water that lies below, sinking into the epicentre of the earth.
I spring to attention, suddenly alert. I am not imagining it this time. My mind is not playing games. This is not paranoia. I did hear something. I heard somebody. My mind plays tricks; my ears do not lie. There is somebody outside. I can hear him moving. He is circling the boat, a predator assessing the prey, waiting for the right moment to pounce, to attack.
The windows span all the way along the boat, on both sides. The glass is flimsy, easily broken. I look up. Sun roof. I look for hiding places. There are none.
Bang.
What was that? Something hit the boat, struck it with force. I pull my knees up to my chest, wrap my arms around my legs, curl up into a ball. The noise came from the far end of the boat, the other side, furthest away from me. This is the safest place. Right here. Right where I am.
I want to stand up to him, my fists raised and ready, just like Luke would. I want to hunt down the intruder, to turn the tables, to become the attacker. I can't. My body feels like it has been stuck to the seat with superglue. I am strapped down, completely and utterly defenceless.
I see it happening. See it with my own eyes. Like it is in slow motion. The door handle pushes down. The door slides open. The door slides shut. He is on my boat, in my home. The feet move towards me. Slowly, like they are treading through water. He is getting closer, though. He will reach me, eventually.
I try to lift my legs. The resistance is much stronger now. They are tied down with rope. I no longer want to attack. I just want to escape, to run.
He moves close enough for me to see his face. He looks exactly the same. He has not changed. He still looks beautiful, like his features have
