All his illusions about their relationship had been shattered, and the reality laid bare. There had never been anything between them outside of his head. She had a boyfriend, and had even secured her house against men like him. But although the familiar feeling of self-disgust was stronger than ever, it was still drowned out by the panic. Because Sharon’s boyfriend must have seen him very clearly from the kitchen window, and would surely have called the police. He spent seventy-two hours sick with worry, anticipating a knock at the door. When the knock finally came, it was almost a relief. Before that, though, there was what felt like infinite time for both worry and self-recrimination. Why had he carried on with what he was doing when he had known he was being stupid? In his head, he wound events back, like cotton on a spool, but the real world was beyond him; his actions couldn’t be undone. With clenched fists pressed into his eyes, he prayed for time to reverse, but of course he remained firmly in the present.
