Years ago I had some trouble with a boy. I was ten years old and he was fourteen, and he had a crush on me.

We were in a co-ed boarding school on the south coast of England, a bleak spot beloved by the locals for its white chalk cliffs and creepy foggy heaths. I hated it. I spent a good deal of time being bad and leading rebellions. On a nightly basis we’d break out and go ransack something.

But the boy, he started to make rules for me. He got possessive. And then he got physical. Nothing too drastic, except for the occasional fierce punch to my chest, “Where no one will see it,” as he’d say.

Today I got a message from him. He has discovered my email address and sent two messages. I won’t read them. Through the years he’s tried various methods of contacting me. I always ignore them. But I fear he is emboldened and I’ve seen my share of crime shows. So I know.

So I phoned my bestie and told her that if I was discovered hacked up he did it. I just wanted to lodge this information with someone. She said thanks you’ve cheered me up no end, now I’ve got this to worry about as I get through a huge day of chores!

But she’s brilliant, with only five minutes to spare she solved the problem. I can’t tell you what she advised as it would compromise the plan. If I don’t get stuck in the sand, so to speak, I’ll pull it off.

If I don’t, and if I’m found hacked, she’ll know who did it. She’ll write the last Sunday Story. My obituary.