ke me think, and she's winning. That's why now every thought about myself begins with "Maybe..." because now I'm having to think about myself in ways I never have before, and I do

drift up my chimney, along with a distant rhythm of party music before it's carried away again, sounds and leaves circling in a violent frenzy outside my front door. I've been invited to three parties, but I can't think of anything worse than going from one to the next, trying to find taxis on New Year's Eve and feeling like this in the meantime. Besides, the TV schedule is supposedly great on New Year's Eve, and for the first time in my life, I want to watch it. I curl up deeper into my cashmere blanket and sip my red wine, feeling content with my decision to be alone, thinking about the people outside, all this madness. The wind howls again and I reach for the remote to turn up the volume, but as soon as I do, every light in the house, including the television, goes out. I'm plunged into darkness, and the house alarm blares angrily. A quick glance out the window tells me that the power is out on the entire street. But unlike everyone else, I don't even think about lighting candles. It's all the more reason to grope my way up the stairs and into bed a few minutes after ten. The irony of the power outage is not lost on me. I watch the New Year's Eve show on my iPad until the battery dies, and then I listen to my iPod, which shows an ominously low red battery and dies so quickly that I can barely enjoy the music. So I turn to my laptop, and when that dies too, I feel like crying. I hear a car in the street and I know it's time to spring into action. I jump out of bed and throw open the curtains. The whole street is dark, I can see the candles glowing in a few houses, but most of the houses are in darkness; most of my neighbours are over seventy and asleep. I'm sure I can't be seen because my house is dark too; I can stand at the window with the curtains open and watch the show I know is about to begin. I look outside. And I see you. Chapter 3 I'm not a stalker, but you also make it very difficult not to stalk you. You're a complete circus act and I can't resist being your audience. We live across the street from each other on this cul-de-sac in Sutton, north Dublin, which was built in the 1970s and modelled on an American suburb. We have large gardens in front of the house, without thumbs or vivid fences to separate the sidewalk from our gardens, without gates, nothing tha