Summary
On Monday morning, I let Michael out on to the yard. He seemed agitated. 'What's up, my love?' We walked across the cobbles, round into the garden. We reached the back porch, and I noticed one of my olive trees in a pot was on its side. I lifted it up and there, big and soft and orange and lifeless, was a fox inside my porch. Oh God, I thought, the poor thing, it must have crawled here to die. But when I looked closer, I could see the fox's head had been completely bashed in. There was no way this fox could have crawled anywhere. Someone had dumped the fox on my doorstep for a reason.
I tried to carry on as normal, but then something else happened. It was the week running up to Valentine's Day, and on Wednesday a flower van arrived with a huge bunch of red roses. There was no note. I don't actually appreciate flowers: I have to unwrap them, trim the stems, find a vase and, in a few days' time, take them to the compost heap and wash the vase; at the moment, I don't have time. On Friday, I received a recorded delivery envelope. Inside was a card, a note that said I had found my soul mate, and an e-mail address. There was no postal address or name. I thought nothing of it.See the full content of this document
Extract
In Which I Have a Sinister Suitor ; Liz Jones's Diary
Sunday was glorious - one of those spring days that make you feel almost glad to be alive. By mid morning, I was sitting in my k...
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