Woah, it's been a while. I had slight writer's block, but I think I've recovered now! Thanks to everyone who has already reviewed :) I appreciate it a lot.

My brain can't process the reason why she's suddenly so afraid. Why her eyes are darting around the room rapidly; full of fear and anxiety. Another bang at the door makes me jump violently because an eerie silence has settled over the room and the knocking sounds loud and intrusive in the tiny space.

"I'll go and let him in," Oska says impatiently; he doesn't seem scared like his mother, only angry, "and you just get rid of her, ok?"

Mrs Vallier's eyes suddenly start to focus again, rather than wheeling madly around the room. If I was being honest, it had seemed like she had been searching for an escape route for herself, and not just for me. "Go," she waves her son towards the front door, and then casts an apologetic glance in my direction, "I'm sorry about this," she starts babbling as she pushes me towards the backdoor, "you came round to do a nice thing for us, and here I am forcing you out the back like a criminal."

I laugh awkwardly at her words, not sure if she means them to be a joke or not, but I have to do something to break the tension that's been rising ever since her husband knocked at the door, and unfortunately laughter is my go-to defence mechanism in tricky circumstances. This is what had encouraged the Careers to give me the not so imaginative nickname of 'Ryla the smiler," because they hadn't liked the fact I laughed a couple of times during training. Ok, so maybe it had been a mistake to laugh when the guy from District 1 had ended up flat on his back while trying to show off his 'unreal' (his words not mine) sword manoeuvres. But he had looked ridiculous. What's that saying, pride comes before a fall?

I force myself back to the present as I become aware of the fact that Mrs Vallier is screaming at me to move. I swear under my breath as I realise that I've just been standing in the middle of the kitchen, waiting for her husband, who clearly holds some kind of vendetta against me, to come and find me in his own house. Yeah, great move Ryla, now is hardly the time to be daydreaming.

I shove against the door as it sticks slightly and it's just banged open when I hear footsteps moving along the hallway towards the kitchen door. "Just wait outside," Mrs Vallier hisses at me, "stay out of sight and I'll let you go back through the house once he's gone upstairs." With this, she slams the door shut and I hear the key click in the lock. My heart hammers in my chest as I duck down against the side of the house. Hellfire, that was close. I can hear muffled voices coming from the kitchen, which means that I had literally made it outside with just seconds to spare. I rest my back against the wall, and let my body slump down to the floor; spending the whole day on my feet has definitely taken its toll on me as I can feel a dull ache in my calves and my feet.

Although there's a part of me which feels guilty for eavesdropping, I let myself tune back into their conversation. Mrs Vallier is warbling away about her day, telling her husband how several of her neighbours dropped by to check that she was alright. When this elicits no response from him she moves onto explaining how Sylvie hasn't been feeling very well. I remember how Oska had said that she had been sick when he had come running down the stairs; the fact that he had been running makes me feel uneasy. After all, he wouldn't have been panicking so much if it hadn't been that serious. I remember the three little girls from the funeral – three dark eyed, pale little creatures who huddle together for comfort in the face of their family's loss. I make a mental note to try and bring them some medicine at some point, though I highly doubt that they'll actually accept it.

"Where did that food come from?" a low male voice suddenly barks out, and I start slightly, realising that I had left my bag of food on the table.

"I went down to the grocers earlier," I hear her tell him, she's not quite masking her anxiety, and if I can tell it's there, then no doubt her husband can as well.

There's a pause during which I dig my nails into the palms of my hands in an attempt to distract myself. I wince slightly as a sharp pain lances through me when I break through the skin and a drop of blood trickles out from the crescent shaped wound on my hand. I watch with vague interest as the bead of blood slides down towards my wrist.

A husky tone brings me back to my senses, "I thought we were out of money for this month. You said you were waiting to go shopping until after my next pay cheque came in."

Damn it, talk about bad timing. At any other time of the month a loaf of bread and three turnips certainly wouldn't be enough to invoke suspicion. But it's the monthly payday the day after tomorrow, and families tend to struggle during the couple of days before.

"I found a tiny bit left over. I thought it was worth buying something to make Sylvie soup with." I wonder if Mrs Vallier is a good enough liar to get her husband to believe in what she's saying.

"Really? Because I heard that damn victor has been going round all day with a bag of food. Thinking she's better than everyone else clearly," shit, I can hear the fury in his voice as he mentions me. I wonder how he found out about that. It looks like my 'genius' plan has become a complete failure. "This food wouldn't happen to be from her, would it?" There's an icy tone to his voice that makes me shudder with fear. It's the barely suppressed anger that I came to know so well from watching the Careers in training, and during their interview. Constantly trying to intimidate and scare, and Mr Vallier is using the exact same tactic on his wife now. Attempting to scare her into telling him the truth, and I have to admit that if I was in her position, I would probably cave.

She doesn't answer.

I clench my fists to try and distract myself from the silence.

Still no answer.

The silence stretches out again to the point where I'm about ready to jump to my feet and burst into the kitchen to tell him the truth. In my mind I picture them both standing in the middle of the kitchen, staring each other down as he waits for a confession from his wife.

"Get rid of it," he snaps. I hear footsteps moving away from the window and I guess that he's gone.

I exhale in relief as there's a click in the lock and the door is jerked open. Mrs Vallier pokes her head out, and I register her pale features and bloodshot eyes as she glances around the garden warily. I push myself upright, wincing as the ache in my legs and feet becomes an actual pain and I have to lean against the wall for a moment to regain my balance.

"I'm so sorry about that," she mutters gently, "I just don't think it would be a very good idea for him to find you in our house."

I shrug, "it's fine, it probably wasn't the best idea for me to come here anyway, so it's my fault really." None of today was a good idea, I think sadly to myself. I was being selfish and trying to distract myself, and in the process probably offended a lot of people. Spark is going to kill me if he finds out about this. Or perhaps when he finds out is more apt because Spark seems to have the uncanny ability to always know everything. It's infuriating actually.

She shakes her head without really looking at me, "Nonsense. It was..." She trails off, and I'm left standing there awkwardly as her eyes start to fill up with tears. Oh god, please don't start thinking about Marko, because I'm so awful at comforting people, I think desperately as she blinks rapidly in an attempt to clear her eyes.

"Mrs Vallier," I murmur, not sure what I'm actually going to say to her.

Her head jerks towards me in surprise as I speak; she had obviously forgotten that I was there. "Please, call me Fran."

"Fran," I say, "right." That's it... All I can think is that I'm such a useless person and that I wish I could think of something to comfort her. In fact, I just wish that I could think of something to say. My mind has gone completely blank, and it's clear from her expression that she isn't faring much better. To be fair to her though, I was the one who came round to her house, and so maybe I should be the one who is expected to make the conversation.

"Look, I'm really-" I start; maybe if I apologise then she might be able to look me in the face without crying, but she cuts me off before I can get it out.

"You should leave," she tells me, "before my husband comes back down. Oh, and I don't think it would be a very good idea for you to visit us again." You're telling me. I mean does she really think that I would come back to a house where one third of the people living there hate my guts. I know that I'm fairly lonely at the moment, but I'm not quite that desperate.

"Sorry," I manage to blurt out but it's not clear, even to me, whether my apology refers to Marko, or to my barging into their house.

I quickly turn my head away, so I don't have to watch her expression anymore. Every part of her is completely neutral – her mouth is set into a line and her hands swing loosely at her chest – it's only her eyes that give any indication of the pain that she's going through. Meeting her eyes makes me feel like I'm drowning; they burn with hurt, and anger. Though I know that her anger isn't really directed at me it's still hard for me to look at. I could tell her that I understand what she's going through; after all I lost someone in those Games too. But I don't think that losing someone who I knew for a couple of weeks compares to losing a son and I don't think she'd appreciate me saying it. So I don't say anything else, just let my feet carry me along the hallway and out of the door.

I force myself to keep a slow pace as I dart up the street; I'm desperate to escape from the oppressive atmosphere of that house. Of course, my desperation means that I'm not looking where I'm going and I feel a thud as I bang into someone.

"Sorry," I mutter, glancing up to meet the eyes of a distinctly angry looking, balding man, "I wasn't looking."

He just raises an eyebrow at me, and pushes past me, grumbling about me, "Bloody victors; walk round thinking they own the place."

I start as he says this, and wheel round to watch him stomp off in the opposite direction. I despise the fact that everyone now knows exactly who I am, even if I have never even seen them before. I turn in the direction for the Victor's Village but then remember my note (or notes) for Tallulah. Damn it, all I really want to do is go home, and try to forget about this nightmare of a day, but if I don't do it now then I might never be brave enough to do it. So I walk in the direction of the main square in town; her house lies on one of the streets that twists away from the plaza, and I hope fervently that I don't run into anyone I know.