‘I’m so sorry, but I don’t really have time to talk. Is everything OK? Nothing’s wrong?’
‘Your purchasers were wondering if they might be able to pop in and measure up for the white goods and the kitchen now that exchange has taken place. They were thinking later this morning, if that’s OK?’
Oh God, I forgot about that. ‘I’m afraid we won’t be here. I’ve no objection to you bringing them round though.’
‘Well that’s not going to be possible, is it?’
I frown at the phone. ‘Well, if you’re fully booked up already with other viewings, they’ll just have to wait then, won’t they? I’m really sorry, but I must—’
‘No, I mean we don’t have a key any more. Your husband collected them this morning.’
I turn to ice. ‘But I’ve just left him having breakfast with my son at his parents. You did ID him and sign them out?’
There’s an uncomfortable silence. ‘Well, he said he needed some clothing urgently for your son but was locked out. It’s cold and we thought—’
‘First you give out my address without my permission, now this?’ Sandrine and I have to leave. We have to go now.
‘We’d never release address details Mrs Casson-Davies.’
‘Mr Strallen contacted you, and you told him where we live. How else did he know how to find me? Are you calling him a liar? Look, I have to go.’
‘No, no! I’m just—’
But then I hear what I’ve just said aloud. Simon is a liar. He always has been.
He already knew where I lived.
And someone collected the keys this morning.
My heart stops, and the phone almost slides from my fingers as I hang up.
The house is completely silent.
‘Sandrine?’
There’s no reply.
My heart thumps. ‘Sandrine? Can you answer me, please?’ I look up the stairs, but all I can see is the empty hall. I go up a step, but I’m too frightened to go any further. We should never have come here. Not even for a moment. Ed told me not to come here alone.
‘Sandrine!’ I call frantically. ‘Answer me right now!’
Nothing. Oh Jesus. He must be in the house right now. Upstairs, with her. Does he want me to go up and look for her? Is that what he’s hoping I’ll do?
A paralysing fear overtakes me and my fingers start to shake as, stepping backwards, I glance frantically down at my phone and start to dial 99—
I feel myself back into what I think is the door – but it isn’t. There is someone stood right behind me. I realise too late, and scream – dropping the phone – seconds before a searing pain explodes in the back of my head and the hallway begins to slide sideways. I know I am falling, and there is absolutely nothing I can do to stop it from happening.
Chapter Twenty-Three
My eyelids flutter but, as I lift them, the shapes in front of me are blurred. Struggling to focus, I draw my head back in an attempt to see more clearly, but instead it lolls heavily on my neck because there’s nothing behind me. I appear to be sitting bolt upright. There is now, however, an intense throbbing at the base of my skull, a pain so hot, all I instinctively want to do is touch it, to try and work out what’s happened – but I can’t move my hands. In fact, I can’t move my arms either. There’s a familiar smell in the room too, that I can’t quite place. I open my mouth to try and speak, but it’s horribly dry; I cough instead and lick my lips – only to taste copper. Blood. On my mouth? Have I had a nosebleed? I blink again, and realise that someone is standing very close, and peering into my face. I can feel their warm breath on my skin before they draw back. I scrunch my eyes shut and then, with effort, force them wide open, determined to focus.
Their features drift and settle, but with such an intense sense of relief that I feel sick, I recognise the face searchingly looking into mine. ‘Sandrine!’ I exclaim croakily. ‘You’re OK!’ I swallow with effort. ‘I think someone attacked me. We have to get out of the house now. Can you help me up? I can’t seem to move.’ I blink again and the rest of my surroundings start to settle into order. I am sitting on a chair – in the kitchen, facing the table, upon which sits my open laptop. Sandrine is just standing, staring at me. I think she’s in shock. Have I been so badly hurt I just can’t feel or see it?
‘We have to get out of the house,’ I repeat. ‘We need to get help.’
She starts to back away from me.
‘It’s OK. Don’t be scared,’ I begin, but to my surprise, she just leans on the kitchen units, crosses her arms and says flatly: ‘Thank you, but I’m not. Don’t worry.’
Gone is the shy soft lilt of our French teenager. Her voice is well-spoken, British. Almost a drawl. Her face is now equally expressionless. ‘Hello, Jessica. My name is Cara Strallen.’
The air draws into my body so slowly I actually hear it… it reminds me of the slow rasp Mum was making when I found her in the bedroom.
Cara? This is impossible.
‘What have you done?’ I can barely get the words out.
‘All of it. It’s all been me.’ There is no pride in her voice. She’s merely stating facts.
I try and stand – but I am unable to move.
‘You’re taped up. Hands and feet.’ She reaches her own hands behind her and pushes up onto the kitchen unit so she’s now sat on the work surface. ‘Ed thinks we’re on the way to the airport. No one is expecting you. Well, almost no one.’ She leans her head from side to side, and shrugs her shoulders, like she’s limbering up for some sort of intense physical exercise. ‘So. I expect you have questions. Go for it.’
‘You’ve been in my house for weeks!’ The depth of her duplicity is beginning to sink in. ‘I trusted you,’ I whisper in disbelief. ‘I tried to protect you.’
Oh James. Oh my God, James. I am so sorry. What have I done? I should never have come here. I had no idea. I have been so stupid. So, so stupid. I close my eyes again and see my son’s smiling face; feel him leaning his soft cheek against mine, while twisting his hair in his small fingers. I have to get back to him. I cannot lose him too. ‘But I had an email from Sandrine, Helene’s friend!’ I blurt. ‘She knew I was still looking for someone to replace Helene.’
‘No, that was me using a fake email address.’
‘I spoke to someone on the phone who said they were Sandrine, and we made the arrangements. When I rang it was an overseas dial tone. That was you too?’
‘Yes – I was in France when you called me, but I’ll confess – I don’t actually know Helene.’ She holds her hands up in mock surrender.
‘I don’t understand. How did you know to use her name then?’
Cara brings her arms down, inspects her fingernails carefully, and bites the hangnail on her thumb, before spitting it out. ‘I saw the email you sent to Helene asking her if she had any friends who were looking for work – and if so, would she pass your details on? I also saw the emails you sent to several agencies looking for an au pair at short notice. I knew you were desperate and you’d be only too eager to hear back from one of Helene’s “friends”.’ She shrugs and looks back at me blankly.
‘But how have you been reading my emails?’ I’m still confused.
She jumps down from the side, reaches into the kitchen cupboard and gets a glass. Filling it with water and taking a gulp before wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, she asks: ‘Do you know what ratting is, Jess?’