‘Just get out the house. I’m on my way.’
I stand. My thighs feel weak. Slowly I crack open the door leading to the kitchen. I can’t see anyone. Can’t hear anyone. But that doesn’t mean no one is here. I take one astronaut stride at a time towards the back door. I count my steps. One. Two. Three. Sweat trickles between my breasts. Four. Five. Six. There’s a scraping, a sharp pain in my hip. I’d been so fixed on the door I’ve bumped into a chair. I freeze. My instincts scream at me to get out of the house, but I’m nearer to the utility room and I don’t know whether I should dart back in there. A creak. A floorboard? Seven. Eight. Nine. I’m faster now. Not caring if I make a sound. Desperate to be outside. Ten. Eleven. Twelve. Another creak. Louder this time. With a shaking hand I twist the key in the back door. It doesn’t move. I wonder if I’ve turned it the wrong way. If it’s already unlocked. It isn’t. The key slips from the keyhole and clatters on the tiles. My heart springs into my mouth. The creaking comes again and I snatch up the key and thrust it back in the lock, rotating my wrist, left, right, left. Why can’t I remember how to unlock a bloody door? There’s a click. A give. I tug open the door and step outside.
The fence sways in the wind, creak-creak-creaking. I cut across the garden, ignoring the damp grass soaking through my socks, the flowers I trample over. I almost fall through the back gate onto the driveway. The gravel crunches underfoot, sharp and jagged. My head is down as I run along the side of the house, arms pumping, hands gripping my boots. I wince as brick scrapes against my wrist. I slow. Look up. A man stands at the kerb. Dishevelled. Salt-and-pepper beard. Deep lines carved into his forehead. The same man that was here this morning. What does he want? Fearing the worst I throw my boots towards him. He sidesteps.
I sprint as fast as I can across the road towards Clare’s and pummel at her front door with my fists, looking over my shoulder at the figure. He is standing stock-still, watching. The curtains twitch a few doors down from my house: the nosy woman with red hair peering out of her window. Why doesn’t she help me? The front door opens and I simultaneously push Clare back with one hand as I step inside, slamming the door behind me. With a shaking hand I draw the chain across.
‘Kat?’ Clare’s voice is steady as I swish closed the curtains in the lounge, but the way she tosses the iPad in her hand onto the sofa and crosses the room to where Ada is playing with a ragdoll in front of the fireplace, scooping her daughter into her arms, holding her protectively against her, betrays her concern.
‘Are you okay? Where are your shoes?’
I chew my thumbnail, staring at the screen of the iPad, the picture of the Colosseum and the hotel room. Clare must be booking that holiday she wanted. I wish I were anywhere but here.
‘Dark,’ Ada says although there’s a slither of sunshine pushing through the thin curtains.
Clare crosses to the light switch.
‘Don’t.’ I stalk into the kitchen, to the back door, pulling the handle, once, twice, three times. The windows are closed. We’re safe.
Electric light brightens the room behind me and I spin around but the look on Clare’s face stops me telling her to switch it off.
‘Mummy?’ Ada’s fingers play with the ends of Clare’s pendant. Ada sounds so small. So uncertain.
‘It’s okay, Ada.’ I ruffle her beautiful curls. ‘We’re playing a game. Hide-and-seek.’
Wordlessly Clare leaves the room, and as her footsteps thud up the stairs I allow myself a peek outside. There’s nobody there. Who was that man? Was he in the house? Has somebody sent him? The last thought causes me to bite my lip and blood fills my mouth. In the kitchen I spit into the sink, turning on the taps, watching the water turn pink before being sucked down the plughole.
‘What the hell is going on?’ Clare speaks quietly but there is fury in each and every word. ‘You scared Ada.’
‘Is she all right?’ I stand, wiping my chin with my sleeve.
‘She’s playing in her room. Who are you hiding from?’
‘Someone has broken into the house.’
Clare’s hands fly to her mouth and her eyes widen. I sink into a hard wooden chair and drop my head into my hands. She touches my shoulder.
‘Have they taken much? Are the police coming?’
I shake my head. ‘Everything downstairs was undisturbed but someone was upstairs. Nick’s on his way.’
‘Are you sure you’ve been burgled?’ Her words are tinged with doubt, and I close my eyes. I had been sure. But now I question myself. What had I seen? Heard? An open window and a noise. ‘You’ve been under so much strain lately. I’m worried about you.’
‘There were footprints.’ I remember. ‘There was a man…’ I trail off. It’s all so cloudy but still. ‘There was somebody there,’ I insist as Clare fills the kettle, drops teabags into mugs. But I don’t sound as convincing as I’d like.
‘Here.’ Clare spoons sugar into dark brown tea, and picks at the top of a packet of digestives with her nails as though this is a social call. I shake my head.
Clare slides into the seat opposite me and, as she moves, the sun glints against her pendant casting miniature rainbows on the duck egg walls.
‘Tell me about the baby,’ she says.
It’s the distraction I need. ‘Beanie is practically twenty-seven weeks and the size of a head of cauliflower. He gets hiccups. Sleeps and wakes at regular intervals, opening and closing his eyes. Lisa has another scan booked for Friday. I’ve been looking at those 4D ones – they look incredible, expensive though. I’m going to ask Nick whether we could afford one. We’d be able to see all his features. By now, his face is fully formed, with eyelashes, eyebrows and hair. There’s no pigment yet so it will still be white but soon it will develop a colour.’ I wonder if he will have black hair like Lisa. Like Jake. Like Nick. ‘I say he but it might not be. I can’t decide whether we should find out.’
Thinking of the baby helps me relax and we chit-chat until her mobile vibrates, skittering across the table between us. Clare grabs it and stuffs it onto her lap, her cheeks blazing, but not before I have seen Lisa’s name flashing up on her screen. Their relationship must have progressed beyond the odd text. Before I can question Clare the doorbell rings. We glance warily at each other. Clare places her palms on the table and pushes herself to standing.
I follow her into the hallway, steeling myself for the worst as she unlocks the door. Shoulders sagging with relief when I see it’s only Nick, my boots in his hand.
He looks pale, tired. I step forward and hug him, releasing my grip when I feel his body stiffen.
‘What’s happened?’ I study him, expecting bad news. The upstairs trashed.
‘Nothing. No one’s been there.’
Frowning I push past him, striding towards home, almost not believing him.
‘I definitely heard something,’ I say but he doesn’t answer, and I turn.
He’s still standing on Clare’s doorstep, and it hurts as I notice them hug. Notice he doesn’t pull away from her.
‘I don’t understand.’ I’m standing in the doorway of the nursery, reluctant to step forward wearing only socks. The ‘Together We Make a Family’ picture is lying on the floor, the frame splintered. Shards of glass imbedded in the carpet; there’s some in the cot. I thank my lucky stars, for the first time, there wasn’t a baby in it.
‘The nail can’t have been strong enough to hold it up,’ Nick says. ‘I should have used a picture hook.’
‘But…’ I look around the room. Nothing else has been disturbed. ‘There were footprints outside the kitchen window.’
‘I was weeding at the weekend around the rose bushes and thought I might as well do all the borders. It hasn’t rained since. They were probably mine.’