I pull the door open and head out into the night.
‘Kate, come back,’ Paul calls after me. ‘If you go next door she’ll have the police on to you and that’s not going to help anyone.’
The air is warm outside and the sky smeared with tiny stars as I stomp up the drive and hammer on the door.
‘Open this door now,’ I shout. ‘You hear me? Open the door.’
I stand back and look at the bedroom window. A light goes on and I return to the door, hammering harder this time. Finally, after about ten minutes of yelling and knocking, the door opens.
‘What do you want?’ Fida says, not looking me in the eye. ‘It’s the middle of the night.’
She is fully dressed, headscarf in place. Maybe that was why she took so long to answer. She was getting dressed. Conserving her modesty. Or hiding something?
‘Yes, I know it’s the middle of the night,’ I say, my voice trembling with anger. ‘And your little boy should be in bed but instead he was cowering in my garden. Now can you tell me what the hell is going on? He’s a tiny little thing and he was calling for you, crying for his mummy.’
‘Ms Rafter,’ she says, shaking her head. ‘You have to stop this. You’re scaring me now.’
She looks up at me and I gasp. Her eye is swollen and there is a deep cut across the bridge of her nose.
‘My God,’ I exclaim, stepping towards her. ‘What’s happened to you? Did he do this?’
‘It’s nothing,’ she says, brushing me away. ‘I fell and hit my face yesterday, that’s all.’
‘Fida, listen to me,’ I say, lowering my voice. What if he’s there right now? ‘This is serious. I know what your husband has done. You have nothing to gain from covering for him. He’s an abuser and I know that because I lived with one. My mum used to end up looking like you most evenings and she made every excuse in the book. Now please, Fida, let me in so I can make sure the boy is all right.’
‘There is no boy,’ she yells. ‘Now please will you just leave me alone.’
She goes to close the door but I put my arm inside to block it.
‘Fida, I can help you,’ I say. ‘You don’t have to go through this alone. I can get you and the boy out of here.’
She stares at me. Her hands are shaking and I see that she is terrified.
‘Just go,’ she whispers. ‘Please go.’
And with that she closes the door.
I stand on the step wondering what to do next. The boy must be here somewhere, I think, as I walk to the side of the house and try the gate to see if it’s open. I push the lever up and I’m about to go through when I hear something move behind me. I turn and see Paul walking down the drive towards me.
‘Kate,’ he says, his voice scared. ‘That’s enough now. Come on.’
‘He’s in there,’ I cry. ‘And I’m going to go and find him.’
‘Please stop,’ says Paul. But it’s too late, I’m already running into the garden.
The shed door is open and I step inside.
‘It’s okay,’ I call. ‘I’m here now and I can help you.’
I step further inside. Where is he? Perhaps he’s hiding. Then I hear something, a muffled voice. It sounds like it’s coming from below the earth.
Kate.
‘Nidal?’ I whisper.
‘Kate Rafter.’
I look up and see a desperately young police officer standing in the entrance.
‘Could you tell me what you’re doing?’
He steps towards me and I see Fida standing outside with another male police officer and Paul.
‘Oh, thank God you’re here,’ I say. Fida must have seen sense and called them. I take the officer’s arm and pull him into the shed. ‘There’s a child being abused. They’re hiding him here somewhere.’
‘Kate, stop this,’ calls Paul. ‘Just come out.’
‘Ms Rafter, we’ve had a report of trespass from the occupier of the house,’ says the officer. ‘Do you mind telling us what you’re doing in her shed?’
My heart sinks. She hasn’t reported her husband; she’s reported me.
‘Isn’t it obvious?’ I shout. ‘There is a child in grave danger. I’ve seen him with my own eyes. He’s constantly crying for his mother and tonight he was in my flower bed.’
The officer smirks then tries to cover his amusement with his hand.
‘Oh, I’m glad you find this funny,’ I say, fury coursing through my body. ‘But forgive me if I don’t share the joke. That woman out there is a victim of domestic abuse. Look at her face. So is her child. I’m sure he had a black eye when I saw him. You need to go and search the house. They must have him locked up in there.’
‘Come on, Ms Rafter,’ says the officer, taking me by the arm. ‘You shouldn’t be in here.’
As we reach the door, Fida steps towards me.
‘This is happening almost every day,’ she says. ‘She just won’t stop. I don’t have a child. I fell over, that is all. I don’t deserve to be hounded like this.’
I can see in her eyes that she wants to say something. For God’s sake, why won’t she just tell them?