‘Stop poking your nose in where it’s not wanted, or you’ll regret it.’
The line goes dead.
I drop the phone onto the kitchen counter like it’s a hot coal. What the hell?
With shaking hands, I scrabble for my phone again and flee the kitchen, thundering up the stairs to our bedroom, where Dom is drawing the curtains. He turns around, takes one look at my expression and his face blanches.
‘Kirst? What is it? What’s happened?’
‘Someone called,’ I stammer. ‘A man. It was withheld… the number I mean. They knew my name. They threatened me.’
‘Threatened you? What man?’
‘They said I was poking my nose in. They said I’d regret it. Oh my God, Dom. Who could it have been? Do you think it was Martin?’
‘Kirstie, slow down, you’re not making any sense.’
I inhale deeply through my nose and out through my mouth, sit down heavily on the end of the bed and try to explain. ‘My phone just rang.’
‘Okay.’ Dom’s eyes are wide with concern.
‘It was an unknown number, so I didn’t answer it the first time. But then they rang again so I picked up.’
‘What did they say?’ Dom’s eyes narrow.
‘They said my name. Then they told me to stop poking my nose in where it’s not wanted.’
‘They said that?’
‘Mmhm. Then they said, “or you’ll regret it”.’ I exhale through my mouth. ‘Who do you think it was? It must have been Martin, mustn’t it? I was looking through his bins last night. Maybe I was onto something and he’s done this to scare me off.’
‘Come here.’
I step into my husband’s arms and try to let myself be soothed, but the voice on the phone keeps going round and round in my head on a loop. It didn’t sound like Martin’s voice – it was deeper, gruffer. But he could have made it that way on purpose so I wouldn’t recognise it.
‘Let me see your phone,’ Dom says.
I step out from the circle of his arms and pass him the phone. He looks at the screen, frowning.
‘What is it?’ I ask.
‘Nothing. It’s like you said, there’s one missed call from an unknown number and another call that you answered. If they threatened you, we should probably call the police.’
I nod, clasping both hands together to stop them from shaking, wondering whether the police will believe me. This will be the third time I’ve rung them in the last few days.
‘Shall I call them for you?’ he asks.
‘Okay. Yes please.’
* * *
We sit downstairs in the lounge while we wait for the police to arrive. Dom has made us both a cup of tea and I sip the scalding liquid, not caring that it’s burning my tongue and stripping the top layer from the roof of my mouth.
‘You okay?’ Dom asks.
‘Mmhm,’ I reply, not meaning it. I feel numb.
Car headlights pan across the closed curtains like anti-aircraft searchlights. Dom jumps to his feet, goes to the front door and opens it. I stay on the sofa, picking at the skin around my nails, wondering if the police will be able to trace the call.
Two uniformed officers follow Dom into the lounge – a dark-haired man and a blonde woman, both young, their dark uniforms looming above me. Dom gestures to the other sofa where they both take a seat while Dom comes and sits back down next to me. I suddenly realise that if whoever called me lives in our road, they will see the police car outside. They will know that I have reported them. I hope it’s made them nervous. I hope they’re really worried about getting caught.
‘Would you like to tell us what happened?’ the female officer says to me with a professional smile.
I tell her about the phone call while the male officer takes notes in a pad.
‘Did you recognise the voice?’ she asks.
‘No.’ I shake my head. ‘But it sounded really deep, like someone was trying to disguise their voice.’
‘You’re sure it was a male voice? Could it have been a woman trying to pretend to sound like a man?’
‘I don’t think so. No. It was too deep.’
‘May we see your phone?’ she asks.
Dom stands and takes it to her. They both lean over the screen while Dom points out the call history.
‘Unknown number,’ the officer says, clicking her teeth.
‘Can’t you trace it through the phone company?’ Dom asks, taking back the phone and returning to my side.
‘You can call your phone company to find out,’ she says, ‘but the caller may have used an unregistered phone. Unfortunately, anyone can buy a phone and a sim card without registering the number. Is your mobile number private? Do you have it listed anywhere online?’
‘No,’ I reply. ‘Definitely not. Only friends and family have it.’
‘Have you fallen out with anyone recently?’ she asks. ‘Two of our officers came out to see you last week. And we were also called to this address on Monday. Could this be related to either of those incidents?’
‘I am a little suspicious of my neighbour,’ I say to her without catching Dom’s eye.
‘Your neighbour?’ she asks.
‘Yes. Martin Lynham. He lives next door at number five. I thought I heard a baby crying over there the other night. And I noticed he has a basement and toy shop carrier bags.’ As I rush to get the information out, I know how it sounds – like I’m a paranoid woman with nothing better to do than imagine sinister occurrences. Dom puts a hand on my forearm and squeezes slightly. The two officers glance at one another. I daren’t tell them I was looking in Martin’s recycling bin last night. Maybe that could even be construed as trespassing.
‘I would suggest only answering the phone to recognised numbers,’ she says. ‘If you do answer the phone to an unknown number, don’t confirm your name or address. If you receive any further threats, please give us another call.’
I shake Dom’s hand off and get to my feet. ‘Aren’t you going to talk to my neighbour?’
‘Was it definitely his voice you heard on the phone?’ she asks.
I hesitate. ‘It… It didn’t sound like him, but like I said, I think the person was putting on a fake voice.’
She twists her mouth into a sympathetic expression. ‘We haven’t really got enough to go on. But if your neighbour does or says anything threatening towards you, please let us know.’
Both officers get to their feet, obviously satisfied that there’s nothing to worry about here.
‘What about the crying baby?’ I ask.
‘Like I said, a crying baby is not really enough to go on either.’
‘Please, can’t you just go round there? Look in his basement?’ Dom’s warning hand reappears on my arm, but I shake it off again.
‘Tell you what,’ the officer says. ‘We’ll knock on his door and ask him if he’s seen anyone suspicious in the neighbourhood. That way, if he did have anything to do with the call, our presence might be enough to deter him from continuing with any anti-social behaviour.’
I don’t reply, disappointed but reluctantly understanding that they have to follow the law. They can’t go storming into someone’s house on the say-so of someone else.
‘Thank you,’ Dom says, getting up to see them out.
I plop back down on the sofa, dejected. A visit from the police didn’t deter Martin before. It won’t deter him again.
Twenty-Two
I wake with a gasp and a start, the memory of last night’s phone call lodged in my brain like a poisonous thorn. Daisy is fussing in her cot, so I sit up and open my tired eyes, the brightness of the room in direct contrast with my grey mood. I stretch out the kinks in my neck caused by lying on this godawful futon. My jaw is just as tense as my neck. My teeth must have been clamped together while I slept. I yawn and wince as my jaw gives a series of dull clicks.