‘Mrs Harlow, how could someone have got in? There’s no sign of forced entry. You said it yourself, there are two locks on the front door, and you unlocked them both as you went out.’
I’ve been thinking this myself. As they’ve been looking inside and outside, checking the doors and windows, I’ve quietly checked something too, while Dad and Charlotte were putting on the kettle.
It’s best if I show them. ‘Come and look at this,’ I say. ‘We can go out the back door.’
We all file out through the utility room; the officers then my family at the back. For a second it reminds me of something from my old life: a hostess guiding her guests out into the garden. What’s happened to me?
Outside, I lead them around the side of the house and reach for the brick, hidden under a bush. Little things move, suddenly exposed to the bright light, wiggling back into the dark soil. The keys are still there: the Yale and the heavier one, for the deadlock.
‘I checked a bit earlier,’ I explain now, ‘and saw them. I’d totally forgotten they were there. We used to leave them out for Sophie, my daughter, when she came home from school and I wasn’t in. And when she – when she left, well, I suppose no one ever moved them.’ It’s so safe round here anyway. Who’d ever find them? Then, when it was just me, they’d never crossed my mind.
There’s a cough from behind me. ‘And these are the back door keys?’ says PC Kaur.
‘No, the front door.’
Sweet now, her tone impressively neutral: ‘Mrs Harlow, are you suggesting that someone used these keys, let themselves in round the front, and then put them back?’
‘I don’t think burglars behave like that, love,’ says Dad.
‘I know they don’t,’ I say, calmly. ‘But it’s the only thing I can think of. And you know, even if I did put the chain on at night—’
‘Kate!’ Dad, of course.
‘… I know, I should, and maybe I did, I don’t remember; anyway, the chain’s so long, you can just reach a hand round and slip it off. I’ll show you if you like.’ I look at the faces in front of me: the officers blank, professional; my family pinched with worry.
I fill in the silence. ‘I mean, I will get a new one of course; I’d better change the locks too.’
‘That’d be a – good idea,’ says Kaur. ‘Now, have you thought about where you’ll stay tonight, if you feel nervous again? Because there was the other night too, wasn’t there.’ He’s being too nice.
‘Not yet. I mean, I’ve my family’ – I gesture in their direction – ‘but what’s going to happen now?’
A thought rises: do they know about the calls from the phone box? Would Nicholls have shared that information?
‘Well, we’ve looked around, all over now,’ says the woman, Sweet, ‘there’s no signs of entry, nothing’s been taken, as you say. If that does change, of course, let us know.’
‘But aren’t you going to dust the keys for prints?’ I turn to Kaur. ‘And after that person in my garden, when you came, the other night …’
‘I don’t think that will be necessary, in this case, Mrs Harlow,’ says Kaur. ‘We’ll file a report, of course. So if you do find anything’s gone, you’ll have a crime reference number, and you can report that to your insurer.’
Sweet starts talking again. It might be wise if I stayed with friends and family, perhaps tonight. Just for a night or two until I feel more … myself. Dad and Charlotte are chipping in now, and of course I can stay with them, maybe for a while; perhaps that would be best. I’ve stopped talking.
The two officers don’t stick around long after that. I’m sure by now. They know. They know about the phone calls. I’ve shown up in a database, or someone’s mentioned it. Something.
And they don’t believe me about last night.
33
SOPHIE
By the morning, I’d decided. It was time for me to say – no, tell him – that I was going to go away. It was time to leave. In the sunshine, the daylight coming through the skylight, I could squash down the terror of the night before. It’ll be OK, I told myself, I can sort this.
But he didn’t come. Not that night, nor the one after. My food stores got low. The milk went sour, so I poured orange juice on my muesli instead, and tried not to panic. When he turned up, early the following evening, it must have been straight from work, in his suit.
My heart actually leapt, I was so relieved to see someone. Then I remembered.
I was sensible about it, making us both cups of tea as I ran through what I was going to say in my head. Then I set out, as calmly as I could, both of us sitting on the sofa, why I thought it was time I should leave. That it was always the plan that I’d just hide for a while, give us some time to get things together. That there were all sorts of places we could go, now that they’d thought I’d run away, for months. No one would be looking for the two of us.
‘Like we said, before,’ I reminded him. We had, only – only I wondered what had we actually planned, how concrete was it? There hadn’t seemed to be any need to talk about dates, or timelines, or when we’d definitely go away, just after it had all blown over … I couldn’t remember.
He listened to me, his face blank.
‘No,’ he said, his tone almost mild. ‘No, you’re not leaving.’
‘But why not?’ I said. I made sure to keep my voice low. Reasonable. ‘I can look after myself, you can come and visit, wherever I am. A new start, like we talked about.’
‘No,’ he said. ‘It’s not realistic, to move you and get you set up somewhere. Where, anyway? You’d only have to hide away there, too. Someone one might recognise you, otherwise.’ He shook his head. ‘It’s not an option.’
‘But you don’t understand.’ I didn’t mean to say it, but the truth spilled out. ‘I can’t stand it in here any more! I can’t!’
His face hardened. ‘Sophie. This is what we agreed. It’s what you wanted.’
‘But not like this. This was just until we got sorted, to give us some time. And I’m sixteen now, that’s important, isn’t it, even if they are still looking for me?’ My voice rose. ‘I can’t stay here forever!’
‘It doesn’t change anything.’ He looked at me, cold-eyed. ‘You were underage. In a court of law there’s no doubt about it. I’m more than twenty years older than you. It’d be prison, the end of my career. And I can’t go to prison.’
I was shocked. He made it sound so horrible. He’d never spoken about us like this before.
‘But there’s no need – I’d make them understand … we were in love. We are.’
I have a flash of inspiration. ‘I can go away, even if you can’t yet. Like they thought I did.’
‘With no job? Or something cash in hand so you don’t have to say who you are? You wouldn’t like that, not in the long run. And then what would you do? No,’ he says, almost regretfully, ‘you’d crack eventually, go back to mummy and daddy. I’ve thought of this already. There’s no alternative.’
‘But you could help me … you could give me some money …’
The threat, when it came, was uttered so matter-of-factly, it took a moment to sink in. ‘I told you I couldn’t live without you, Sophie. I’m not letting you go.’
It felt unreal. So this is us, for the first time, no pretending.
‘But I want to go,’ I said, pleading. ‘You can’t keep me here forever. Please. You can’t …’ Anger swelled up in me, the weeks and months of not saying how I felt, just pushing it down. ‘It’s not just up to you.’ I summoned my courage. ‘And I want to leave. Now. Give me the keys.’ I stood.
He looked at me from the couch, implacable. ‘Stop it, Sophie. I mean it.’
‘Give me the keys.’
‘This isn’t funny.’
‘You’re right, it isn’t.’ In the corner of my eye, I could see his jacket: hung on the back of the chair. Near the door.
I know it was stupid, but I still didn’t realise. I rushed for them, felt for the tell-tale weight, then wrestled them out of the pocket. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see him get up, walk round, like he wasn’t even in a rush. He intercepted me before I’d even got them in the door. For a second we struggled, then he twisted them out of my hand. ‘No,’ I screamed. ‘Let me go!’