Read Online Better Left Buried by Emma Haughton - Free Book Online Page B

you could both go around later, after we’ve taken all the photographs, and write a list of everything you notice that’s gone. You’ll need it anyway for your insurance company.”
    Mum’s hand trembles as she takes it.
    â€œI’m sorry. I know this must be a terrible shock. And coming so soon after…” PC Wilson lets her sentence trail off as Mum’s face threatens to crumple, then looks across at me. “Have you got anywhere else you could stay tonight? Maybe for a few days while you get this cleared up.”
    I think for a second. Aunt Helen. We could go there. But she lives an hour away in Guildford and Mum’s clearly in no fit state to drive.
    â€œShall I call Aunt Helen? Ask her to come and pick us up?”
    Mum doesn’t respond. Just keeps her head in her hands.
    PC Wilson nods at me. “Perhaps that would be best.” She pats Mum on the shoulder and gets to her feet. “We’ll send over the local Victim Support person. He’s very good. He’ll give you our leaflet on property security. Window locks, maybe an alarm…that sort of thing.”
    I thank her, though honestly it seems a bit late for that.
    â€œDo you mind if I have another look around?” she asks. “I need to make a few more notes.”
    I nod and she retreats into the kitchen. I sit beside Mum and give her a cuddle. I don’t say anything. I’m too shaken up and, anyway, what’s there to say?
    I close my eyes for a few seconds, trying to quell the wobbly feeling inside. But I keep picturing whoever was in here, going through our house, destroying everything. Why did they have to make such a bloody mess?
    Then it hits me. I can’t believe I didn’t think of it before. Oh Jesus…
    I leap up and find PC Wilson in the kitchen.
    â€œHow did they know?” I try to work through the swirl of thoughts in my head. “That we were both out, I mean.”
    She gives me an appraising look. “Blind luck, possibly. Or they may have knocked on the door to check first. But given that your mum says she doesn’t go out much, my guess would be that someone was watching the house.”
    I recall the shadow under the street light and take a deep breath. “I might know who did this.”
    Her head jerks towards me. “Really?”
    â€œUm…the thing is, I think someone has been following me.”
    â€œFollowing you?” Her gaze is sharp. “Are you sure?”
    â€œI don’t know… Maybe.” I feel suddenly foolish, imagining what Lizzie would say if she could hear me. I shove my doubts aside. “I mean, I keep seeing him. This man. He ran away when he saw me and…”
    Then I remember the map.
    â€œHang on a minute.”
    I run upstairs to my bedroom, but freeze in the doorway. Where did I put it? I try to remember. I’m pretty sure I took it out my bag, and put it in the drawer of my bedside table.
    I glance over towards my bed. The drawer has been pulled right out and is lying on the floor with everything scattered around it. I pick my way across the room, trying not to step on anything, and crouch down. Sift through the contents – tissues, pens, a lip salve, a couple of old sweets. My iPod. I stare at it for a few seconds, amazed it’s still here, then carry on searching.
    Where is it? It has to be here somewhere.
    I check through it all again, but there’s no sign of the fold of paper. I rummage through the heap on the rug, then scan the surfaces of my desk and chest of drawers.
    Nothing.
    I stand up, my heart beginning to race. I remember where I put it now. Tucked in the notebook I keep for singing, homework and other stuff. Things I need to keep track of. Things I need to do.
    Where’s my notebook? I recall seeing it on my bedside table just last night. I search all around the floor and under the bed, but there’s no trace of it.
    What the hell? Why on earth would anyone take