noise in the background. He said something in reply then came back to the phone. “Listen to me, Lizzie, I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about. I don’t have the Mustang anymore. I sold it two months ago to a guy in Stoke Newington. I can give you his phone number if you don’t believe me. I drive a red Ford Capri now and I’ve been in all evening.”
“Yeah, and I’m sure you can prove it.”
“Yes, as a matter of fact, I can.”
And there was now something in his voice that made her pause. He sighed. The voice in the background muttered something else. He put his hand over the receiver. Then he came back on the line. “Sorry. You still there?”
“Yes,” she said, and her voice sounded suddenly very small to her.
“Listen, I haven’t been there, all right? But maybe you should tell me what’s happened.”
“It wasn’t you,” she said flatly. “You didn’t take a duplicate of the key and come back here while I was out.”
“No. Why would I do a thing like that? Christ, Lizzie, what do you take me for?”
A bitter lover, she thought, but even as she did so, she knew with utter certainty that he was telling the truth. So the car outside had had nothing to do with it. In which case who—? Four minutes and twenty-seven seconds. And where—? She had been standing with her back to the open kitchen door. Now she turned. Out of the door the house rose up three floors into the night. Three floors and a lot of places to hide.
“Are you saying you think somebody has been there? Has broken in?”
“I . . . er . . . I don’t know. I came back to find the stereo on. It had been playing for four and a half minutes.”
“So, maybe you left it on repeat?”
“No.” She almost shouted into the receiver. “No, there’s no repeat button. And I turned it off. I know that.”
“Well, there must be some explanation. Maybe Millie hit the switch by mistake.”
Millie? Yes? No, surely it wasn’t possible. She looked around. If the cat had done this, then she’d still be in the room, wouldn’t she? “I’m sorry, I . . . er . . .”
He sighed. “It’s all right. Really. Look, I know you think I’m a shit, and I know those early notes I sent were probably out of line. But it doesn’t make me the enemy. Not anymore. So if you’re in trouble—” And just for that second she didn’t know what to say. His concern suddenly made her want to cry. But then she was scared, not at all herself. “I mean you’re sure about the switch, about turning it off? I don’t want to risk your wrath, but you sound a little drunk.”
“I was, but I’m not now. And, yes. I’m sure. I’m sure, Tom. I turned it off.”
There was a pause. “You still scared?”
“No,” she said, but it was obvious to both of them she was lying.
“Do you want me to come over?”
“No, thanks. I’m fine.”
“Well, you sure as hell don’t sound fine. Have you checked the rest of the house, just in case?”
“No,” she said quietly.
“Then how about if I stay on the line while you do that?”
Yes, she thought. Oh, yes, please. What is it they say about the devil you know? “What about . . . I mean, what about your guest?”
“It’s all right. It’s a friend. They can wait.” And despite herself a little something nipped inside the gut, something that wasn’t fear. “Okay. So why don’t we start with the cellar? Get the worst over first.”
And so together they made a slow pilgrimage through the house. In every room she checked the windows, beneath the beds, behind the doors, even—though she didn’t tell him—inside the wardrobes. There was no one there. Not even Millie. The only thing she found that could cause any worry was in the top little bedroom, where the catch was off the window. But it was so far up from the ground that you would have needed a decorator’s ladder to get in that way. She locked it now, screwing it down so tightly that it hurt her fingers.
He stayed close in her
“Yeah, and I’m sure you can prove it.”
“Yes, as a matter of fact, I can.”
And there was now something in his voice that made her pause. He sighed. The voice in the background muttered something else. He put his hand over the receiver. Then he came back on the line. “Sorry. You still there?”
“Yes,” she said, and her voice sounded suddenly very small to her.
“Listen, I haven’t been there, all right? But maybe you should tell me what’s happened.”
“It wasn’t you,” she said flatly. “You didn’t take a duplicate of the key and come back here while I was out.”
“No. Why would I do a thing like that? Christ, Lizzie, what do you take me for?”
A bitter lover, she thought, but even as she did so, she knew with utter certainty that he was telling the truth. So the car outside had had nothing to do with it. In which case who—? Four minutes and twenty-seven seconds. And where—? She had been standing with her back to the open kitchen door. Now she turned. Out of the door the house rose up three floors into the night. Three floors and a lot of places to hide.
“Are you saying you think somebody has been there? Has broken in?”
“I . . . er . . . I don’t know. I came back to find the stereo on. It had been playing for four and a half minutes.”
“So, maybe you left it on repeat?”
“No.” She almost shouted into the receiver. “No, there’s no repeat button. And I turned it off. I know that.”
“Well, there must be some explanation. Maybe Millie hit the switch by mistake.”
Millie? Yes? No, surely it wasn’t possible. She looked around. If the cat had done this, then she’d still be in the room, wouldn’t she? “I’m sorry, I . . . er . . .”
He sighed. “It’s all right. Really. Look, I know you think I’m a shit, and I know those early notes I sent were probably out of line. But it doesn’t make me the enemy. Not anymore. So if you’re in trouble—” And just for that second she didn’t know what to say. His concern suddenly made her want to cry. But then she was scared, not at all herself. “I mean you’re sure about the switch, about turning it off? I don’t want to risk your wrath, but you sound a little drunk.”
“I was, but I’m not now. And, yes. I’m sure. I’m sure, Tom. I turned it off.”
There was a pause. “You still scared?”
“No,” she said, but it was obvious to both of them she was lying.
“Do you want me to come over?”
“No, thanks. I’m fine.”
“Well, you sure as hell don’t sound fine. Have you checked the rest of the house, just in case?”
“No,” she said quietly.
“Then how about if I stay on the line while you do that?”
Yes, she thought. Oh, yes, please. What is it they say about the devil you know? “What about . . . I mean, what about your guest?”
“It’s all right. It’s a friend. They can wait.” And despite herself a little something nipped inside the gut, something that wasn’t fear. “Okay. So why don’t we start with the cellar? Get the worst over first.”
And so together they made a slow pilgrimage through the house. In every room she checked the windows, beneath the beds, behind the doors, even—though she didn’t tell him—inside the wardrobes. There was no one there. Not even Millie. The only thing she found that could cause any worry was in the top little bedroom, where the catch was off the window. But it was so far up from the ground that you would have needed a decorator’s ladder to get in that way. She locked it now, screwing it down so tightly that it hurt her fingers.
He stayed close in her
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