himself; it was on the night-time setting – off upstairs but on downstairs and in the garage. Usually the last one to bed and first up in the morning, it was his job to change the setting and he did it automatically. Doubtless a fly or other small insect had passed by a sensor and set it off. It had happened before; a tiny spider running across the sensor or a lone fly shut in a room tripping the alarm in its frantic search for an exit. A small insect instilling panic in a house of humans!
Descending the last two stairs, he crossed to the alarm control box on the wall in the hall. The green LED bell symbol was flashing frantically, telling him the alarm had been activated. As if he didn’t know! He quickly entered the five-digit code – Julie’s birthday. Then silence – wonderful, peaceful quiet – although his eardrums were still buzzing and would do so for a while. He’d leave the alarm off and then check the sensors were clean tomorrow when he returned home from work. Otherwise, he was likely to spend the rest of the night in fitful sleep, bracing himself for the alarm accidentally going off again.
The hall was darker now with the alarm’s warning light no longer flashing. He began towards the foot of the stairs; he could hear Julie’s voice upstairs soothing Phoebe back to sleep. He took one step onto the staircase, and then a sharp thump on the back of his head. A cry escaped his lips, and he had a vague sensation of falling before he hit the ground. Then nothing. No sight or sound, no more thoughts; just an all-consuming darkness.
‘I came down and found him,’ Julie said, tears springing to her eyes again. ‘The police said there were two of them working the area. There’ve been a number of similar break-ins …’ She was on the phone to her mother-in-law, having to go through it all again, but of course she’d want to know the details; Russ was her son. ‘Yes, they levered the window in the study and were in the living room taking whatever they could find when the alarm went off, and Russ disturbed them. Pity he went down. We should have left them to take what they wanted … Yes, he’s home now, in bed resting … Yes, four stitches … I’m just going to make him a cup of tea. I will. Goodbye.’
She returned the handset to its cradle, wiped the tears from the corner of her eyes and went into the kitchen to make Russ the tea. His mother had been right when she’d said it could have been worse. So much worse. Those evil men might have gone upstairs and into their bedrooms. She trembled at the possibility. Thieves knew that most women kept their jewellery in jewellery boxes in their bedroom, the police officer had said. So in that respect she supposed they’d been lucky, spared the horror of having to live with the knowledge that those monsters had been in their rooms while they slept. And in Jack’s and Phoebe’s rooms! What if the children had woken and seen them? Would they too have been witnesses that needed silencing? She recoiled at the prospect. It didn’t bear thinking about.
Neither did the possibility that they could have killed Russ when they’d hit him with the metal crowbar they’d used for levering open the study window. A life without Russ was unthinkable, as were all the other more horrendous scenarios. Although she wasn’t sure these platitudes helped. She felt physically sick, weak, and couldn’t stop crying. It had truly been a living nightmare.
Filling the kettle, she switched it on and then leant against the work surface as she waited for it to boil. It was only 6.30pm but in November the evening was already dark. The curtains and blinds were closed, all the lights were on, and the study window had been repaired but it still didn’t feel safe.
DC Beth Mayes’ words rang in her head: that they needed to review their security. ‘When it comes to break-ins, lightning often does strikes twice in the same place, sometimes more,’ she’d said.
One house she’d been called to had been burgled three times in as many months, with the burglars waiting just long enough between their ‘visits’ for the goods to be replaced. A professional couple who’d lost their laptops, iPads and phones three times. New-for-old insurance meant the replacements had a higher street value than the originals so why wouldn’t the thieves go back?
Detached houses in leafy suburbs were easy and rich pickings, she’d said. They needed to upgrade their security and possibly consider CCTV, which could be installed for less than the price of the average family holiday. Russ was researching it now upstairs on his old laptop, which they thankfully hadn’t taken.
The kettle boiled and clicked off. Heaving herself away from the support of the worktop, Julie took a mug from the cupboard. It was too quiet in the house without Phoebe and Jack. They were staying with her parents for tonight at least, possibly for a few days. Her parents had collected them from the hospital in the early hours, which had allowed Julie to concentrate on Russ, and meant that the police could look over the house uninterrupted – fingerprinting; taking their statements; collecting evidence. From the muddy footprints on the patio it appeared it had been two men who’d come over the fence from next door. No sign of the crowbar they’d used that would have Russ’s blood on it, no sign of a getaway vehicle on their neighbour’s CCTV, and none of the neighbours had seen or heard anything. Not surprising really at 2am.
Glancing anxiously over her shoulder – every little noise spooked her – Julie took a tea bag from the caddy and tried to concentrate on making the tea. How long before the house felt safe again? She doubted it ever would. It wasn’t so much the physical damage – the window had been repaired – but the psychological and emotional damage, as the police officer had said. Beth Mayes had given them a business card and said someone from victim support would be in touch. Wiping her eyes again, she added a splash of milk to the tea and began upstairs to their bedroom.
Russ was sitting propped up in bed with the laptop open in front of him, looking positive. Apart from the small shaved patch on the top of his head with its four blood-encrusted stitches you wouldn’t have known anything was wrong. When the nurse had finished cleaning and stitching the wound, the doctor had said Russ could go home but to rest and take paracetamol as and when needed, and return to the hospital if he experienced a severe headache, blurred vision or dizziness. Russ was made of strong stuff and had only come to bed because Julie had insisted.
‘How’s the head?’ she asked, setting the mug on his bedside cabinet.
‘Not so bad. Could have been worse.’
‘That’s what your mother said – could have been worse.’ She kissed his cheek and sat on the edge of the bed, keeping her gaze away from the wound, which made her flinch.
‘And you still don’t remember what happened?’ she asked as he took a sip of the tea.
‘No. Not after getting out of bed. I came to in the ambulance.’
‘Lucky you,’ she said. ‘I’ll never forget it.’ Tears filled her eyes again as the images flashed before her. His cry, the front door banging shut as the intruders fled. Her running downstairs and finding him unconscious and bleeding from the head. Frantically calling for an ambulance as the children stood at the top of the stairs screaming and crying. Then the wait, seemingly endless although it was only ten minutes, as she held his hand and prayed he’d make it.
‘Perhaps we should move?’ she said. ‘I can’t imagine ever feeling safe here again.’
‘Of course you will,’ he said, squeezing her hand. ‘I’ll make sure of it. We’ve only just finished doing up this place. It’s our dream home. They’re not going to drive us out. Look, Jules, I’ve learnt a lot online about thieves, how they work and how to stop them. Come and sit beside me and I’ll show you. I’ll make sure we’re all safe, I promise you, love.’
She
