home alone. Going into the sitting room, I close the windows which have been left open all day, then the one in the study, and lock the front and back doors. I stand for a moment, listening to the house. But the only sound I hear is the soft ca coo of a wood pigeon outside.
Upstairs, I run the bath but before getting in I find myself hesitating over whether or not to bolt the bathroom door. I hate that the visit from the alarm man has played with my head so in defiance to myself I leave it ajar, as I normally do, but undress facing the gap. I climb in and sink down under the water. The bubbles rise up around my neck and I lie back against their foamy cushion, my eyes closed, enjoying the stillness of the afternoon. We’re rarely disturbed by neighbour noise – last summer the teenagers who live in the house nearest to us came to apologise in advance for a party they were throwing that night and we didn’t hear a thing. It’s why Matthew and I chose this house over the much larger, more impressive – and consequently more expensive – property that we also looked at, although I think price was also a consideration for Matthew. We’d agreed to buy it jointly and he was adamant that I wouldn’t put in more than him, even though I could well afford to, despite having bought a house on the Ile de Ré six months previously. A house nobody knows about, not even Matthew. And certainly not Rachel. Not yet.
Under the bubbles, I let my arms bob to the surface and think about Rachel’s birthday – the day I’ll finally be able to give her the keys to the house of her dreams. It’s been a hard secret to keep. It’s perfect that she wants to go to the Ile de Ré for her birthday. She took me there a couple of months after Mum died and we stumbled upon the little fisherman’s cottage on our second-to-last day there, an À Vendre sign hanging from an upstairs window.
‘It’s beautiful!’ Rachel had breathed. ‘I need to see inside.’ And without waiting to consult the estate agent, she marched up the little path and knocked on the door.
As the owner showed us round, I could tell that Rachel had fallen in love with it even though she couldn’t afford it. To her it was just a pipe dream, but I knew I could make it happen so I arranged it all in secret. I close my eyes, imagining her face when she realises that the cottage is hers. I knew it was exactly what Mum and Dad would have wanted me to do. If Dad had lived to make a will, he would definitely have bequeathed something to Rachel. And if Mum had been of sound-enough mind, she would have done the same.
A sound, like a crack, interrupts my thoughts. My eyes snap open and my whole body tenses. Instinctively, I know that something is wrong. I lie as still as I can, straining my ears, listening through the open door for the sound that told me I wasn’t alone in the house. Hannah’s words about Jane’s murderer being holed up nearby come back to me. I hold my breath, and my lungs, deprived of air, tighten painfully. I wait; but there’s nothing.
Keeping my movements steady so as not to disturb the water any more than necessary, I raise my arm carefully; it breaks through the suds and I stretch my hand towards my mobile, perched precariously on the edge of the bath near the taps. But it remains out of reach and, as I slide further down the bath towards it, the water lapping against the side of the bath sounds as loud as waves crashing onto the shore. Terrified that I’ve drawn attention to myself and horribly conscious that I’m naked, I leap suddenly from the bath, taking half the water with me, and lunge for the door, slamming it shut. The sound reverberates around the house and, as I shoot the bolt, my fingers shaking, I hear another creak, I can’t work out where from, and my fear increases.
With my eyes fixed on the door, I take a couple of steps backwards and grope along the edge of the bath for my mobile. It slips from my grasp and clatters to the floor. I freeze, my arm outstretched. But still there is nothing. Bending my knees slowly, I retrieve my mobile. The time appears on the screen, six-fifty, and the breath that I forgot I was holding comes whooshing out in relief, because Matthew will soon be home.
I dial his number, praying that I’ll be able to get a signal, because with the bathroom at the back of the house, it’s never a sure thing. When his mobile starts ringing, I’m dizzy with gratitude.
‘On my way,’ he says cheerfully, thinking I want to know how long he’s going to be. ‘Do you want me to stop off for anything?’
‘I think there’s someone in the house,’ I whisper shakily.
‘What?’ His voice is sharp with worry. ‘Where are you?’
‘In the bathroom. I’ve locked the door.’
‘Good. Stay there. I’ll phone the police.’
‘Wait!’ I find myself hesitating. ‘I’m not sure. I mean, what if there’s no one there? I only heard something twice.’
‘What did you hear? Someone breaking in, voices?’
‘No, nothing like that… a crack and then some sort of creaking noise.’
‘Look, stay where you are. I’ll be with you in two minutes.’
‘All right,’ I say, ‘but hurry!’
Feeling less anxious now that Matthew is coming, I sit down on the edge of the bath. The feel of it against my bare skin reminds me that I’m still naked, so I drag my dressing gown from the back of the door and shrug it on. I can’t help wondering if I should have let Matthew phone the police after all. If there is someone in the house, he could be in danger when he arrives.
My mobile rings. ‘I’m here,’ Matthew says. ‘You OK?’
‘Yes, I’m fine.’
‘I’ve parked in the road,’ he goes on. ‘I’m going to take a look around.’
‘Be careful,’ I say. ‘Stay on the phone.’
‘All right.’
I listen nervously as I hear his footsteps crunch on the gravel and then round the side of the house.
‘Can you see anything?’ I ask.
‘Everything seems fine. I’ll just check the garden.’ A minute or so passes. ‘All good, I’m coming in.’
‘Be careful!’ I warn again, before the signal goes.
‘Don’t worry, I grabbed a spade from the shed.’
The call cuts off and from the bathroom, I hear him checking out the rooms downstairs. When I hear him on the stairs, I start unlocking the door.
‘Let me check the bedrooms first!’ he calls. It isn’t long before he’s back. ‘You can come out now.’
I open the door and when I see him standing there with the spade in his hand, I feel suddenly foolish.
‘Sorry,’ I say awkwardly. ‘I really did think someone was there.’
He puts the spade down and wraps his arms around me. ‘Hey, better to be safe than sorry.’
‘I don’t suppose you want to make me one of your gin and tonics, do you? I could do with a stiff drink. I’ll just throw some clothes on.’
‘It’ll be waiting for you in the garden,’ he promises, taking his arms from around me and heading for the stairs.
I pull on jeans and a T-shirt and follow him down. He’s standing in the kitchen slicing some limes.
‘That
