The Breakdown(16)

say it’s a prime target for burglars, being stuck as it is at the end of the road. You need sensor alarms on your windows, on your doors, in the garage, in the garden.’

He looks around the hall. ‘On the stairs too – you don’t

want anyone creeping up on you in the middle of the

night, do you? I’ll just take a look over the house, shall I?’

Turning on his heels, he heads for the stairs, taking

them two at a time. I follow him up and see him making

a quick check of the window at the end of the landing.

He disappears into our bedroom and I hover on the

landing, uneasy about him being in there on his own.

It suddenly occurs to me that I never asked him for

proof of identity and I’m appalled that, in the light of

Jane’s murder, I wasn’t more careful about letting him

in. When I think about it, he hadn’t said he was from

the alarm company, I had just assumed he was, even

though he was early. He could be anybody.

The thought lodges itself so firmly in my brain that

the unease I’m already feeling at him being in the house

grows into something akin to panic. My heart misses

a beat and then speeds up furiously, playing catch up,

leaving me shaky. Keeping one eye fixed firmly on the

bedroom door, I creep into the spare room and call





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Matthew from my mobile, glad that I can at least get a

signal from here. He doesn’t pick up but a moment later,

I get a text from him.

‘Sorry, in meeting. Everything OK?’

‘Don’t like look of alarm man, ’ I text back, my fingers clumsy on the keys.

‘Then get rid of him.’

I leave the bedroom and go smack into the alarm man.

Jumping back with a cry of alarm, I open my mouth

to tell him that I’ve changed my mind about having an

alarm but he gets there first.

‘I just need to check this room and the bathroom and

then I’ll take a look downstairs,’ he says.

He squashes past me and instead of waiting for him I

hurry downstairs and stand near the front door, telling

myself that I’m being stupid, that I’m panicking for nothing.

But when he comes down I stay where I am, leaving him

to walk around the rest of the house by himself. It’s a long ten minutes before he appears in the hall again.

‘Right, shall we go and sit down?’ he asks.

‘I don’t think that’s necessary,’ I say. ‘I’m not sure we need an alarm after all.’

‘I don’t like to bring it up but after the murder of that young woman not far from here, I’d say you’re making a mistake. Don’t forget that the murderer is still out there somewhere.’

This virtual stranger mentioning Jane’s death unbal—

ances me and I desperately want him out of the house.

‘Have you got contact details? From your firm?’

The Breakdown





59


‘Sure.’ He reaches inside his jacket and I take a step


back, half expecting him to draw out a knife. But all he

brandishes is a card. I take it from him and study it for a moment. It says his name is Edward Garvey. Does he look like an Edward? My suspicion is addictive.

‘Thank you,’ I say. ‘But it might be an idea if you

come back when my husband is here.’

‘I could, I suppose. Not sure when it’ll be though. I

know I shouldn’t say it but murder is good for business,

you know what I mean? So if you just give me ten minutes

of your time, I’ll run through everything quickly and you can tell your husband all about it when he gets home.’

He walks towards the kitchen and stands in the

doorway, his hand outstretched, inviting me in. I want to remind him that it’s my house but I somehow find myself walking into the kitchen anyway. Is this how it works, is this how people let themselves be led into potentially dangerous situations, like lambs to the slaughter? My anxiety increases when, instead of sitting down opposite me, he sits down next to me, cornering me in. He opens

the brochure but I’m so on edge that I can’t concentrate

on anything he’s saying. I nod my head at appropriate

moments and try to look interested in the figures he’s

totting up but sweat is trickling down my back and the

only thing that stops me leaping to my feet and ordering

him out of the house is my middle-class upbringing. Was

it manners that prevented Jane from closing her window

hurriedly and driving off when she realised she didn’t

want to give her killer a lift after all?





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‘Right, that’s that then.’ I stare at him, bemused, as he stuffs the papers into his briefcase and pushes a brochure towards me. ‘You show that to your husband tonight.

He’ll be impressed, take my word for it.’

I only relax once I’ve closed the door behind him but

the realisation that, once again, I did something stupid