The Couple at No. 9(99)

She giggled. ‘I think he fancies me a little bit. But it comes in handy.’

I stared at her in shock. What had happened to all her feminist principles? To the ‘we don’t need men’ conversations we frequently had?

‘What?’ She laughed, sipping her drink. ‘He helps me carry the heavy stuff.’

‘God, Daphne.’ I turned away from her.

Her next words were drowned in the explosion of fireworks and I bent down so that I was on your level. I didn’t want to look at Daphne. You were watching intently, your mouth open in surprise as a banger burst into a riot of gold and yellow, but you covered your ears with your hands.

‘Are they too loud?’

You shook your head. ‘Pretty.’

I ignored Daphne for the rest of the show, not even sure why I was so cross with her. Was I jealous that she was flirting with a man? Or was it because she seemed so totally unconcerned that Victor might be here and that I could be in danger? When she was worried about Neil I was there for her. I killed for her. And in return she was acting like my situation was just one big joke.

When it had finished I clutched your hand and turned, expecting Daphne to be behind us. But she had gone.





57


Rose



Bonfire Night, 1980


I scanned the field for Daphne. She couldn’t have gone far. I’d obviously upset her with my frostiness. We rarely argued. We never really had much to argue about, living in our safe little house with you. Even with the spectre of Neil hanging over us. But now that Victor was potentially in the area, everything had turned in on itself. I was once again on full alert.

‘Mummy, tired,’ you complained, as I frog-marched you across the field. People were dispersing, and we wove in and out of them, searching for Daphne but also hyper-aware of Victor. You were still slurping at your hot chocolate although my cup was empty.

‘Sorry, honey, but we need to get home as quickly as we can,’ I said, trying to hide the fear in my voice. Why had Daphne gone off and left us when she knew I was scared about Victor? As we attempted to leave the field there was a bottleneck as everyone tried to get through the gate at the same time and we had no choice but to stop and wait. I glanced around anxiously: we were penned in on all sides by people who stamped their feet impatiently and complained loudly about the hold-up. I studied every male face in case it was Victor’s and I clutched your hand tightly. ‘Don’t let go,’ I said to you, in my sternest voice. Finally the crowd gave way and swarmed forward and I breathed a sigh of relief as people scattered, but thankful that there was still enough of a throng to protect us if Victor was there.

But as we walked along the high street and up the hill towards Skelton Place everyone else had melted away and it was just the two of us.

‘Bit scared, Mummy,’ you said, gripping my hand tightly and my heart broke. You must have sensed my fear because you were never normally scared. You looked around at the high hedges and the woods that encompassed us with wide, terrified eyes. Somewhere far away an owl hooted.

‘It looks later than it is because the moon is hiding behind the clouds tonight,’ I said, trying to keep my voice jolly. ‘It’s only eight o’clock.’

‘I’m tired.’

‘We’re nearly home, not far now, just up the hill a bit. What about a piggy-back?’

You nodded eagerly and I bent down to allow you to climb up. You wrapped your little arms around my neck and I grabbed your ankles. ‘Giddy-up,’ I said, trying to pretend to be a horse as I jogged up the hill, even though I thought my legs would buckle from exhaustion. Fear that Victor might suddenly appear from behind a bush gave me the adrenalin to keep going.

‘Where’s Daffy?’ you asked, as the cottage came into view. My heart sank when I could see there were no lights on.

‘We lost her,’ I said, my voice sounding small in the darkness. ‘But don’t worry, she won’t be far behind.’

You jumped off my back as I opened the front door.

The cottage was cold and dark and empty. I felt uneasy, as if someone was about to jump out at me. I turned on the light in the hallway. Daphne’s coat wasn’t hanging up. Where was she? An image of her and Sean flashed through my mind and I pushed it away.

I turned on all the lights downstairs. The windows were opaque. Was someone out there, looking in?

I shivered. A firework exploded overhead, making me jolt.

‘Come on, Lolly, let’s get you to bed,’ I said, taking your hand and leading you upstairs.

I tucked you up in bed and read you a story but you fell asleep before it was finished. And then I kissed your forehead and stroked your lovely curly hair away from your face.

Another noise outside made me jump. It didn’t sound like a firework this time.

It was coming from the garden.

Carefully I got up from your bed and went to the window, pulling aside your pink gingham curtains.

I froze with fright.

There was a man on my lawn looking up at the house.

It was Victor.





58


Theo





‘Okay,’ says Theo, into the phone, glancing across at Jen, who’s pushed her sunglasses onto her hair and has raised her eyebrows questioningly. She’s lying on the sun-lounger in their little garden, her bare legs stretched out in front of her. ‘So he’s been charged?’ He’s standing on their patio, the sun beating down on his neck. ‘And,’ he lowers his voice, ‘he’s now been transferred to Wakefield prison?’ The French windows that lead into their living-dining room are open and he walks into the shade, worried the neighbours might hear him. There has already been a storm of press interest.