The Guilty Couple(21)

The driver of the Fiat Uno behind her sounds his horn and she has no choice but to continue driving. If she jumps out both women will scarper and she wants to know what they’re up to. There are only so many reasons why Olivia Sutherland would return to her old street, and none of them are good.





Chapter 15


OLIVIA


I’m shaking so much I can’t get the key into the lock then, when I finally do, the key doesn’t turn, no matter how much I wiggle it.

‘Are you sure you’re using the right key?’ Smithy asks, making me jump. She was supposed to be at the end of the path, keeping a lookout. ‘You’re taking forever.’

‘Yes, look.’ I show her the two other keys on the lanyard. ‘That one with the black piece of tape on it is for the back door. Dom always did that so he could tell the difference between the front door key and the back. And this one,’ I touch the smaller of the three keys. ‘It’s not a Yale. He must have put a padlock on the shed.’

‘Let me try.’ Smithy nudges me out of the way and grips the key in the lock. It turns effortlessly and she raises her eyebrows as if to say, ‘See!’

I reach for the door handle but she knocks my hand away. ‘You definitely remember the code for the alarm? Because it’s going to start the second we open this door.’

‘Yeah. Unless he’s changed it.’ I glance back towards the street to check no one’s watching. To a passing stranger we probably look like two friends hanging out, but it’s not strangers I’m worried about. We didn’t know many people on this street when I lived here but we were friendly with the neighbours on either side of the road. I’m almost certain they’ll have taken Dom’s side. Then there’s the black BMW that cruised past us earlier. I couldn’t see who was inside.

‘What’s the code?’ Smithy asks. ‘And where’s the keypad?’

‘It’s Grace’s birthday. And the keypad is in the cloakroom, first door on the left.’

‘Cloakroom.’ She snorts in amusement. ‘You got groomsmen too?’

‘Yes, but they live in the outhouse with the horses. The maids are in the attic with the ghosts.’

Smithy’s grin widens as she reaches into the pocket of her hoodie and pulls out a pair of latex gloves. ‘Good, you’ve still got your sense of humour. Means you’re calming down. Now, put your gloves on and let’s get this shit done.’

The alarm is louder than I remember: a frantic beeping that makes my ears pulse. I don’t look around as I slip into the house. All my attention is on stopping the beeping and making sure the police don’t turn up. I head for the cloakroom and kick my way through piles of Grace’s shoes to reach the keypad. Smithy follows me. She’s unusually quiet but her breathing is shallow and quick. I can’t believe she used to do this regularly. I’m crapping myself and this used to be my house.

I flip down the panel that covers the rubber keypad and jab at the numbers then hit the enter button. The display panel flashes red. Two more attempts.

‘Do it slower,’ Smithy urges. ‘Take your time.’

I take a steadying breath then tap in Grace’s date of birth again. I hit enter.

Incorrect.

‘Shit.’

The constant beep, beep, beep of the alarm fills my head and I freeze. If I enter the wrong code a third time the security company that installed the alarm will be alerted. Even if we manage to escape before they get here Dom will be told there was a break-in and, at some point in the next week, Rosa will tell him that she lost her keys. He’ll put two and two together and realise it was me.

‘Tell me what Grace’s date of birth is,’ Smithy shouts over the sound of the alarm.

‘Fourth of February 2007.’

She looks from me to the keypad. ‘That’s not what you entered. You did the second of the fourth.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Yes.’

‘A hundred percent sure? What if Dom’s changed the code?’

‘I’m sure.’ An urgent tone enters her voice. I’m not the only one who’s nervous now. ‘I watched you enter it twice. Do it again but do it right. Even slower this time. Zero. Four. Zero. Two. Zero. Seven.’

‘Zero.’ I tap the keyboard. ‘Four.’ I tap it again. ‘Zero. Two. Zero.’ I exhale heavily before I press the last digit. Please let Smithy be right. Please, please. ‘Seven.’

The alarm cuts off as suddenly as it started and I double over, pressing my hands to my thighs as I suck air deep into my lungs.

‘Save the dramatics for later,’ Smithy says as she heads out of the cloakroom. ‘We’ve got evidence to find.’

*

To my relief the CCTV system is the old one with two cameras trained on the drive and none in the house. I push open the door to Dominic’s study with the memory stick clutched tightly in my hand and discover that the room is as minimalist and uncluttered as it was the last time I was here. I’d assumed, after the divorce, that Dominic would rip every trace of me from this house but, from the glimpses of the living room and the kitchen I saw as I hurried after Smithy down the hall, nothing’s changed. The soft-pile grey carpets are the same, the furniture’s the same and the artwork I bought remains on the walls. It’s like stepping back in time. There are traces of me everywhere. I’m not just an intruder, I’m also a ghost.