Page 31 of The World Outside My Window

‘Perhaps they were someone else’s keys, dear. Maybe he was looking after them or picked them up by accident and just didn’t feel the need to explain himself.’ She sighed. ‘As I say, I just thought it might be useful. You know, a trail of clues to follow, like breadcrumbs. But it could be nothing at all.’

‘You’re probably right. But thank you for letting me know.’

A few minutes later Carol leaves, and Laura is all alone again. And although she feels certain there must be a reasonable explanation about this keyring, she writes it down on the edge of the map Debbie has drawn, and underlines it twice. Just in case.

12

THEN – OCTOBER 1989

The phone was ringing as I walked up the stairs to the flat.

‘All right, all right,’ I said, kicking my shoes off before snatching up the receiver. I was breathless so it took me a few seconds to realise that nobody had said anything on the other end of the line.

‘Hello?’ I said, again.

Still nothing.

I strained my ears, trying to make out any sound at all over the hum of the phone line. Was that someone breathing, or was I imagining it? I waited a couple of beats, then yelled, ‘Stop ringing me,’ and slammed the phone down with a shaking hand.

I stood for a moment in the cool quiet of the hallway, staring at the phone as though it were culpable for letting a crank call through, and tried to slow my racing heartbeat. Then I walked slowly through to the living room where the curtains were still wide open and yanked them closed, my arms weak with fear. I peeked through the tiny gap I’d left and out into the darkness of the street below. It was quiet tonight, not a person to be seen. Yet all I could imagine was someone lurking in the shadows, watching me. The thought that they could see me but I couldn’t see them sent me into a panic all over again and I pulled my face from the gap in the curtains and tugged them fully closed, then switched on the side lamp and curled up on the sofa, my legs tucked under me, and tried to take some long, deep breaths.

That was my night ruined. The restaurant had been quieter than usual so I’d finished slightly early and hurried home, hoping for a glass of wine or two to wind down before bed. But now I was rattled, and I couldn’t settle at all.

I stood again, agitated, and stalked through to the kitchen and opened a new bottle of wine. I poured myself an enormous glass and downed the lot in one go. My head spun, and I held onto the kitchen worktop to steady myself, then poured another glass and took that and the bottle back through to the living room, my hands still shaking.

This wasn’t the first time I’d had a call like this, but this was the first time it had happened late at night. The first call had come one morning a couple of weeks ago, just after Jim had left to drive up to Leeds. We’d said goodbye and I’d been about to step into the shower when the phone had started ringing. I’d hurried to answer it in my towel, but hadn’t quite got there in time. But just as I’d headed back towards the shower it had begun again – only once again, whoever was there hadn’t said a word before hanging up. At the time I’d been so irritated at being disturbed I hadn’t given it much thought, assuming it was just a wrong number. But since then it had happened on a further two mornings. Now, though, the call had come late at night, and I was scared.

Why was someone trying to spook me? Why did they keep ringing and hanging up without saying anything? Was someone following me? After all, they always seemed to ring when I was on my own, as if they knew Jim wasn’t here. I took another huge gulp of wine to try and steady my nerves.

I longed to tell someone my fears, so that they could reassure me that there was nothing to worry about, that it was just my imagination running overtime. But even as I thought it, I realised there was nobody Icouldconfide in.

It couldn’t be Jim because I didn’t have a number to call him on when he was in Leeds – he always rang me. It had been months since I’d last heard from Mum and apart from Debbie, who I refused to callagainfor fear she’d get fed up with me, I hadn’t seen any of my friends for months. I didn’t know what they were up to, or who they were seeing and, I realised with a jolt, it was entirely my own doing because I spent most of my time either with Jim or waiting around for him to ring.

I was entirely alone.

Desperate to blot it out, I finished off the second glass of wine, poured another, and took it through to my bedroom. Two thirds of a bottle of wine on an empty stomach in half an hour had made my legs wobbly, and I was glad to collapse into bed, fully clothed. I sat for a minute, propped up on pillows, listening for any sounds in the flat – a handle squeaking, a floorboard creaking, a window being opened. Nothing. But I knew the only way I would get to sleep now was to pass out, so I finished the wine, and lay my head back on the pillow and waited for oblivion.

* * *

When I woke the next morning, the sun streamed through the open curtains and my mouth felt as dry as a desert-worn sandal. When I sat up my head spun so I took it slowly, squinting against the bright light. The empty wine bottle on the bedside table reminded me what I’d done the previous night, which brought memories of the mystery phone calls flooding back, and I swallowed down a feeling of nausea.

Whowasringing me, and what did they want?

I glanced at the clock. It was only 7 a.m. Jim wouldn’t ring me for hours. Besides, I hadn’t told him about the previous calls because I hadn’t been particularly worried. But something about the call last night – the breathing, the late hour – had tipped me over the edge and now it was all I could think about. I knew I could see if Debbie was awake, but I was too ashamed that I’d drunk myself into a stupor rather than deal with the problem head-on, the way she would have done.

I climbed out of bed, ignoring the queasiness, and made my way to the living room. I opened the curtains, half expecting to see someone watching me from the other side of the road like in some TV thriller, but there was no one there apart from a young guy putting his bins out and a middle-aged woman jogging past, her ponytail swinging from side to side. I cast my gaze up and down, but it was all clear.

I walked into the kitchen and downed a pint of water while standing at the sink, rivulets cascading from the glass down the sides of my chin and into the sink. I gulped as though I hadn’t drunk anything for a week, then refilled my glass and downed that too. I slammed it down on the counter, angry all of a sudden. What was wrong with me? Why couldn’t I deal with things like a normal person? Why did I always have to panic, and drink to forget?

Determined to think about something else, I decided to get outside for a walk. It was still early but the sun felt warm through the windows and maybe a brisk walk would clear my head, help me see things more clearly. Besides, Jim would be back tonight, and I didn’t want him to see me scared or hungover. He wasn’t here enough as it was, I wasn’t about to waste the time we did have together.

Pulling on some clothes, I raced down the stairs and out into the warm London sunshine. There was a stiff breeze and I shivered as I made my way down the garden path and onto the street. I turned right and headed towards the shops, which would then lead towards Cherry Tree Wood. I swung my arms and marched quickly and tried to let my mind drift, away from thoughts of the previous night, and instead focus on Jim’s return later that evening. Perhaps I’d buy something nice for dinner, a steak or a lovely piece of cod, cook him something special, something I’d make for customers but that I rarely bothered with at home. Yes, that was what I’d do. Forget about the phone calls, put them behind me and concentrate on me and Jim.

As I rounded the corner at the end of my street something caught my eye. A flash of black, a sudden movement, and I whipped my head around and squinted at the house opposite. There was nothing there. Heart hammering despite no obvious danger, I kept walking, slower now, my eyes on the hedge where I thought I’d seen someone. Was I going mad? Maybe too much alcohol and not enough sleep had made me conjure things that weren’t there. But I was convinced I’d seen something, or someone, lurking in my peripheral vision.

And then there it was again. A sudden movement, then a figure emerged from behind the low wall of a house and sprinted off down the road. I stood, frozen to the spot for a few seconds, and then, before I could think about it too much, I set off after them, crossing the road, my low-heeled boots a hindrance to my progress.

‘Hey, wait,’ I yelled, ignoring the strange looks from passers-by as I barrelled after the figure, who glanced over their shoulder once before upping their pace, arms pumping at their sides. They were small and clearly much fitter than me and getting further away and my lungs were burning, so, as it became clear I was fighting a losing battle, I stopped, breathing heavily, last night’s wine threatening to show itself once more, and watched helplessly as they disappeared out of sight.

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