Page 47 of The Family Across the Street
But the scream sounded like it came from a child. That was a few minutes ago. It’s all quiet inside now. Maybe she saw a spider? Debbie screams blue murder when she sees one of the huge huntsman spiders that stalk the Australian summer. They’re harmless unless they give you a heart attack. Maybe that’s all it was. The neighbours on either side of him have kids and sometimes it literally sounds like someone is being tortured. Debbie has gone over to check once or twice, only to be told, ‘Oh, he just didn’t want to eat his carrots,’ by a harassed parent who would rather she hadn’t interfered.
He presses his ear against the door, hoping that he will hear something that can give him a clue as to what is going on inside. But there is only silence. He has left Gladys out the front waiting for the police and he hopes, actually prays, that they turn up soon so he doesn’t have to do this.
Pushing up against the door, he covers his other ear with his hand so he can hear better. The sun is relentless and he can feel it burning the skin on his arms and face. A large blowfly lands on his arm and he swats at it irritably, trying not to make a sound.
No one is in the kitchen behind this door, he’s sure of that. He’s assumed this is the kitchen. It may be the laundry. It would be better if it were the laundry because then it would be less likely that anyone is in there right now.
Taking a deep breath, he turns the handle, meaning to lift and shove as he does so but knowing he needs to be very quiet about it. And the door opens.
It was never locked.
This is an expensive house in a nice suburb. People don’t need to lock their doors, but sometimes, the threat is already inside the house.
Logan steps in, holding his breath and freezing as the door opens and there is a sound like a click. He listens for something, anything, calling on all his instincts, unsure and a little scared at what he’s going to find.
34
Gladys
Gladys has no idea what to do. She is at a tennis match, her head swivelling from her house to Katherine’s house, her ears listening for any sound. Sweat soaks through her shirt. The heat is heavy and thick in her lungs and still the police don’t come. ‘Please, God,’ she prays aloud. What is happening inside that house? Is Logan inside already? Should she go around the back and check? She has no idea what to do and she feels like screaming in frustration herself. And still, the police don’t come.
35
I gulp in the heated air. I’m covered in sweat but I’m nearly there. Ten, nine, eight… I slow down but I’m getting there. Who will I be after this? Where will I go? I know I will have to run. I will have to let others find them, others walk through this house and discover three people who were and now are not. Three people that I should have loved enough not to do this. I imagine myself somewhere far away, living out my life, holding on to the memory of this day of heat and hate. Can a person live like that, I wonder? Can they wake up in the morning and drink their coffee and know with each passing minute that they are the reason that others are no longer here? I began this believing that’s possible. I would make sure everyone who has ever caused me pain has paid for it and then I would move forward into a new life, free of years of baggage. But I know it’s not really possible. I am weighed down by it all and weary of how heavy it is.
Seven, six… I feel tears pressing, my throat thick with grief, as I feel the truth inside me, as I understand what I have known all day long. Whoever comes into this house, whoever uncovers what has happened here, will discover four people. Not three but four.
I want this done. I want it over with.
36
Katherine
His lips are moving, counting, and she knows she has to move before he gets to zero, just before.
Glancing at her children, she tries to take in their little faces, to breathe in their sweaty, sweet smell. She has so much more to tell them, to teach them, so much more love to give them. If only she had written some of it down so that they could find it after she’s gone. She looks at their faces and tries to picture the man in George, the woman in Sophie, and understands that the best she can hope for now is that they remember how much she loved them and that they understand her sacrifice. My life for theirs, she sends up in a silent prayer, and to her it seems a fair enough trade. My life for theirs.
George will blame himself. Her little man, her deep thinker. He will blame himself. They are not allowed to open the front door without an adult present. It’s a rule of the house, even in this safe suburb.
‘Do not open the door without me,’ she has shouted whenever the bell chimes. But children are impulsive; George is controlled but always interested. Who might it be? Is it a delivery, a box with contents to guess at? Or is it Gladys, who comes bearing cake?
This morning his curiosity got the better of him, and she was in the laundry, the washing machine filling, rushing water drowning out the chiming of the bell.
George opened the door.
But even if her son hadn’t let him in, Katherine knows she would have. She would have welcomed him into her home.
Please don’t blame yourself, George. I would have done the same thing.
She closes her eyes and assesses the pain in her body, her cheek, her mouth, her wrist. She has to find a way to get her children out of this house. Tears prick at her eyes and she takes a deep breath because she doesn’t want to cry in front of her two silent, frightened children. She must find a way to get them out.
As she breathes out, she hears a click, just a small click from the kitchen. It is the sound the kitchen door makes when it’s opened. There is a small piece of wood at the bottom of the door that has split away. John is going to putty it up at some point but he hasn’t done it yet and so whenever it opens, no matter how quiet the person opening the door is trying to be, there is the small click of the wood catching. She doesn’t even hear it anymore. It’s simply become one of the sounds that are part of her everyday life. But she has heard it today, with her eyes closed and her heart filled with despair. She has heard it today. She opens her eyes to find George staring at her, his green eyes wide, his fist clenched, and she knows, without a shadow of a doubt, that her son has heard the click as well. He pays attention, that’s who he is. And right now, as the heat strangles the air, he has heard what she has heard.
Someone is in the kitchen. Someone has opened the back door.
She can see George rising a little from the sofa. He wants to run, to see who it is, but she knows they need to wait.
She has no idea who it could be and she wonders if it’s actually someone breaking into the house. There have been some burglaries in the area but mostly those take place at night when the homeowners are out. The irony of it is that she would welcome a burglar right now.
