‘What are you talking about?’ Dom and I are always friendly towards the young couple who live at number two, but I wouldn’t necessarily say we were actual friends. And Dom’s never mentioned going over there.
‘Well, I don’t like to tell tales out of school,’ Martin says with an apologetic shrug, ‘but I’ve seen young Dominic coming in and out of their house quite a lot.’
‘What do you mean by quite a lot?’ I snap.
‘Maybe four or five times. It’s usually just after he gets home from work. But I’ve seen him there at weekends, too.’
I want to tell Martin to mind his own bloody business, but I also want to find out what he’s talking about. ‘How long does he spend over there?’ I ask, hating myself for digging up gossip about my own husband from Martin, of all people.
‘Hmm, I’m not sure. Not long. It’s not as though I’m timing him or anything.’ He gives a low chortle and I think to myself that, actually, Martin probably is the type of person who would time him. ‘A few minutes or so would be my guess,’ he adds.
‘Well, I’m sure Dom was just being neighbourly,’ I say, wanting to erase the gleam in Martin’s eye. He must be aware that he’s unsettled me with his revelation.
‘Well I don’t trust those two,’ he says. ‘You want to tell young Dominic to watch himself. They’re a noisy, flighty pair and there’s something shifty about them.’
‘They’re just a… carefree, fun-loving couple, like most people in their twenties,’ I say.
‘Hmm.’ Martin crosses his arms over his chest.
‘Anyway,’ I say, keen to get this visit over with, ‘what is it you want me to look at here?’
‘Ah, yes. I have the plans this time, so we can prove my theory is correct.’ He waves a sheet of paper triumphantly in the air. ‘Like I said before, I’m worried that the underpinning for next door’s extension is having an effect on my foundation. I think they’ve built it too close to the boundary line.’ Martin drones on for several more minutes, pointing out heights and elevations and jabbing his finger onto various areas on the plan.
I cut him off. ‘Shall we go next door and measure up?’
‘Good idea, Kirstie. Let’s get hard evidence.’
I shift Daisy to my other hip and follow him back through the house towards the front door. As we pass through the hall, Martin stops to push the open cellar door shut, but not before I catch a glimpse of carrier bags piled up at the top of the basement steps. I recognise the logo – they were Toy Shack carrier bags. Why would Martin have bags from a toy shop?
My heart begins to thump uncomfortably. Martin doesn’t have any children or grandchildren, unless you count that creepy doll that belonged to his late wife. I stop where I am. I have a bad feeling.
‘Come on, Kirstie,’ Martin says, turning back to face me. ‘Why have you stopped there? Something the matter?’ He smiles, showing those yellow teeth, and a sudden wave of nausea sweeps across me. Who is this man, my neighbour? I don’t really know him, yet here I am alone in his house with my baby. No one else even knows I’m here.
With a start, I realise that the Toy Shack also sells baby stuff – formula, nappies.
What if he’s got a real baby down there?
That could have been the crying I heard the other day. Oh my God! Our neighbour could be a psycho. Get out of here, screams a voice in my head. Get Daisy away from him.
‘I’m sorry, Martin,’ I say, my voice strangely calm and steady, ‘I’ve just remembered something really important. I’ve got to go.’
‘What? Now? But we haven’t—’
‘Sorry.’ I cut him off.
‘You can’t go,’ he says. ‘You said you’d help me.’
My gaze is now locked on the front door ahead of us. I should have waited until we were outside to give my excuses. In here, he can bar my exit. I tamp down the terror in my throat and take a step towards him, wondering if he is going to try and physically stop us from leaving his house.
I sidle past him, holding my breath and trying not to cry. Then, I pull open the front door and pray he doesn’t try to grab at us.
‘I need you to come with me, Kirstie,’ he says, his hand coming down to rest on my bare shoulder.
With a squeal, I shrug him off and stumble outside. I begin to run down his driveway without stopping to put my shoes back on, praying he doesn’t follow us but too scared to turn around and check. I must have been mad to go round there on my own. What was I thinking? I need to get home. I need to lock all the doors and windows, to close the curtains so we’re safe from prying eyes. I’ll have to leave everything out in the garden – Daisy’s toys, my mug of half-finished tea. It’s not safe for me to go out there even for a moment. Martin could easily climb the fence. He could take my daughter and put her in his basement. My body is hot and cold, I can barely breathe. Can it be true? Can I be living next door to a psychopath?
Twelve
Back home, I slam the front door behind me, slide the chain across and sink down onto the floor with Daisy on my lap. She must have picked up on my fear because she’s fussing and squirming in my arms. I had always thought of Martin as a harmless busybody. But what if he’s not? What if there’s something sinister going on next door? You hear about these things on the news, where the neighbours had no idea they were living next door to a nutjob. Is he? Is Martin dangerous?
Footsteps outside. They’re getting closer. I try to quieten Daisy with kisses and forced smiles, but she’s not having any of it. The doorbell rings and my heart pounds.
‘Kirstie? It’s me, Martin!’
He’s followed me home. What’s he doing here? What if he knows I’m onto him? What if he’s come to drag us over there, into his basement? Can he get in here? Did I close all the windows? Did I lock the back door? I can’t remember. The doorbell rings again, an echoing chime through my body, setting my teeth on edge. My thoughts skitter all over the place. I ease myself up, away from the door, and start to tiptoe away down the hall towards the kitchen. As I do so, the sound of his voice, clear and loud, makes me give a stifled squeal.
‘Kirstie, are you all right?’ He’s calling through the letterbox. I’m sure he can see me creeping away, but I daren’t turn back around. ‘You seemed a little scared back there,’ he calls out. ‘Did something happen? I can see you, Kirstie.’
I freeze. I don’t know what to do. I can’t reply. Can’t move.
‘What are you doing?’ he calls out. ‘Why did you run away like that? Aren’t you coming back?’
I stand rigid. Daisy has started wailing, her face red and angry.
‘All right. Well, I’m going now,’ he says. ‘But I’ll call back later – check you’re okay.’
‘I’m fine,’ I croak. ‘Just feel a bit sick. No need to come back.’
‘Sick? Okay. Well, I hope it isn’t contagious. I suppose I’ll have to measure next door on my own.’
‘Okay, bye, Martin.’ I hear the letterbox rattle closed, and I pray he’s really going. That it isn’t a ruse. That he won’t try and come to the back door instead. I still haven’t turned around. That saying ‘frozen in terror’ is a real thing. I can barely breathe, let alone move.