Watched: When Road Rage Follows You Home (9 page)

This was the main reason she’d fallen in love with the house when they had first viewed it, noticing the direction the sun was rising from and realising that, on a nice day, the garden would be bathed in the summer’s glow pretty much from sunrise to sunset.

Esther had just allowed her eyes to close when there was a rattle of a metal garage door somewhere nearby. In the instant it took her to sit up, Patch had scarpered to the far side of the garden, offering a wistful glance over his shoulder before disappearing under the hedge.

She stared up at the washing line overhead, unwavering in the still morning air, before hopping up and rushing to the back door. She unlocked it and let herself in, locking it behind her, and dashing upstairs into the smallest bedroom.

Boxes still lined the walls, stacked on top of each other: remnants of other houses and different times. She scanned the felt-tip writing on the sides and began hunting through the boxes marked ‘misc’, eventually finding a pair of scissors in among the piles of pens, pencils, rulers and other stationery.

Esther picked up a dining chair, stopped to unlock and relock the back door, and then headed back into the garden. She stood on the chair, wobbling and reaching up to cut through the washing line at either end, squeezing so hard to slice through the thick material that the metal of the scissors left ringed marks in the webbing between her thumb and forefinger. By the time the cord dropped to the ground, Esther was drenched in sweat and gasping, even though she’d hardly done anything.

She took a breath and pressed herself onto tiptoes, trying not to overbalance as she gazed over the hedge at the end of the garden to the alleyway and the houses beyond. She imagined Dougie to be out there somewhere plotting his next scheme to make her life worse. Would he really get bored? She had to keep telling herself that because what were the other options?

Esther clambered down a little unsteadily before returning to the house. She locked the side door behind her and rattled the handle up and down to ensure it was definitely locked.

She opened the cutlery drawer to put the key back inside, spotting the one for the window and feeling a compelling urge to check that too. Esther tried to push the button that would enable the handle to lift and the window to open – but it was locked. She stared from the keyhole to the key, knowing it was unnecessary but unable to stop herself. In a flash, she plucked the key from the drawer, unlocked the window, opened it, then pulled it closed and locked it again. She rattled the handle up and down, left and right, then pressed on the glass.

Definitely locked.

That was the kitchen secure and so Esther began a tour of the house. The front-door key lived in her bag, attached to the ones for her car and her parents’ house. She wrenched the handle of the clearly locked door, before turning her key, opening it, re-closing it, and locking it once more.

Esther whispered the word ‘silly’ to herself but continued into the living room. The keys were in the drawer underneath the television, so she unlocked and opened the front and back windows, taking a breath of air, before closing them again, tugging the handles as hard as she could to make sure they were secure.

Upstairs was a little easier because one key fitted all of the windows. She moved around the three bedrooms and bathroom, checking each window: try to twist the handle, unlock, open, close, relock, try to twist the handle…

When she was as certain as she was going to get that the house was secure, Esther did one last lap, checking each door and window handle another time. She felt the pull of the keys, wondering if there was something she’d missed, before she spotted the letterbox. The metal lip was closed but dark bristles were sticking out of the bottom. Esther knelt before the front door and slowly lifted the flap, nudging the black spikes aside and pushing her fingers through until she could glimpse the outside. Bright light seeped through the tight space but it was enough to set Esther’s heart beating faster. If someone could open the letterbox, then they could see inside, reach inside, push fireworks or matches inside.

She hurried back upstairs to the box of miscellaneous items, hunting through until she found a half-used roll of sticky tape. Esther sealed the three sides of the letterbox closed with lines of tape, using her thumb to press it as tightly as possible, then she turned to sit with her back against the front door, waiting to catch her breath.

Beads of sweat traced the line of Esther’s cheek and her mouth felt dry. She wanted to go into the kitchen to get a drink of water but knew that if she did that, she would end up unlocking the door and window again.

‘Silly, silly, silly,’ she whispered.

All she could do was to continue working.

In the spare room, Esther spent a few moments peering out of the window towards the hook at the back where the washing line had been attached, before finally composing herself. The first coat of paint was relatively even but needed a little touching up. Once she had done that, she’d be able to get into the garden and start trimming everything back, then get her plants in. Everything would feel much better then.

Esther began to paint, taking her time and getting things right but finding it hard to concentrate. The room was stuffy and humid as sun brimmed through the window. She kept glancing towards the glass before finally making the decision, taking the key from her pocket and opening it a sliver, breathing the wisps of fresh air. She thought about opening it further but it would make it too easy for someone to throw something up and through.

She continued painting, stopping every time a sound crept through the open window, before reassuring herself and continuing again.

Esther had almost finished when she thought she heard a scratching-scraping sound from downstairs. She put the paint roller down and stood, listening.

Scratch-scratch-scratch.

Esther jarred the window closed and locked it again, heading to the top of the stairs at the same time as the letterbox clanged open. She stared down towards the front door where the unsealed tape flapped loose and a small pile of letters plopped to the ground. Of course the postman would arrive at some point during the day – why hadn’t she thought of that? And why did she think flimsy sticky tape was going to keep the letterbox sealed?

‘Silly, silly, silly.’

Dinnnnnnng-donnnnnng.

Esther could see the dark shape through the rippled glass. It was definitely the postman – it had to be. Letters had just been put through the door, so who else was it going to be?

She descended the stairs one at a time, twisting her head to try to get a clearer view of the shape on the other side of the door. At the bottom, she took her keys from her bag, pausing before unlocking the door.

‘Who is it?’

‘The postman.’

‘What do you want?’

There was a pause where Esther could hear his unspoken reply – ‘What do you think?’ – but when he spoke, he remained professional. ‘I’ve got a parcel that’s too big for your letterbox.’

Esther turned the key with a slow click, gradually lowering the handle and pulling the front door open. On the other side a man wearing a red polo shirt and dark blue shorts was holding a square-shaped box. ‘Mrs Pooley?’

‘Yes.’

‘This is for you.’

Esther opened the door enough to snatch the box away, reading the crisp clean lettering on the front and knowing who it was from.

‘Thank you.’

As soon as the postman turned his back, Esther closed the door again, locking it and rattling the handle up and down. She peeled the tape away from the letterbox and balled it up: the remnants of a stupid idea.

In the living room, Esther squeezed her little finger in between the slats of the blinds, making sure there was no-one waiting at the front of the house, and then she opened the box.

As soon as she saw the plastic container and the paper padding inside the cardboard box, Esther knew what her mother had mailed. She unpacked the napkins from under the plastic lid until the syrupy-sweet smell escaped, revealing a neat stack of twelve fairy cakes. They each had patterned cases, with pretty multi-coloured icing designs drawn onto the top. Sitting underneath was an envelope with ‘Esther’ written in perfectly even block capital letters.

Although her mother’s meaning was all too clear – ‘You are eating, aren’t you?’ – Esther couldn’t help but smile at the sight of the letter. Her mum hated email and text messages and barely tolerated phone calls. It was nice to see her handwriting again.

She took out one of the cakes and nibbled from the top, thinking she should take a photo and send it to Charlie to prove she was eating. After a second bite, Esther tugged the envelope out from under the other cakes and slid a fingernail along the top, trying to maintain how neat it was. The two sheets of notepaper inside had been filled out with spotless, bold handwriting, with her mother’s signature at the bottom.

Esther,

Just a quick note to say that I hope you are well and that the move has gone as planned. I know the past two years haven’t been ideal for you and Charles but, from my point of view, it was wonderful being able to see you every day.

As I write, it is only a day since you drove away and I’m sorry to say that I did have a little sob. One day, hopefully soon, you will understand what it’s like to have children and to see them go out into the big wide world and make something of themselves. It is the strangest mix of joy and sadness you can imagine.

Our arrangements have been slightly unusual for the past couple of years but I also know you have done the right thing in saving your money and biding your time. So many people rush into things and end up regretting them but Charles’ influence and your sensible head have served you well. I would love to take credit for any of that but the truth is that you have always been your own, wonderful, person.

I know we are coming to visit in a couple of weeks and I can’t wait to see you both. In the meantime, know that your father and I love you very much and we couldn’t be prouder.

All my love,

Mum

TEN: CHARLIE

Esther seemed a little perkier when Charlie arrived home. Even though he’d told her she didn’t have to cook for him every night, she apparently didn’t mind. He certainly wasn’t going to complain as long as she was smiling, which she was, despite the stuffiness of the atmosphere.

As he said hello to her in the kitchen, Esther pointed him towards a parcel on the countertop that contained eleven fairy cakes and an open letter from her mother. He didn’t want to ask if she’d actually eaten the missing cake, suspecting she had mashed it up and buried it in the bin. She became self-conscious when she realised he was watching her eat. That led to a strange game where she went out of her way to leave empty food wrappers at the top of the bin and he tried to figure out if she was really eating without wanting to ask.

Esther ate at least a third of the rice dish she’d made, mashing the rest up with her fork as if she wanted to squeeze it hard enough that it would become water. Charlie finished his own, pretending not to be paying attention to what she was doing. Her mother’s letter did appear to have cheered her up, though he couldn’t help but notice the way her eyes darted towards the front of the house every time there was an unexpected noise.

After they’d finished eating, Charlie told Esther he had something to show her, leading her outside and opening his car boot to reveal a set of motion-sensor lights and security camera.

‘How much were they?’ Esther asked as Charlie removed the boxes.

‘Not much.’

The answer was a couple of hundred pounds from the hardware shop. They didn’t really have it to spare, but he figured it was a small price if it stopped Esther from being so jumpy.

As Esther unpacked the boxes, Charlie tried to make sense of the instructions, which were an utter waste of time. Of the twenty pages, just two were in English and, of those, the diagrams might as well have been for an entirely different item. Part A apparently fitted into Part B, though Charlie couldn’t see anything that looked remotely like either.

Esther threw herself into the task, treating it like a jigsaw by laying all the pieces on the driveway and trying to find the correct order. As Charlie stood around uselessly, she told him the things she needed, leaving him to hunt through boxes for long-lost tools, nails and screws as she did the real work.

It wasn’t that long before she had everything in place, leaving the rudimentary drilling and ladder-climbing to him. When he’d bought the items, Charlie didn’t think they’d have time to fit everything in an evening. By himself, he wouldn’t have managed it in an entire day – but with her natural ability and his vague degree of help, it took under three hours, just in time for the sun to start going down.

Inside, they retuned the television to pick up the security camera’s signal and sat for a few minutes watching the same view they could get by looking out of the window. The important thing was that it would work in the dark and that everything would be recorded to a hard drive. If Dougie or anyone else was going to do anything to them or their property, it would at least leave them with evidence to take to the police.

Charlie yawned, but Esther continued to watch the unmoving image of their driveway as the light outside faded. Eventually the green glow of the night-vision kicked in.

‘Are you coming to bed?’ he asked.

Esther was pressed into the corner of the sofa, not moving. ‘I’ll be up in a bit.’

‘I was wondering if…’

Esther glanced very quickly towards him. ‘…I’ve got a headache.’

‘Right… do you want me to leave the light on so you can read?’

‘No, it’s okay.’

Charlie leaned across and pecked her on the forehead before heading upstairs. He lay in bed listening for any hint of movement from downstairs but it was silent. He couldn’t stop yawning, eighteen hours of being awake taking its toll, and yet he didn’t want to go to sleep while Esther was still downstairs.