“Jess,” he hissed. “Wait. Jess. Sorry.” His lips looked cracked and sore and his eyes were wild, darting back and forward.
“Do I know you?” I could tell that the kids had moved back at the sound of his voice.
“Jess,” he whispered. “Hello.”
“Who are you?”
“Jess, hello.” He looked over his shoulder, then he pressed himself even closer in to the door like he was trying to wriggle through the gap. “I need speak, Jess?” he breathed. Yes, he meant. Foreign accent. And he was talking in a foreign language now. The same phrase over and over again. Jaroslawa? Jaroslawa? I looked behind me at the kids. He went back to English again. “I see he is gone. Becky is gone? Jess? You alone?”
“I’m not alone,” I said. (Stranger At Your Door 101.) “Gus is right here. And Becky… ”
One of the children had come up and was tugging at my jeans. Ruby.
“Missus?” she said. “Lady?”
“Jess,” he said. “Becky, please? My name is Kazek. Kazek, jess? You open?” He snaked his hand around the edge of the door towards the chain. “He is gone.”
“Wait a minute, Ruby,” I said, without looking.
“Friend, Kazek,” he said. He had his fingers on the edge of the door, holding on hard. “Where is gone? Jaroslawa? You tell Kazek.”
“Missus, Missus,” Ruby said, tugging harder.
“He’s not gone, pal,” I said. “He’s right here.” Then I called over my shoulder. “Gus? Can you come here a minute?” The stranger shifted, wondering, and as soon as I saw him loosen his grip a bit on the door, I booted it, dead hard. He let go. I slammed it shut and turned the lock. What the hell was that about? I could hear his feet on the path as he scurried away.
“Missus?” Ruby said again. “Dillon’s crying, by the way.” And right enough, he was. Standing with his head against his high chair, big silent tears running down his face. Stupid, useless evil bitch.
“Baby boy,” I said. “What a rubbish night you’re having.”
“Who was that man?” Ruby demanded.
“I don’t know,” I told her, hunkering down beside Dillon and stroking his back. “Don’t worry. He’s gone now. Come on and get in your bath and get nice and clean for Mummy, eh?”
The bubbles cheered them both up. I’d put in far too much and the foam was stiff and crackling, up to their skinny little shoulders and wisping off when they blew at it. When I was sure they were safe-Ruby telling me cross her heart and pull her pigtails that Mummy left them in the bath together all the time-I went to pick up broken glass and mop milk in the living room, peel fried banana off of furry cushions. Everything back on track again. Until I thought about the bath getting cold and the question of pyjamas and all the blood left my head and I sat down hard, shaking.
It took me three big breaths to get up again, get into the hall, and put my hand on the door of the other bedroom. I gripped it until the sweat nearly popped it out of my grasp, but I couldn’t turn it. Just… no. I couldn’t make myself push down and open that door. No way.
I stumbled back to the kitchen again and saw my salvation. There was one of those old wooden pulleys with the cast-iron ends and the rope round a cleat, kids’ clothes draped over it, including a Mulan nightie and snuggle socks. I stretched up and snatched them down. Dillon could go back in the same PJs again with a fresh nappy out of the packet in the bathroom.
And they could tuck up on the couch, one at each end with a blanket, put the film back on. They’d love that.
And so they did. Nearly as much as they loved not getting their teeth brushed and the bowl of M &Ms I gave each of them as I bedded them down and tucked the throw round them.
“D’you want to pick up where you left off or go back to the start?” But they were glazed-over already. I clicked and tiptoed away and was sitting in the kitchen, dishes done, worktops wiped, when I heard a car rumbling up the track and stopping.
I was ready for Becky, praying for Gus-and Gus it was. With the same two cops again, all solemn and pale. I took the chain off the back door, undid the deadlock, and they filed in.
“D’you want a cup of tea?” Gus said. He leaned against the sink and rubbed his face with both his hands.
“We’ll need to be getting along, Mr. King.” The woman copper turned to me. “You’re staying.” It wasn’t a question, but I answered it anyway.
“I can’t,” I said. “In fact, I was wondering if you would give me a lift back as far as Castle Douglas if you’re going that way.” She gave me the chewing gum stuck to the shoe look again, and I bit my tongue.
“So, Mr. King,” said the other one, all business, no time for this mooning around. “Someone will call round tomorrow to take your statement and in the meantime, you’ve got my card and it’s got my direct line. There’s a voice-mail on that. So… have a dram and get some rest.” He nodded to me, put his hat on, and left. The woman gave Gus one of those syrupy looks, head on one side, frowning and smiling together, and followed.
Looked like I was springing for a taxi then. But I’d give it a few minutes. He needed a bit of a shoulder, it looked like to me.
“Pretty grim, was it?” I asked him.
“Feels like a dream,” said Gus. He came and sat down. For a minute I thought he was going to put his hand out for mine.
“Did you look through a window or were you right in the room?” I said. “What a horrible thing to have to do either way. No news at this end, by the way.”
“News?” he said. “What do you mean?” He’d gone very still and suddenly the house seemed extra quiet, the night outside extra dark.
“No word from Becky,” I said. “Someone did come round, but I didn’t let him in.”
“I don’t understand,” said Gus.
“I worked it out,” I told him. “Not long after you left. I would have called if I’d known your number and your phone wasn’t smashed.” I was babbling. “I could have called the cops, I suppose, and got patched through. But what with the kids and then this guy turned up.”
“Worked what out?” he said, cutting right through my voice, his so loud in the tiny kitchen I thought I could hear it booming back off the walls.
“That it wasn’t Becky,” I said. “It couldn’t be.”
“Jess, what are you talking about?” he said. “What guy? It was Becky. It is Becky. My wife’s dead. She’s gone. She did it.” He put his hands round his shoulders and started rocking, not back and forward but side-to-side. I’d never seen anyone do that before; it looked like Stevie Wonder’s sit-down dancing.
I didn’t mean to be cold, looking at him instead of going to comfort him, but I just couldn’t get my head to take it in.
“Was she-” I began. He moaned very softly. “This woman,” I said. “Was she really messed up? Her face? She was, right? Gus, it might have been her car and I know about the note, but it can’t have been Becky.”
“Why are you doing this?” he said. “What’s wrong with you?” His voice had risen, and I flashed back to that day with the cakes, how scared I’d been, how fast I’d backed away.
“You’re upset,” I said. “Of course you are. But listen: you were talking to Becky on the phone at quarter-past five. What time did this woman die?”
“Three o’clock,” said Gus. “Give or take, they said. But it’s Becky. Her face was fine. It was a message. I told you that before.”