Kate closed her eyes. She saw flames, smelt petrol.
“You say you spoke to Paul Sutherland,” Collins said. “Can you remember what time?”
“I don’t know … not late. Eight o’clock, perhaps.”
“This was just after three. But I only found out an hour ago myself. Otherwise I’d have let you know sooner. There’s supposed to be communication but you wouldn’t know it, half the time.” He sounded apologetic.
Her stomach lurched as a thought struck her. “Oh, God, you want me to identify him, don’t you?”
Collins was startled. “Good God, no! No, that’s already been done. I just came to tell you, that’s all.” He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “I don’t want to upset you needlessly but … well, it might not be a bad thing if there’s someone you can stay with. Just for a few days.” He seemed to find it difficult to look at her.
“You think he was planning to do something to me, don’t you?” she said. “Then he saw Paul and followed him home and set fire to his house instead.”
“Not necessarily. I just think you might be better off somewhere else, that’s all. But we’ll still keep a close watch on your flat and here, regardless.” He gave an unconvincing smile as he stood up. “Don’t worry. We won’t let him get to you.”
Caroline and Josefina were clearly surprised when she closed the agency soon after the two policemen had left, but Kate didn’t offer any explanation. She took a taxi home rather than face the Underground. The streets that had been sunny that morning were now grey with the coming dusk. They hit a traffic jam, and Kate watched the meter ticking away as they sat among the fumes and car horns, and wondered if she had enough cash for the fare. Part of her hoped she hadn’t.
Her conversation with Paul played in a loop in her head. Every nuance, every inflection sounded with a new and callous finality. She thought about the last thing he had said to her. Look after yourself. She hadn’t bothered to tell him to do the same. Be careful, she could have said. He’s dangerous. He burns people. Look after yourself. But she hadn’t.
It was growing dark when the taxi turned onto her road. She paid the driver, almost disappointed to find she had enough money to spare herself that humiliation. The cab pulled away, leaving her alone on the pavement.
Kate glanced up and down the street. It was empty. She went up her path and had almost reached the door when something about the scene belatedly registered. She went back to the gate again. There was still no one in sight, but further along on the pavement, indistinct in the fading light, was the object that had struck a jarring note.
She began to walk towards it. It had too many angles and edges to make sense, but as she drew nearer they began to resolve into distinct shapes. A square of cardboard on the kerb edge. Under it, a still, furry heap.
Kate reached it and stopped. Four paws and a thick brush of tail stuck out from beneath the cardboard. On it, in what looked like lipstick, someone had written, SORRY.
She bent down and lifted off the cardboard. Dougal lay on his side. He was unmarked, but his eyes were half open, and the tip of his tongue was sticking out between his teeth. His fur looked dusty. Pieces of grit were caught in it. His legs were crossed, as though he were running.
“Is it your cat?”
A little girl of about six or seven was standing nearby, watching with solemn interest. Kate nodded, looking down at Dougal.
“A woman in a car did it this afternoon,” the little girl said. “She ran over him and put him there. She was crying. Are you going to cry?”
Kate didn’t answer. Taking the piece of cardboard, she gently slid it under the cat’s body. He began to roll off, moving with it. She tentatively steadied him with one hand while she pushed it the rest of the way underneath. The cat felt cold and heavy. The cardboard sagged in the middle when she stood up. She had to support it with both arms.
“Are you going to bury it?” the girl asked. Kate didn’t look at her.
“Yes.”
She left the little girl on the pavement and carried Dougal back towards her flat. Her bag slipped off her shoulder and swung from her elbow, bumping against her legs, but she ignored it. She went through the gate and took a few more steps before coming to a standstill. The tiny garden confronted her with its covering of paving stones. Only the small hole where the rose bushes were choked in the centre had been left free. Kate looked at the slabbed ground as she stood holding her dead cat, and the first sob tore loose from her throat. She stumbled forward, chest heaving as she laid Dougal by the wall and blundered for the front door. Tears blinded her. She put the wrong key in the lock and struggled to pull it out before finding the right one. She clutched at the banister as she ran upstairs, not bothering to turn on any lights. In darkness, she groped for the phone and dialled by the glow from the answer machine.
It rang four times before it was interrupted. When she recognised Lucy’s recorded message Kate sagged with despair. Her stomach hurt with the force of her sobs, and she could barely wait until the recording finished.
“Lucy, it’s Kate, I’m sorry, please — “
The phone was picked up at the other end. “Yes?”
Lucy’s voice was inflectionless. Kate struggled for composure. “I … it’s me. Look, I … I know I shouldn’t just call you but … oh, God, look, please, can I come over?”
There was no answer.
“Please!”
Another hesitation. “Okay.”
Kate managed a choked thanks and rumbled the phone down. She stood for a moment, head bowed, and then dialled the number of a taxi firm from memory.
She waited in the dark until the cab honked outside. The street lights had come on, throwing the area in front of the garden wall into deep shadow. The cat’s body was invisible as Kate slammed the front door and ran down the path. It felt like someone else she had let down. She was about to get into the taxi when she remembered all her change had gone on the other cab. She dashed back inside and searched in drawers until she had scraped together enough money for the fare. The driver tutted, irritably, when she returned.
Kate huddled in the back seat and watched a normal world go by.
The nervousness didn’t start until the cab had dropped her outside Lucy and Jack’s. It seemed an age since she had been to the big house. She hesitated with her hand on the gate. I’m doing exactly what Lucy accused me of. Running to them now I’m in trouble. She didn’t care how much contempt and blame Lucy heaped on her, though. Just so long as there was no rejection. She couldn’t stand the thought of losing anyone else.
Kate went up the path. She wiped her eyes as she rang the bell, knowing that she must look a mess. She heard someone approaching, and then Lucy opened the door.
They looked at each other without speaking. In the background Kate could hear the chatter of the TV, see the cheerful spill of light from the lounge and kitchen. It silhouetted Lucy in the unlit hall. Kate couldn’t make out her expression.
Wordlessly, Lucy stood back so that she could enter.
Kate couldn’t look at her as she crossed the doorway. She retreated from her silence and made her way uncertainly towards the lounge. Lucy closed the door and followed her as Kate stepped around Jack’s heap of boxes in the hall. The house smelt of food and dirty nappies. She went into the brightly lit room.
The TV was blaring out some frantic children’s programme. Jack and Emily were engrossed in watching it, their backs to Kate as they sat side by side on the settee. They didn’t notice her go in. Angus was in his playpen next to them, which surprised her since he had outgrown it long since. He began to cry when he saw her, holding out his arms to be picked up, and Kate instinctively went towards him. The forced, bright greeting was already on her lips when she reached the settee and the words died.