if I was alone. Tonight felt different.
I checked the door, running my fingers along the edge, feeling for anything, any bumps or swells, which might indicate the door had been tampered with. Then the lock. Turn the handle, six times one way, six times the other way. I missed the sound of Mrs. Mackenzie’s television. I missed her coming out to see me.
I paused at the end of the first set of checks. This was normally the point at which she would open her door behind me.
I’m not sure if I felt something, or sensed it: a draft, maybe, a scent of food cooked a long time ago, a breath of cold air. I turned slowly and looked at the door. We’d shut it, and locked it, the night that Mrs. Mackenzie had been taken off in the ambulance. Stuart had phoned the management company that looked after the lease, told them what had happened. They were going to send someone over to collect the key, but so far nobody had turned up.
I frowned, squinted. The door looked odd.
I went a bit closer.
It was slightly open, a tiny sliver of blackness showing beyond the doorframe. I felt the draft again, definite this time, a whisper of cold air coming from inside.
I pulled at the door handle and it swung open. It wasn’t locked. Inside, everything was dark, dark as the grave.
I shut the door again, firmly. The lock caught and when I turned the handle this time it didn’t open. Stuart’s spare set of keys were in my bag. He’d put the key to Mrs. Mackenzie’s flat on the ring along with his other ones.
I found the keys, slotted the right one in the lock and turned it. I rattled the handle. I turned the key in the Yale lock and the mortise lock held the door fast. It was definitely shut and locked. If anyone was inside they would need a key to get out.
I went back to the front door for my second set of checks. It didn’t do the trick, though, because all I could think about was the door to Mrs. Mackenzie’s flat, which I’d turned my back on. What if I hadn’t locked it properly? What if the door had swung open again while my back was turned? What if it opened again by itself when I wasn’t looking?
I checked it again. It was still locked. I tried the Yale lock.
I checked the front door for a third time, to balance it all out again. Finally I felt better. I went up the stairs and let myself into my flat. The dining room light was on, as I’d left it, the rest of the flat dark and chilly. I waited for a moment just inside the door, listening to the sounds of the house, straining to hear anything unusual, out of place. Nothing.
I started checking the flat door, feeling vaguely uneasy but not sure why. I couldn’t get over the thought that I was on my own. Completely on my own.
By the time I finished the checks it was nearly nine. I’d been expecting to find something wrong, but everything was exactly as it should have been. It was just as well.
Finally I sat down to phone Stuart.
“Hey, it’s me.”
“At last, I was about to give up hope!” He sounded tired.
“How’s your dad doing?”
Stuart sighed and dropped his voice a little. I could hear a television faintly in the background. “He’s all right, really. He’s a lot frailer than the last time I saw him. I don’t think Rach really notices it, she sees him every day.”
“Did you get to the garden center?”
“Yeah, but it’s raining. Ended up looking around the greenhouses mostly. You wouldn’t believe how many different plants that man can look at and not get bored. And it’s cold up here, too. I really miss you, Cathy.”
“Do you?” I felt my cheeks flush, realizing at the same time that I was missing him, too. Even if we hardly saw each other during the week, with him being away I felt the absence of him like an ache.
“Yes. I wish you were here.”
“You’ll be back Sunday night. It’ll go fast.”
“It won’t. Not for me, anyway. What are you going to do with your Saturday?”
“I don’t know. Go to the Laundromat. Go for a run, maybe. I haven’t been for a while.”
There was a pause. “So it went well? Your session with Alistair?”
“It was fine. I’ve got homework to do—scoring everything. You know.”
“And you’re