just about finished the check, the door to Flat 1 opened and Mrs. Mackenzie emerged, resplendent in a floral housedress and slippers. “Is that you, Cathy?”
“And me,” Stuart said.
“Oh, lovely! Both of you together.” She gave me a hard stare, the one I usually got when she caught me in the middle of checking the door. We all stood there for a moment looking at each other.
“Well, I can’t stand here chatting all day,” Mrs. Mackenzie said at last, “I’d never get anything done.”
She went back inside, and Stuart and I looked at each other. “Does she do that to you as well?” he whispered.
I nodded. “Just don’t mention Christmas to her, she doesn’t like it.”
“I know. I made that mistake last week. Here’s that message.”
It was a “While You Were Out” note, preprinted, and it had my name on it. Other than the standard boxes that allow you to tick options, the only information on the form was a name—Sam Hollands—a cell phone number and a landline number, and the message:
PLS PHONE ASAP
He handed it to me before I realized it, and of course by that point, with all the interruptions, the door was unchecked and I would have to start the whole damn thing again.
“The door is locked, Cathy,” he said gently, seeing my expression. “We can’t stand here all night. Let’s go and have a drink.”
“I can’t just leave it.”
“Yes, you can. Come on.”
“Why are you in such a huge hurry all of a sudden?”
“I’m not in a hurry,” he said.
He was so serene, so impossibly calm, I found myself getting wound up. “Why don’t you just go, and let me get on with it, then?”
“I’m not going to accommodate the OCD.”
I burst out laughing. “You what?”
“Cathy, you don’t need me to reassure you. You are going to get your condition under control. If I keep getting involved with your checking rituals, even by waiting for you to do them, you’re not going to be as motivated to work at it.”
“Oh for fuck’s sake. You’re such a fucking psychologist.”
“Yes, I am, as you keep pointing out. But I have actually finished work and I’d really like to go upstairs with you, right now, and have a drink. So come on.”
He made me go upstairs in front of him, the bit of paper clutched in my hand. I didn’t look back at the door. On the first floor I stopped and looked at the door of my flat. The need to go in and start checking it was very strong.
“Come on, Cathy, don’t stop,” Stuart said. He was halfway up the next flight of stairs already.
“I need to go and phone this person, this”—I checked the message—“Sam Hollands.”
“Do it from my flat,” he said.
When I still didn’t move, he came back down the stairs to me. “Your flat is still secure from when you left it this morning,” he said. “Isn’t it?”
Before I had time to consider this, he took hold of my hand. “Come upstairs,” he said.
After that, I could move.
Stuart’s flat was warmer than mine, and bright with all the lights on. He put the oven on and started busying himself in the kitchen. “Are we having a cup of tea, or a bottle of wine?” he asked.
“Wine, I think,” I said. “Shall I open it?”
He handed me a bottle from the fridge, and I found the glasses in the cabinet. “You’d better call that Sam Hollands,” he said, “before you forget.”
I took the message with me into Stuart’s living room and sat on the sofa, looking at it with trepidation. At this time of night, it didn’t seem worth checking the landline number, it was probably an office. So I tried the cell number. It rang for an age. Eventually it was answered—a woman’s voice.
“DS Sam Hollands speaking.”
DS? “Hello. This is—Cathy Bailey. You left me a note.”
“Hold on a moment, please.” There were muffled sounds, voices in the background, as though DS Hollands was holding the phone against her jacket or something.
I felt my heart rate speeding up, my mouth dry. I felt sick. What the fuck did the police want? It couldn’t possibly be anything good, could it?
“Yes, sorry about that, Miss Bailey. Cathy, was it? Thanks for calling me back.”
More muffled sounds.
“Right. I work at the Domestic Abuse office at Camden Police Station. I called by with regard to Lee Brightman.”
“Yes?” My voice had almost gone.
“It’s a courtesy call, really. I just wanted to let you know that Lee Brightman is going to