if he’s been abusive towards her, then would he really go to the police? But then again, other people’s issues are often more complicated than they first seem. There are always two sides to every story. Not that there’s any excuse to treat another person badly, but the man before me seems so sincere.
He pulls something else out of his pocket. It looks like a piece of scrunched-up paper, but then I see it’s actually a small pile of paper slips. He hands one to me. ‘Here’s my name and phone number, in case you see her. Even if you’re unsure whether it’s my wife or not, will you call me? Because I can’t eat, I can’t sleep, not until I know she’s okay.’
‘Uh, sure.’ I glance at the slip and see the name Greg followed by some scribbled digits.
‘Greg.’
He nods.
‘What’s your last name?’
‘Jones.’
‘Greg Jones? And your wife is called Sophie? So, Sophie Jones, yeah?’
His eyes narrow.
‘In case I see her.’
His shoulders relax. ‘I’m really worried for her safety. I feel like I’m in a nightmare.’
If I didn’t know better, I’d swear he was telling the truth. ‘If I see her I’ll call you.’ The lie catches in my throat and I cough.
‘Thanks,’ he mutters.
‘Good luck.’ I swallow.
He fixes me with a final, piercing stare that quite unnerves me. Then he nods and walks away.
I close the door and realise that my whole body is shaking. That I can hardly breathe. I only hope I managed to keep my nerves hidden well enough from him, because if he suspects Sophie’s here, I don’t know what he’ll do. Maybe everything he said about going door to door was a lie. Maybe he already knows she’s here. He could possibly have spotted her through the window at some time over the past day. I rush back into the lounge and stare critically at both windows – the curtains are fully drawn with no gaps, and the blinds are closed behind them. I’m sure there’s no way he could see anything through there.
But what about while I was out at work? Perhaps Sophie walked past an exposed window without thinking. Or maybe one of the kids let something slip at school? This is stupid. My imagination is running away. If he’s a dangerous person and he knows she’s here, he would have tried to force his way in. Surely he would have seemed more threatening and mean, but he just seemed worried and exhausted.
I’m tempted to peer out of the window to see if Greg really is going door to door. But I’m too nervous to look. What if he’s standing outside and watching the house? The thought makes me shiver.
‘Kelly…’ It’s Sophie calling down quietly from the top of the stairs. ‘Was it him? Has he gone?’
‘Stay up there,’ I hiss. ‘He could still be outside.’
‘Oh my God, it was him wasn’t it? How did he know I was here? How did he find me?’
‘Shh. Let me just check the back door’s locked and then I’ll come upstairs.’
‘Be careful, Kelly. He’s not a nice man.’
At her words, my heart knocks uncomfortably in my chest and I start to think that I must be crazy for inviting this drama into my home. But then my mind swings back to Sophie and how, without my help, Greg might have found her and taken her back to whatever it was she’s trying to escape from.
I wish Michael was still alive. He’d know exactly what to do. Ever since he died, I feel like every decision I’ve made has been the wrong one. Like my judgement is off. I never used to feel like this. Then again, I know that he wouldn’t have approved of taking in this girl in the first place. But Michael is gone. And Sophie needs my help. So I’m going to have to live with my decision and continue doing what I think is best.
The back door is locked, as I knew it would be. I go from room to room checking the ground-floor windows, and they’re all locked too. So unless Greg tries to smash his way in, I think we’re secure. I’m hoping he doesn’t know for sure that Sophie is here, and that it’s like he says and he’s simply knocking on doors, trying his luck. One thing’s for certain though – this situation can’t continue. I’m going to have to persuade Sophie to either call the police or seek help elsewhere. Now that a potentially dangerous man