lost among the travellers who passed lifetimes searching for themselves in shadowless landscapes. She was already starting to forget certain things about him. If he decided to return, she would consider her plan of action, but nothing would ever be the same between them.
At least the house was becoming more presentable. Fresh paint and paper had brightened the rooms, and with the fee from a new modelling contract she would be able to afford a new kitchen in the basement. An electrician had provided plans for a runway of halogen bulbs that would bring much-needed light into the lower-ground floor.
The basement bathroom still needed work, but something stopped her from tackling the job. Dampness lived on in its corners like the shadows of a persistent illness. On some mornings, she could see her breath in the room’s cold spots. The spiders had returned, despite all her efforts to dislodge them, and a patch of parquet remained permanently slick with icy sweat. Until she could bring herself to tackle the problems, she would continue to stay out of the room as much as possible.
The doorbell made her jump. As Kallie opened the front door, Heather pushed past her excitedly. ‘He’s back!’ she called. ‘Look in your garden, I saw him a moment ago.’
‘Who? The old man?’ For once, Kallie was almost glad to see her neighbour. At least she provided a distraction from her own problems.
‘Can you believe it? He’s right where he always stands, inside that bush—you should really cut it down.’ She peered from the back landing window, wiping the glass. ‘Damn, I can’t see him, but he was there. I was trimming shallots over the sink and looked up. Goes to show the police are telling us lies.’
‘What do you mean?’ Kallie asked, searching for signs that Tate had returned to the garden.
‘I immediately rang the Peculiar Crimes Unit and spoke to Sergeant Longbright. She told me the old tramp had died in a fire at his hostel. But if he’s dead he must have a twin—although I do think he’s wearing different clothes now. What could have happened?’
Kallie was taken aback, less by the news than by Heather’s attitude. With little else to focus her energies on, she had lately become the eyes and ears of the street, watching and listening with a hysterical intensity that disturbed Kallie.
‘Either the police know and are lying to us for some reason, or he got out of the building somehow,’ said Heather. ‘This means we can’t rely on them for help, don’t you see? I’m sure that disgusting, sinister old man is behind it all. You could be in danger, and the police aren’t willing to do anything about it. They’ll see you murdered in your bed first, like poor Jake.’
‘We could all be in danger, Heather.’
‘He’s in your garden, don’t you understand? It’s you he wants. Why don’t they do something more to protect us?’
‘How can they unless they know what they’re dealing with?’ asked Kallie. ‘They haven’t a clue. It’s like when you report a burglary; you never expect to get your stuff back. I was just about to make some tea. Stay and have one.’
‘I can’t stop long.’ Heather reluctantly left the window.
‘Does he never come into your garden?’
‘Oh, I’ve seen him there once or twice, but he seems far more interested in you.’
‘That’s comforting.’
‘I’m sorry, I don’t mean to frighten you. I mean, this is having an effect on all of us. Randall Ayson’s wife is threatening to leave him, did you hear? Everyone says he’s been having an affair, and he’s supposed to be a born-again Christian. Which means that the only people down this street who are still in stable relationships are Omar and Fatima, despite the fact that she can’t have kids and he’s desperate to be a father, and that horrible property developer, Mark Garrett, and his girlfriend, who of course will never get a wedding ring out of him, and the Wiltons, although I wouldn’t be surprised if Oliver wasn’t playing away. Brewer’s been telling his father he wants to be a policeman, but Oliver wants him to become a lawyer.’ She paused for a breath. ‘Have you heard anything more from Paul?’
‘Nothing. He seems to have vanished off the face of the earth.’
‘Men! What is it that requires them to turn into teenagers for the whole of their thirties? Nobody ages gracefully any more. Whatever happened to pipes?’
‘Mr Bryant smokes one.’
‘Well, there’s a limit. He’s short enough to be my