A Desirable Residence - By Madeleine Wickham Page 0,40

you? Here.’ The silhouette loomed towards her, and she felt a strong hand under her arm, hauling her free of the bike. It fell with a clatter to the ground, and suddenly she was standing up, next to the voice.

‘Are you OK?’ he said. The torch flashed over her face again. ‘No, you don’t really look like a bike thief. So, what were you after? I didn’t think there was anything in here.’

‘My lighter,’ muttered Alice.

‘What, cigarette lighter?’ His voice held surprised amusement. ‘How old are you?’ Alice was silent. ‘All right then, what does it look like?’

‘Silver. I think it’s over there.’ She pointed, and his torch beam followed, picking out the saggy brocade of her pile of cushions, the old magazines, the Mars Bar wrappers littered around her corner.

‘Looks like you were quite at home in this place,’ he said conversationally. Alice said nothing, but followed the path of the beam anxiously. She couldn’t have lost it, couldn’t . . .

‘There!’ Her voice rang out, with an excitement she would rather have hidden. ‘On that ledge. Beside the torch.’ And suddenly, as though she’d known all the time, she remembered putting it there while she fiddled with the nozzle of the torch, trying to get it to point downwards.

The figure beside her stepped forward, reaching effortlessly across the piles of stuff that were now blocking the path to Alice’s corner, and retrieved the lighter.

‘Thanks,’ she said, as her hand clasped its friendly shape. ‘God, if I’d lost it . . .’

‘Your mother would have killed you?’ he suggested. Alice giggled, and looked up. She could just about distinguish dark hair, dark eyes, not much else . . .

‘Well, thanks again,’ she said, and began to make a move towards the door.

‘Not so fast.’ A hand clamped on her shoulder and a sudden burst of panic ran through Alice’s body. This was what rapists did. She’d seen it on the telly. They pretended to be friendly and then suddenly they changed. ‘You don’t get away that easily,’ he continued. ‘I want you to come inside and say hello. Since you used to live here.’

‘I’ve got to get home, really,’ muttered Alice, thoughts of escape fluttering around in her mind.

‘Everyone would love to meet you,’ he insisted. ‘They sent me outside to see what the noise was and if I come back empty-handed they’ll be most unimpressed.’

‘Well, I dunno.’ Actually, he sounded as if he might be normal. But perhaps that was the trick.

‘And I’m sure you’d like a cup of coffee. Or a glass of whisky?’

Alice paused, and glanced at the shadowy face. There were other people in the house. She’d heard them. And if he tried to rape her she’d flash her lighter in his face and scream really loudly.

‘All right,’ she said slowly.

‘Good!’ They began to walk towards the house, and Alice’s fears started to recede as they approached the familiar back door.

‘I’m Piers, by the way,’ the man was saying. ‘And you’re Anna, did you say?’

‘Alice.’

They went swiftly through the kitchen, through the hall, and into the sitting-room. There they stopped, and Alice blinked, and looked bemusedly around. It was the same room as before, with the same walls and the same fireplace and even the same sofa. But now it was full of strangers, and it smelt different, and somehow it looked foreign. There was a strange rug on the floor, and there were loads of candles everywhere, and there was a high-tech-looking sound system in the corner.

‘This is Alice,’ Piers was saying, in an amused voice, ‘who used to live in this very house and, to my great regret, wasn’t trying to steal your bike, Duncan.’ A man sitting on the floor gave a sort of high-pitched squeal, and Alice jumped.

‘That’s Duncan,’ Piers began to say. ‘Don’t take any notice of him. And this is my wife Ginny, and . . .’

But Alice wasn’t listening. She was staring at the man sitting on the sofa. His face was so familiar, she gave a sort of sigh of relief, and all thoughts of rape went out of her head. She knew him from somewhere. But where? School? He wasn’t a teacher and he was too young to be a father. Did he live in Russell Street? Was he one of those neighbours they’d never really got to know? Suddenly his name came into her head.

‘I know you,’ she began. ‘You’re Rupert . . .’

She stopped, gasped, and reddened. As she said his name, she suddenly

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