Amber and George’s car is parked outside. The small window at the front is open. Everything suggests that someone is in.
I enter the park by the gates and do a brisk circuit of the paths to see if Amber is taking Mabel for a stroll in the buggy. There’s no sign of her, so I buy a coffee from the café and take it to the bench by the duck pond. It’s covered in bird shit, but in the perfect position. From here I have a distant but clear view of the front door.
I press the key against my chest through the layers of coat, jumper and T-shirt, breathing in the memory of Saturday night, the flood of adrenaline that coursed through my veins. I want to go inside but I have to resist the urge. I’m here to test the key, that’s all.
The minutes tick by slowly. I’m like a cat standing guard at a mouse hole, waiting for my prey to emerge. I’m so fixated by the door of number 74 that I forget to drink my coffee. It’s cold today; the pond is shivering in the wind and even the ducks are sheltering in the reeds. Nobody else is sitting on a bench. I won’t be able to stay here much longer without drawing attention to myself.
Come on, Amber, my little mouse, out you come …
Fifteen minutes later, my prayers are answered. The door miraculously opens and Amber pushes the buggy onto the front path. She’s not in her usual scruffy jeans and fleece, but is wearing that green woollen coat again, this time with slim black trousers. Her hair looks nice and I think she’s even got some lipstick on. She’s made an effort, which suggests she’s going somewhere special. This is good news. It means she will be out for a while.
She pulls down the rain hood of the buggy and sets off along William Morris Terrace, heading away from the park. I watch her disappear, then stand up and pour my cold coffee into the flower bed before chucking the cup in the recycle bin. I’m itching to run over there and put the key in the lock, but I have to hold back and wait. If I’m seen entering the house only moments after Amber leaves, that will look suspicious. There’s also a chance that she might forget something and come hurrying back. Timing is everything.
I stand up and lean over the railing of the little bridge, pretending to watch the mallards and the squawking Canada geese. I feel for the string necklace and pull it over my head, transferring the key to my pocket. Okay, I’ve waited long enough … It’s now or never.
In case anyone is watching, I pretend to check the time on my non-existent watch and do a little reaction, as if I’m late for something. This motivates me to walk briskly, but not too briskly, towards the park exit. I’m trying to look relaxed yet purposeful, as if I have an unquestionable right to enter the house. I could be a cleaner, for example, or a relative – somebody who comes and goes all the time.
I don’t stop or pause, but cross the road immediately and walk through the front gate and straight up to the door. Got to be quick, in case the downstairs or next-door neighbour look out of their windows. My fingers tremble as I slide the key in, then ease it round until it bites and turns. I exhale with relief.
Now what? I promised myself I would only try the door, but now that I’m here, it’s so tempting to go inside. I’ve no reason to – Mabel isn’t there. It would be an incredibly risky thing to do in broad daylight, especially when I don’t know when Amber will be back …
But I can’t resist.
I push the door open. It shudders as its bottom edge scrapes over the tiles. I quickly enter and close it behind me, being careful not to slam it in case it alerts the neighbour. Pausing for a moment, I absorb the empty silence of the flat. I walk up the stairs – noting the treads that creak – and enter Mabel’s bedroom.
Everything looks different in the daylight. Shabbier. The wall frieze isn’t as pretty as I thought, the paintwork on the cot is a little chipped, the animal mobile hasn’t been hung straight. There is condensation on the window, which can’t be healthy for tiny lungs.
‘Not good enough,’