‘Too early,’ I say to him, my voice loud and shaky in the silent house. But the cat’s calmness relaxes me slightly. If there was someone else still here, he would have sensed it, surely, would be on alert. I check back through all the rooms again anyway, looking behind curtains and anywhere else someone might be concealed. The cat follows me every step of the way until I return to the kitchen and put a few treats in his bowl.
I watch him eat. I’ve been on my own here every night for three months but I’ve never felt as alone as I do right this minute. Did I leave the kitchen door unlocked? I was still tired from the previous night at the police station, still strung out and distracted. Maybe I just forgot to do it. Locking up the house at night always used to be Richard’s job, one of his night-time tasks, and I’m still acclimatising to his absence. I think for a moment. Maybe it was Richard. Maybe he let himself in – he still has a key. But why would he be creeping around in the middle of the night? That wouldn’t make sense at all, and he would have mentioned it on the phone earlier – but I text him anyway. Maybe I shouldn’t have had that third glass of wine before I went to bed. Maybe I really did just forget to check the back door.
Or maybe someone is still looking for Mia, and he found a way in.
Because he thought she might be here. With me.
Another thought comes swiftly after the first.
As long as he is still out there, Mia is still in danger.
23
I leave all the lights on for the rest of the night. Sleep is an impossibility now, so instead I check all the doors and windows again, search all the rooms twice – even the little box room and the garage – checking under all the beds, then finally shower and dress and put a pot of coffee on. No TV or radio, no Alexa, nothing to mask the sound if someone tries to get into my house again. I make a mental note to buy a couple of deadbolts for the kitchen door and fit them before tonight. Then I scan a dozen news websites for updates on Mia and Kathryn, but there doesn’t seem to be anything new beyond what they were running yesterday. Kathryn is still missing. The unnamed baby is barely mentioned, almost a footnote to the story now she has been found. The CCTV image of me no longer features on most of them.
I wait until 7 a.m. to make the call. He picks up after three rings, answering with a single word.
‘Gilbourne.’
‘Hello, Detective Inspector, it’s Ellen Devlin.’
A moment of silence.
‘Ellen,’ he says, his voice rising with surprise. On the phone he sounds younger. ‘Hello.’
‘Sorry to call so early, but I need to talk to you.’
‘Everything OK?’
‘Erm, yes. I think so. For now, anyway.’
It’s not entirely true. I can’t shake the sense that someone is behind me, whenever I stand with my back to the room, whenever I’m near an open door, as if someone is going to burst through it any moment. The sense that someone is following me, watching me. Waiting for me.
‘Are you sure?’ he says. There is a rustling noise before his voice comes back clearer. ‘Where are you?’
‘I’m at home.’
‘You’re safe?’
I feel a little glow of appreciation, that his first thought is for my well-being.
‘I’m fine,’ I say. ‘Is now a good time?’
There is another pause on the line. He’s breathing heavily, I realise, breaths punctuating each word as if he’s just climbed a steep flight of steps. I’m about to say more when his voice returns, cutting through the silence.
‘Sorry Ellen, can I call you back in literally one minute?’
‘Sure,’ I say. ‘Of course.’
He rings off without another word and I stand in the middle of my kitchen with the phone in my hand, staring out at the empty garden. Another area that was always Richard’s domain, the mowing and weeding and pruning the little apple tree at the end. There’s a six-foot fence on all three sides. Was that how the intruder had got in, pulling themselves up and over a fence panel? I can’t see any obvious signs of damage, but one side borders the street – that would be the obvious place to come over. Dizzy sits on