door that the kitchen is a mess.
Run. That’s my first instinct. Get away. Go to Tara’s house, to a hotel, anywhere but here. I take a step back towards my car, engine still ticking as it cools on the drive. But at the gate, I stop, the heat of shame rising up from my chest, the prickle of frustration and anger. I’ve never run away from anything in my life. I’ve stood and faced everything head-on. This is my house. My home.
Heart thumping in my chest, I turn back around and walk over to the patio to look in through the kitchen windows. Cupboards and drawers hang open, pots and pans and cutlery and food strewn across the floor. The lounge is worse. Through the closed patio doors I can see books and DVDs scattered everywhere, chairs knocked over, the sofa cushions ripped and scattered. The drawers of my antique writing desk pulled out and upturned, contents spilled. A bookcase knocked down, framed pictures lying in shattered glass, dark earth spilled across the carpet from pot plants knocked to the floor. There’s no sign of Dizzy and I look around the garden in case he’s waiting for me but he’s nowhere to be seen. He’s a smart little guy – he would know when to run and hide, where to wait out the storm.
I can’t see anyone inside. Phone in my hand, I step carefully into the kitchen and listen, waiting, straining my ears to hear any sound of movement. But the house is silent, as if it is exhausted, broken by this ordeal. The kitchen door hangs drunkenly, half off its hinges, fragments of wood and plaster from the wall scattered just inside on the kitchen floor. I’m about to try to push it closed when I remember I shouldn’t touch anything: my house is a crime scene now, there might be fingerprints. Evidence.
Gilbourne’s words ring in my ears again, the scepticism in his voice when I had called him about last night’s intruder. ‘The baby’s on your mind, it’s a pretty intense experience you’ve had. I can see why you might want to see a link between the two things.’
I’m not imagining this.
There is a spilled bag of rice near the kitchen door, grains scattered in a long white arc across the tiles, and I step over it into the hallway. It’s the same in here, coats thrown across the floor, their pockets pulled inside out. I pick up a few books and magazines spilt from the side table onto the stripped wooden floorboards, feeling something hard at the bottom of the pile. My iPad. I check the lounge again. The TV is still here, too.
I stop at the foot of the stairs, listen again with my phone in my hand. Silence.
One careful step at a time, I go slowly up the stairs. A faint smell of something here, of exhaled breath and disturbed air. The same faint scents as last night when I found my kitchen door unlocked, earthy and dark. Did I know they would come back for a second visit? Maybe. Perhaps I’ve just been in denial.
All four doors off the landing are open and it is clear that none of the bedrooms have been spared. The master bedroom is a riot of clothes on the bed, on the floor, bags and shoes and coats, all the drawers and wardrobes open. My bedside drawer is open and scattered beneath are my passport, a few credit cards and a small box of jewellery that includes a few items inherited from my grandmother. Diamond stud earrings that I haven’t worn in years, a silver chain bracelet. Still here.
When I go into the little box bedroom that looks out over the garden, all my fear turns to angry tears, a hard weight brimming behind my eyes.
Last night I was terrified at the idea of my home being invaded while I was upstairs. My sanctuary, my refuge from everything, being violated by a stranger. I’ve had an uneasy feeling all day that someone might be watching me, following me. Last night they left the house untouched but were close enough to hurt me if they wanted to. Today I was far away, safe, when they returned – but it’s still much worse, because of what they’ve done to this room.
It’s the room we once decorated as a nursery, sunshine yellow walls and soft cream carpet, one feature wall papered with circus animals. Neutral yellow, not pink or blue. Ready