Dead Wrong - [36]

The bathroom was empty. Towels folded neatly on the radiator, bath toys held in a bright red net bag slung over the taps. The top was on the toothpaste tube.

There were three other doors. All closed.

‘Debbie?’ It was almost a whisper. I cleared my throat and spoke up. ‘Debbie?’ Silence.

I opened the first door. Bunk beds, pink curtains, Spice Girls posters. No Debbie.

The second. Apricot walls, white cover on the bed, built-in wardrobe. Could she be hiding in there? ‘Debbie?’ I braced myself, slid back the door. Skirts, blouses, suits all neatly hung. Shoes paired. Jumpers folded.

One more door. The boys’ room.

I heard knocking, downstairs, the front door. My heart tried to get out. I ran to the window and peered out. He’d moved, was no longer standing sentinel across the street. Shit.

Go and answer it then, you twerp. My thumping heart wouldn’t quite knuckle under. I took a couple of deep breaths then walked downstairs quite normally.

‘Hello?’ I spoke to the door. ‘Who is it?’ No reply. I turned the Yale but couldn’t open it. Of course, she kept it locked.

I heard a sound then – tiny, from the back. Oh God, he was coming in the back! The kitchen door was shut. I couldn’t see through it. I didn’t want to be trapped upstairs. I moved as quietly as I could into the lounge. Stood right behind the door, pressed against the wall. I heard the squeak of the kitchen door-handle, the door being pulled open. There was silence as he listened and I listened, and my knee tremored uncontrollably. He was trying to work out where I was. Did he know that he was stalking the wrong woman? Would I be all right if I showed myself? My mind whipped through the options while the seconds stretched and the silence grew louder:

Wait to be found? Hope he’ll give up and go? Jump out wailing like a banshee and hope he’ll flee? Yes. I raised my hands ready to shove the door and leap.

Then a child’s voice cracked the silence. ‘Uncle Ricky, hiya.’

Footsteps, hubbub. Clattering sounds, voices.

I let my hands fall. Stepped from behind the door and out of the lounge to find Ricky and Debbie’s daughter in the hall. He looked at me in astonishment. Behind him, in the kitchen, I saw Debbie and the boys, laden with bags and lunchboxes.

I took a couple of paces forward, stared at her.

‘Oh, hiya,’ she looked pale and shaky but she smiled and laughed nervously.

‘Debbie,’ I said ‘I asked you to wait here. I didn’t know where you’d gone.’

Ricky frowned, glanced from me to his sister.

‘I got here and the back door was wide open and he was still there across the street.’

Ricky moved towards the front door.

‘He’s gone now,’ I snapped, ‘and I didn’t get a chance to go after him because you called me and I thought you needed my help, and when I get here it’s like the Marie Celeste and you’re nowhere to be found.’

‘I had to get the children,’ she chewed on her chain.

‘I rang the school,’ I said ‘as I promised I would. I asked you to wait, said we’d go together. I didn’t know what had happened to you. You left the door wide open, you know, anyone could have walked in.’

‘Sorry,’ she giggled again breathlessly and smiled at me. But her eyes were bright with fear. ‘I’m fine now.’

Much as I admired the reserves of strength she must have summoned to get herself out of the house in that state and collect her kids, I still had one overwhelming impulse towards Debbie Gosforth.

I wanted to slap her face.

I had a look round the nearby streets in case I could see the stalker’s car, but had no joy.

Back at Debbie’s the children were watching television and Debbie and Ricky were in the kitchen. I sat down and accepted a cup of tea. Then I collected some more details from her.

The phone calls had continued. She was following the phone company’s advice; they would monitor the situation, see if he got tired of the lack of reaction. There had been another letter. She handed it to me with trembling fingers. The spiky, black writing added an edge to the venomous sentiments expressed. At times he’d pressed so hard that the paper was torn. G quoted some Biblical passages about harlots and vengeance, and went on to claim that Debbie had betrayed their love and tried to destroy him. I will get you, he had written, the words underlined several times for effect. Slag, whore, sister of Jezebel. I will cut off your breasts, rip out your tongue.

‘Oh God, this is horrible.’ I handed the first page to Ricky.

G ended with a plea for reconciliation. I can forgive you, Debbie, and destiny can find its way and our true love shine. Don’t let them poison your mind any more. Don’t let them strangle our love. You know in your heart that what you are doing is wrong. Debbie, my love is a flame that will never die. Now that I have found you I will never let you go. WE WILL BE TOGETHER. G

I sighed and passed Ricky page two.

I had to push and prompt to get Debbie to talk. She had noticed him watching the house as she returned from shopping early that afternoon. He’d approached her. As she got to that part of her story, she began to tremble violently, almost unable to speak. Ricky shifted in his seat, tried to take her hand but her hands flew here and there touching the studs in her ears, grazing the chain, patting her hair.