Enemy At The Window

by A J Waines

  Chapter 42

  The Present

  Jody was standing where he’d left her in the spare bedroom, still wearing her coat. She was clutching a warm towel to her chest like it was a missing child returned safely home.

  ‘I’m sorry to turn up without any warning, like this,’ she said, for the third time. ‘Once I’d given my statement to the police, I couldn’t go back to the house on my own.’

  ‘I’m glad you did. You’re safe, now.’ He peeled off the handbag she still had slung over her shoulder and led her into the bathroom. ‘Come on, you said you wanted a bath – I’ll get the water running.’

  Although Daniel was horrified to hear what had happened, it was almost a blessing to deal with someone else’s crisis for a change. With the trial coming up and Sophie’s future in the balance, it was refreshingly therapeutic to focus on Jody’s misfortune.

  ‘That would be divine.’ She dropped down onto the edge of the bath and kicked off her boots, as the water gushed and steam curled around the room.

  Daniel turned off the taps and silently closed the door behind him, leaving her to it.

  Once she’d dried off, she told and retold him the story of her ordeal, sitting with her bare feet curled underneath her on the single bed and wrapped in one of Sophie’s fluffy dressing gowns. ‘I thought he was going to kill me… I should have been better prepared… I’m so glad I still had the rape alarm in my bag… I was so scared…’

  Daniel sat beside her and allowed her to lean against him. Other than listen and offer her sanctuary, he didn’t know what else he could do.

  Eventually, she burned herself out with the endless monologue. Her breathing deepened and when he looked down, her eyes had closed. He carefully guided her head towards the pillow and reached for the duvet. She was still clad in the bulky dressing gown and when he tried to cover her, she opened her eyes.

  ‘Please don’t leave me.’

  For a split second, Daniel imagined the possibility of another scene altogether playing out in his mind. He swallowed hard and forced the images away.

  ‘I’ll only be in the next room,’ he replied, taking his hands away from the bed and edging backwards as though she was a primed hand grenade.

  The following morning, Daniel left a cup of tea beside Jody’s curled-up shape and left her to wake. He’d already phoned Kew to say he’d be late.

  ‘I want to say hello,’ Ben said, trying to get into the room.

  Daniel kept his hand on the door handle. ‘No, Ben. We mustn’t wake her up.’ He put his finger to his lips. ‘It’s time to go. We’re going to be late.’

  She must have heard them and called out. On hearing the voice Ben bounded in, a rucksack shaped like a bumblebee on his back with his name on it.

  ‘Sorry about that,’ said Daniel. ‘Someone was keen to see you before nursery.’

  ‘Are you still crying?’ asked Ben, who’d caught a fleeting glimpse of her when the doorbell had woken the pair of them after midnight.

  ‘I’m much better now, thank you. Look – dry eyes,’ she replied. She turned to Daniel. ‘Sorry about last night. I was in a bit of a state.’

  Ben sat on the bed and she stroked his hair.

  ‘Are you staying again tonight?’ Ben asked. ‘Then we can have a story.’

  ‘Not now, young man,’ Daniel intervened, ‘Jody has had a nasty shock and she needs lots of rest.’ He ushered him out of the flat and held up ten fingers twice to let her know how long he’d be.

  By the time he returned from the nursery, Jody was fully dressed and sitting hunched over a mug of coffee in the kitchen.

  ‘I’m starting to get really worried now,’ she said, her head propped up in her hands. ‘A break-in and now this, in a matter of days?’

  ‘This guy who threatened you – did you see him at all? Notice anything that could identify him?’

  ‘No, he was behind me. He came from nowhere. He wanted me to open the door, so he could get in.’ She shivered and gripped the mug.

  ‘A crazy fan from the theatre, maybe?’

  She shrugged.

  ‘Old or young?’

  ‘He had a deep voice,’ she said, ‘I’d say it wasn’t a teenager, but…’

  ‘What do the police think?’

  ‘They can’t do much.’ She shrugged. ‘They did tell me something, though. Useful for another time – heaven forbid.’

  Daniel gave her an inquiring look.

  ‘If you’re in trouble and call 999 and stay silent, the police won’t respond to the call, but if you dial 999 and cough or punch in 55, they’ll be on their way. It’s meant for times when it’s dangerous to be heard calling the police.’

  ‘A bit late now,’ he retorted. ‘What else did they say?’

  ‘They’re going to send a patrol car round more often to keep an eye on the house, but it’s not very reassuring, to be honest.’

  ‘No, I’m sure.’ He dropped his car keys on the table and sat down. ‘It wasn’t a random mugging? He didn’t want your purse?’

  ‘No – he was already in the front garden. Waiting. He wasn’t interested in my bag. He wanted to get into the house. He wanted something inside. It must be linked to the break-in.’

  ‘What about your sister?’

  ‘She’s in France. I haven’t told her yet.’

  ‘Maybe she should come back.’

  ‘Long trip – for what?’

  Daniel drummed his fingers on the table, unable to offer her an answer.

  Chapter 43

  Rick was late. As he came within sight of the stage door, he spotted Stuart leaning against the wall with a cigarette, reading The Sun. Stuart crushed the cigarette under his baseball boot and folded the newspaper.

  ‘About time. Where’s the best place to go?’ asked Stuart, picking up a couple of carrier bags full of shopping. ‘Have you got it?’

  ‘Let’s go to Vince’s café. And yes, I’ve got it.’ Rick tapped the pocket of his jacket.

  Vince showed them to a small private room at the back and brought through cappuccinos and a doughnut each. The room smelt of blocked drains and was crammed with tins of soup, beans and stacks of toilet paper.

  Stuart took a mouthful of doughnut, scattering sugar down his used-to-be white shirt. Rick couldn’t help noticing how much strain the buttons were under.

  ‘Here we are,’ said Rick, brushing away the granules from the table. Stuart snatched the wad of tissue paper and unwrapped the gold item with greasy fingers.

  ‘It’s in good condition,’ asserted Rick.

  Stuart turned the pocket watch over in his hands, then walked over to the barred window to hold it up to the light. Stuart wasn’t just a propmaker at the theatre; for the last three years he’d been making a nice little earner on the side selling jewellery, paintings and various not-so-antique antiques.

  ‘You’ve done your homework?’ Stuart asked him.

  ‘Just needs you to engrave the magic words inside the lid: “Count Aspen, April 1914”.

  ‘And he was definitely on the Lusitania?’

  ‘Duh!’ exclaimed Rick. ‘I’ve traced the records.’

  ‘Well, once I’ve finished with it, no one will be able to doubt it’s the real thing,’ said Stuart, using two oily fingers directly on the lens to push up his glasses. Rick wondered how he could possibly see out of them at all, never mind carry out such intricate work.

  Stuart opened the back to look at the mechanism.

  ‘It’s not working,’ Rick told him.

  ‘Good. It shouldn’t be after all this time. It doesn’t have any water damage so we’ll need to make out it was in a waterproof container of some sort.’

  ‘Sure – just make it look authentic for Hank.’

  ‘I’ll disguise the serial number,’ said Stuart. ‘It’ll look like genuine wear and tear. I think he should fall for it.’ He gave Rick a sugar-coated grin. ‘Hank was never the sharpest tool in the cupboard anyway.’

  ‘It’s “in the box”.’


  ‘What box?’ Stuart was searching on the table for something he thought he’d missed.

  Rick sighed. ‘I think you’ll find it’s “the sharpest tool in the…” never mind.’

  Stuart rewrapped the tissue around the watch and slipped it into his inside pocket. He took another mouthful of doughnut and allowed the jam to ooze onto his fingers. ‘Count Aspen, right?’ He stabbed at the sugary remains on the plate.

  Rick nodded impatiently. He was keen to get to the important bit. ‘How much will we get for it?’

  Stuart hesitated.

  ‘Come on – it cost me five hundred quid,’ Rick protested.

  Rick took a swig of coffee. It cost no such thing, of course, but he was damned if he was going to hand it over for nothing. Stuart didn’t need to know it had been lying forgotten in the shoebox in his mother’s wardrobe for years. If she hadn’t decided to sell the house in September, he’d never have come across it. Even so, he’d given the watch little thought for months, having become obsessed with the other significant item in said box.

  ‘Don’t forget Hank gets his cut,’ Stuart reminded him. ‘Once I take off the fee for the magnificent job I’m going to do forging an accompanying letter and producing phoney photographs to prove provenance, you should be getting in the region of fifteen hundred for your trouble.’

  ‘Is that all?’

  ‘Do you want me to do this or not?’

  A bead of spittle dribbled onto Stuart’s chin. Rick turned away and dropped his own doughnut back onto the plate without taking a bite.

  ‘We won’t know for certain until Hank gives it pride of place in his gallery. I’ll let you know once I’ve done the inscription and faked the paperwork.’

  ‘Sounds good. Pleased to do business with you, again.’ Rick couldn’t bring himself to look at Stuart’s sticky face. ‘You up for other deals, if they come my way?’

  ‘Definitely.’ Stuart raised his tacky hand for a high five, but Rick pretended he needed to tie his shoelace at the last second to avoid any contact. Then he opened the door to the clatter of dishes and smell of bacon from the main café area.

  Stuart bent down for his bags of shopping. ‘Let’s go for a drink sometime,’ he called out as Rick strode ahead of him.

  ‘Sure,’ said Rick, without turning round.

  Rick passed the till and was out of the place before Stuart had a chance to realise he’d been left with the bill.

  Chapter 44

  Sophie was sitting on the bed listening to her iPod while Shareen was doing her usual trick of pretending to speak to her, silently moving her mouth and forcing her to pull out the earphones.

  ‘I said, have you got any Lily Allen on there?’

  ‘Sorry, no.’

  ‘I’m bored,’ grumbled Shareen, kicking at the edge of the rug on the floor.

  ‘No one playing pool?’

  ‘I’m sick of pool.’

  ‘What about a jigsaw in the dayroom?’

  ‘Nah. There are always pieces missing. Doris eats them, silly cow.’ Shareen began picking the skin around her nails and tugging bits off with her teeth. ‘You been in the witness box yet?’

  ‘No. Should be today.’

  ‘Wanna talk about it? I can take you through what happens – the rough guide to getting the jury in the palm of your hand. Done it plenty of times myself.’

  Sophie’s stomach couldn’t cope with a discussion about what lay ahead. ‘It’s okay, thanks.’

  Shareen sighed and stared at Sophie’s magazine on the end of the bed. ‘You finished with that?’

  Sophie handed it over. ‘Keep it.’

  There was a photograph of a B-list celebrity cradling her newborn child on the front. Sophie found she couldn’t drag her eyes away from it. ‘It makes you think about what’s really important in life, doesn’t it, being in here?’ she muttered. She leant back and reached under her pillow, pulling out a photograph of Ben. She cradled it in her hands, fighting a flood of imminent tears. But it was like trying to hold back the Aswan Dam with net curtains. They spilled onto her cheek no matter how much she willed them not to.

  Shareen slid off her own bed and sat alongside without touching her. ‘Ah, but you’ll get to be with him soon, girl.’

  ‘No, I won’t,’ she whimpered. ‘I’m going to end up in prison.’

  Shareen shook her head vigorously. ‘No way. The judge will see sense. You’re not the murdering type. They’ll let you off. They’ve got to. You had a bad day, that’s all. They’ll see you got deluded with stress or something. It was one moment. They’ll see that’s not what you’re really like. They’ve got to.’

  Sophie let out a loud, shuddering sob as she clutched Ben’s picture. For the first time since the day she discovered Daniel’s infidelity the tears weren’t for herself – they were for Ben.

  ‘You hoping to go back and play happy families with that bloke of yours?’

  ‘Yes. No,’ she whimpered, ‘I don’t know.’

  Over time, Sophie had gradually let Shareen know the sketchy details that had led to her being sectioned. Under normal circumstances, telling someone such as Shareen her innermost thoughts would have been unthinkable, but these weren’t normal circumstances. Besides, it hadn’t been as awkward or shameful as Sophie had expected. Shareen had never pried and there were times when Sophie found her down-to-earth approach easier to bear than Greta’s non-stop deflecting chatter and her father’s pitiful sympathy.

  ‘But some lowlife faked those photos to make it look like your husband was screwing someone else.’

  ‘Yeah, but there’s still the other proof I found around the house. And this new redhead he’s been seeing.’

  ‘You ain’t letting him off the hook, then?’

  ‘I don’t know what to think. I can’t seem to work it out. Was I just delusional? Am I still unstable, is that why it doesn’t make any sense? Thing is, I feel so normal now. The mushy feeling in my head has completely gone.’

  ‘You certainly don’t seem off your rocker to me, sugar. In fact, put you alongside most of the other nutters in here and you stand out a mile.’

  Shareen gave her a teary smile.

  ‘I suppose I should take that as a compliment.’

  ‘Don’t give up, darlin’. You’ll be all right. Some funny stuff’s going on for sure, but it’ll all come out in the end.’

  ‘Will it?’

  Overcome with renewed panic, Sophie buried her face in Shareen’s torn T-shirt and felt an arm wrap around her. They stayed liked that, locked together, for what felt like a long, long time.

  Chapter 45

  The storm that had been brewing all day finally cracked open the sky with a tumultuous deluge as Daniel drove back from the last day of the trial.

  He pulled up outside his house just in time to see a text come in on his phone. Jayne had given birth to a little boy and both were doing well.

  The joy and relief he should have felt barely touched him, but he faked a jubilant tone and sent a cheery message in return. Regardless of the disaster that was his own life, he couldn’t let her down.

  His phone buzzed again as he was getting out into the downpour.

  ‘How did it go?’ came his mother’s anxious voice. ‘How is she? What was the verdict?’

  Franciska had been turning up at court regularly until today, when she’d slipped in the garden after breakfast and twisted her ankle.

  Daniel didn’t have the energy to bolt for the front door, so he slumped back into the driver’s seat.

  ‘Guilty,’ he croaked, finding the word loathsome to get his tongue round.

  ‘What? No!’

  ‘I can’t believe it either. We all thought she’d get diminished responsibility, but it looks like that didn’t hold enough water.’

  She sounded horrified. ‘Why not?’

  ‘The barristers think the jury were swayed by the fact that she had no history of mental illness and had showed no ongoing signs of instability.’

  ‘
What did the judge say?’

  ‘That the jury decided she was overcome with rage and lost control.’

  Daniel felt through his shirt to the thin fold of scar tissue and reran the chilling events of that ill-fated afternoon in February. At this moment, however, the attempt on his life was looking like the least of his concerns. All in all, the nightmare was just beginning.

  Franciska snatched a breath. ‘But what about the psychiatrists?’

  ‘They concluded that she was acting out of character, but essentially of sound mind. The problem is Sophie seemed completely normal during the trial. You mentioned it yourself, so poised and composed. It weighed against her.’

  She sighed heavily. ‘So, what happens now?’

  Daniel felt his mouth go dry. ‘With the support of Dr Marshall’s reports and my own statement, the sentence has been dropped to two years.’

  ‘Two years…’

  He simply gave his mother the facts. He didn’t want to dwell on the impact of it right now. Until he’d worked through it for himself, he couldn’t possibly put into words how he felt to anyone.

  ‘She’s been taken to Glenbrook women’s prison in Sutton. Her lawyer did his best to convince us all afterwards that she’ll be released early. It could have been a lot worse. Everyone says.’

  There was a silence. A cyclist shot past the car sending spray onto his window.

  ‘I’m really sorry. That’s dreadful. Poor Ben. I can’t…’ Franciska’s voice was high-pitched, strained. Just like Vincent’s voice had been when they’d discussed the outcome in the foyer of the court. Greta and Cassandra were there too, standing with their mouths open, unable to take it in, together with numerous other friends and family. Rick, thankfully, hadn’t shown up.

  Franciska tailed off, just as everyone else had done, unable to finish whatever she was trying to say.

  Daniel blew hot breath on the window beside him and watched the glass turn cloudy.

  If only you knew the half of it.