Everything inside me tightens, but I do not slow my walk, anger and fear making me far too brave.
The tension balled tight inside me bursts into flame when the figure at the gate turns and I see his face.
It is the blond man, and he is coming out of Number 15.
I don’t know why, but I know I need to do something. And suddenly I am certain that nothing can happen to me out here on the open street, where I know for a fact that voices at night funnel up and echo into every bedroom. Whatever happens here now will be heard in all of these houses.
I speed up my walk and head straight for him.
He looks up, surprised to see me approaching him with clear intent.
“Hello,” I call out pointedly. “Sorry, hello there. You just came out of Number Fifteen there, yes?”
The man stops, turns, gives a wan smile that barely covers his annoyance. But I don’t care.
“Excuse me?” I say, again, louder. “Sir, you just came out of Number Fifteen, yes?”
He looks at me as if I’m mad. “Er, yeah,” he answers, his accent hard to place, Dutch or Scandinavian.
I smile warmly. “Great. It’s Chris, isn’t it? Marina’s husband?” I know he’s not Chris, of course, but I want to hearhimsay that, out loud.
His face tightens almost imperceptibly. He stalls for a moment, then sees that he’s trapped.
“No. No, I’m not Chris.”
I feign surprise. “Oh, I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize anyone else lived with Marina and Chris.”
“Ah, okay, night, then,” he mutters elusively. He goes to move away, but I am not going to let him do that.
“So you do live with them?” I ask loudly.
The man turns and frowns at me. “I’m sorry, what?”
“I asked you if you lived with Chris and Marina,” I reiterate.
“No, I don’t. I’m just a friend.”
“What’s your name?”
“What? Why?” he blurts, incredulous, before reining himself in. “I’m Eric. Why are you asking me?” he adds, genuinely confused.
It’s a good question.
“I have a package for Marina. If I give it to you, then I’d need to let them know who took it,” I fudge, with confidence.
The corners of his mouth twitch slightly, as it dawns on him that I’m unhinged but in a harmless way.
“Ah, I see. Well, it’s a bit late now for packages? Maybe she can collect it tomorrow?”
“Maybe she can, Eric,” I agree, with a pleasant wave. “Frankie, Number Eighteen. You have a good night, yeah?”
As I walk away, I feel his eyes bore into me until I disappear inside my house.
—
As soon as I get inside the house, I sit down in the hallway and plug in my laptop and look up Number 15 on Zoopla.
According to the listing, Chris and Marina bought it five years ago. I scroll through the old sales photos until I get to shots of the house.
