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She shakes her head, gripping my forearm so tightly, I picture nail marks left on my skin. ‘Nothing’s been stolen,’ she says. ‘It might be a prank.’
‘Aprank?’
‘I just don’t think we should bother the police,’ she mutters, letting go of my arm and turning away.
I stare at the evil-looking figures on the table. ‘Well, no oneIknow would break in during the night and leavethemfor a prank, scaring the living daylights out of everybody.’
Irene draws in a breath. ‘Clara, I don’t want Bertie disturbed,’ she says, sounding more like her normal self. ‘He’ll wake up if the police come and I don’t want him to be scared.’
I nod slowly. Of course. Bertie.
‘Go back to bed,’ Irene urges. ‘I’ll cover the broken window with something and... we can call the police in the morning. Although I still don’t think we should bother them. They won’t be able to do anything.’
‘But what if the intruder comes back?’
Irene shakes her head. ‘They won’t.’
‘But how do you know?’
She swallows. ‘I just do.’
When I throw her a look of disbelief, she says quickly, ‘Look, he’s not going to risk returning to the scene tonight, is he? Not if the police might be here.’
‘True. I suppose it’s unlikely.’
‘There you go.’ She pats my arm. ‘Now, get some sleep, Clara, and we’ll think about all this in the morning, okay?’
She looks white-faced and hung-over, but what she’s saying makes sense. She’s right about not wanting Bertie disturbed. Ihadn’t thought of that. I was too busy thinking that I didn’t want to alert the attention of nosy Pru Collinson, our neighbour over the road. Pru’s already made it quite clear that she disapproves of Irene as a mother and she always seems to be spying on us through her net curtains. (Not that she has net curtains but you get the idea.) If the police were to arrive in the middle of the night, Pru would have a field day with her binoculars and it would be all round the street by breakfast time!
And what could the police do, anyway, if we were to call them now?
I check on Bertie and it’s clear he’s slept through the whole drama. That’s something, anyway. Smiling, I pick up the dinosaur cushion that’s lying on the floor and pop it back on his chair. Irene clearly cares a lot more than she likes us to see, worrying about Bertie being disturbed like that.
Back in my room, I notice there’s a text from Shaun to say goodnight, and I have a sudden urge to call him. It would be so good to hear his voice, practical and reassuring. But it’s after midnight and I don’t want to disturb him. If I woke him up, he’d likely jump in his car and come straight over, knowing I’d be feeling a bit scared and vulnerable after what’s happened. But Shaun works hard and he needs his sleep. So reluctantly, I put my phone back on the bedside table and get into bed.
For a long time, I stare into the darkness, my mind turning somersaults trying to figure out the mystery.
Finally, exhausted, I manage to drift off...
*****
When I wake, it’s after eight and the first thing on my mind is:Did Lois propose last night and did Rory say yes?
I turn over, burying my face in the pillow with a groan.
Why does life have to be so complicated? Of all the people in the entire universe, why did Rory have to end up falling for mystep-sister? It’s all so bloody inconvenient.
Then I remember last night.
The intruder! Those scary Russian dolls!
I sit bolt upright and listen but there’s no sign of anyone up and about. Pulling on my dressing-gown, I head downstairs, an echo of the fear I felt the night before slowing my steps.
The kitchen is silent.
I take a deep breath, bracing myself to look at the table. And despite knowing what I’ll see, my heart lurches nonetheless.
They’re still there. Five Russian dolls. Lined up in a perfectly spaced row in order of height– small, medium, large. Black and white and foreboding, with their painted-on scarlet mouths.
