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‘What did you say?’ His whole face clouds over.
‘I… I…’ I slurp my words as if I’m drinking hot soup.
My father takes a single large step forward and pulls himself to his full height. Despite constantly complaining about the pain in his back, he’s perfectly capable of standing tall and straight when he wants to. He’s a head-and-shoulders taller than I am. And twice as wide. I separate my knees ever so slightly so they don’t knock together and make noise. My father raises his right hand, high above his head, and I close my eyes.
My eyes fly open again to the sound of knocking on the front door. Firm, evenly spaced knocks rattle in sets of threes. My father lowers his hand, and his venomous eyes warn me that I got lucky.
The knocking is relentless. ‘Who is it?’ my father groans, retrieving his pocket watch from his trousers to check the time. ‘Who would call at this hour of a Saturday?’
I shake my head. ‘I don’t know.’
We never have visitors. Our house is a long way off the beaten track and hard to find unless you know where to look. If someone has come this far outside town, they have business with us. Maybe it’s a farmer from market wanting to be paid. My mother’s credit bill is creeping out of control. There’s no money in the house. We usually have an emergency fund in an old biscuit tin in the shed, but I raided that this morning to buy the groceries.The groceries.My heart almost stops as I remember the brown paper parcel that I left in Sketch’s car. What if someone saw me get into his car earlier. Maybe one of my father’s drinking buddies has come to tell tales of my wicked behaviour.Oh God. Oh God.
‘Hello? Hello?’ a male voice shouts between knocks.
I recognise the husky tone straight away. It’s Sketch. My stomach knots.
My father’s eyes widen and he curls his lips to one side as if he’s surprised. But nothing ever takes my father by surprise. I know this twisted look. Pa pulls this face every time he’s looking forward to some light entertainment. Like when he asks my mother a question and she answers, daring to voice an opinion. The wrong opinion, of course. Or when dinner isn’t tasty enough. The fire not hot enough. The fire too hot. Always the same expression and always before he loses his temper.
‘Get the door, Annie,’ Pa says, lowering his voice to a barely audible whisper.
I twist my head over my shoulder and catch Ma’s eye. She’s still on the floor tidying up the last remaining pieces of broken china.
‘Do as your father says, good girl.’ She smiles, but I don’t miss the wobble in her voice and the fear in her eyes.
‘Hello,’ Sketch shouts once more. ‘Is anybody home?’
‘Mary, stay there,’ Pa orders, tossing his eyes to my mother’s crouched figure. ‘Don’t you dare get up.’
His tone is soft but venom sticks to his words nonetheless.
‘You…’ he whispers, turning his attention back to me. ‘You tell whoever this is that you’re home alone.’
I nod.
‘Do you hear me?’ he whispers, some saliva spraying out between his clenched teeth.
He presses his shovel-like hand firmly onto my shoulder and squeezes the soft part between my neck and my shoulder blade until I want to call out for him to stop. ‘You’re home alone. Don’t forget.’
My father releases his powerful grip and takes a step back, making sure that when I swing the door open, the only person Sketch will see in the archway is me.
TEN
ANNIE
My father’s smug eyes burn into the side of my face as I turn the handle and the door creaks open. As expected, I find Sketch standing tall and straight in the gap. I hold my breath as my eyes instantly seek out his, and I pray that Sketch can read me. I hope he can see deep into my soul and understand me the way he did earlier.
‘Hello.’ He smiles.
It takes me a second or two to notice the brown paper parcel tucked under his arm.My groceries.
‘Miss Fagan?’ Sketch asks, tilting his head to one side.
‘Yes,’ I quiver, unsure where this is leading.
‘I hoped I had the right house. I asked around in town, you see.’ He winks. ‘Was hard to get a straight answer out of folk. You don’t talk to people much, do you?’
I clear my throat with a soft cough. ‘You asked people where I live?’ I say, confused. Sketch knows where I live. He was pulled up outside my gate less than five minutes ago, and I doubt he left at all.
