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“There doesn’t seem any point in saying anything. You seem to have it all worked out,” I say.
That is when the cup comes hurling toward my head. Maybe she’s had doubts. Maybe, deep down, she knows there is something odd about Richard, and she’s been waiting for something to pull aside the curtain of doubt and reveal the man he really is, but my silence only pulls it further over her eyes.
I fish my phone out of my bag and wonder if Cora is still on the warpath. Is this her doing? The whole point of being at my parents’ house was to avoid something like this. Cora doesn’t know my parents’ address. At least, I thought she didn’t.
I return to the kitchen, armed with my phone. I’m nervous about calling the police. What do I tell them? The facts. I can’t tell them what I think. I can’t tell them what I fear.
Gianni’s right hand hangs loosely in his trouser pocket while he watches me make the call. It’s as if he’s observing me to make sure I tell the truth. I need to stop being paranoid.
I go through the protocol of giving my name and address, and the whole thing feels like a question-and-answer session before I can finally report the crime.
“Have you checked the property to see if there are any other signs of an intruder?” the female voice asks. She sounds old with a throaty rattle suggesting she smokes twenty a day.
“Yes, I’ve checked the house and garden, and there’s nothing, just the broken window.”
“Okay, Miss Daniels. Are you alone on the property?” I glance at Gianni. His head is lowered, studying me as if I’m a new species of mammal.
“No, I am not alone.”
“Do you feel safe in the house?”
“Yes, I’m safe.” My eyes meet his.
“Okay. I’ll send a PC over first thing in the morning to look at the damage to the window to see if there’s any evidence. But I don’t have a spare officer to send over right now. We’re dealing with emergencies only, which I’m sure you can understand.”
“Yes, I understand,” I reply. The chain smoker continues, giving me a crime number and telling me to be available in the morning. She reminds me that if at any time I think the intruder or intruders return, I should ring nine-nine-nine. I end the call, and a small knot in the center of my stomach pulls tight against my back.
“They’re sending an officer over in the morning,” I explain to Gianni, who has been waiting patiently for my report. “I am not an emergency, and I’m not in any immediate danger, so they are happy to leave it until tomorrow.”
“Are you happy to leave it until tomorrow?” His voice is low and rumbles through the kitchen, the Italian purr making me feel on foreign turf.
“Why wouldn’t I be?” I’m asking myself this question more than Gianni. “It’ll have been kids trying their luck. The alarm did its job and scared them off.”
“And what if it wasn’t kids?” Gianni probes. It’s as if he can see my fears floating above my head. “What if they come back?”
“Why would they come back?” I shift my feet in my heels. I’m desperate to remove them, but I need the added height.
“You can’t be sure they don’t plan to return now the window is broken. A lot of these criminals strike this way. They do the damage, gain the means of entrance, and then return when you, your neighbor, and her dog are asleep.” His comment makes its way across the room but gets marooned on the island before it fully hits me. “You told the police you weren’t alone.”
“I’m not alone. You’re here.” I give in to the pain and take one shoe off, the wobble in my leg hiding the wobble in my voice.
“And what about when I leave?” I pull the other shoe off and wish I hadn’t. I’m now the small woman in the big house, the baddies knocking at the door.
“I’ll be fine. The alarm just needs to be reset. It was kids.” My shoes dangle on the ends of my fingers, and my feet are cold against the tiled floor. Gianni pulls a stool out from under the island and perches half of himself on the edge.
“I will stay,” he announces with an authority that feels natural.
“You will what?” I almost drop a shoe.
“I am not leaving you alone in this house. I’ll stay.”
“It’s not necessary, really. I’m fine. This is just—” He doesn’t let me finish.
“What do you think will happen if I leave you now and in the middle of the night, these thugs come back and break in? How do you think I’d feel knowing I left you?” I don’t answer. My gut reaction is that I don’t think he’d feel anything. He doesn’t care enough about me to feel anything.
“But you have plans. You said so yourself,” I splutter.
“Nothing that can’t be postponed.” He folds his arms, discussion over, but I will not be dictated to.
