Chapter 8: NOW - The Safe Room

Sophie continues watching TV on my phone while I drive us through sleet to get home. Everything I usually love about Eel Beck seems ominous today. The narrow, winding roads with an abundance of emerald verges are dark and oppressive in the winter. Green stripped back to bare, brown branches that squeak along the side of the car. The beck that snakes through the valley, with its old-fashioned stone bridge sitting prettily over the water, is just another obstacle slowing me down until I reach the house.

To me it seems as though there are too many neighbours now. Too many people who know my name. Only Carrie and Robert—our next-door neighbours—understand my background, the rest I know in passing.

It’s a quiet, rural road with plenty of space between houses to allow for spacious gardens and small paddocks. I also made sure to introduce Sophie to our neighbours whenever I saw them walking their dogs or in the local newsagent. I wanted Sophie to know where she could run to if the worst happened. Carrie and Robert, two former financiers who moved up north to enjoy their retirement, are Sophie’s first port of call in a storm.

There’s a removal van up ahead and I slow to a crawl to get around it. I haven’t seen one since we first moved here. Of course I’d seen the house on the market for a while but hadn’t noticed it had sold. An older lady lived there before. The only person on the street I’d never met. Sometimes I saw her through the window or pottering around her garden. There’d never been a natural moment for me to introduce myself. Perhaps whoever is moving in will be a bit more accessible. Maybe they’ll be my age, and I can make a friend. I’m included in social events at Sophie’s school and the library so it’s not like I never go out, but it’s been a while since I made a friend who spills their secrets over a bottle of wine and mops up your tears when it’s been a bad week. I used to email old university friends every week and meet up with them for a holiday once a year, but that was when Ed was alive and Sophie wasn’t born yet.

I have new priorities now.

I crane my neck through the car window hoping to catch a glimpse of the new neighbours, but I don’t see anyone. I tap the accelerator and move on, with a prickle of nerves in my stomach. Is it too much of a coincidence that the library was broken into and I have new neighbours in the same week? I shake my head slightly. There’s no way Peter Harlow could afford a house here. The last I heard he was a delivery driver. I’d catch nuggets of information through Mum from Peter’s mother every now and then. He always struggled to keep a job. Mostly because he was so distracted by stalking me.

We grew up on the same council estate in Leeds. There’s no way he could have come into this much money so suddenly.

But then again, I did, didn’t I? I married Ed.

I glance back through the rearview mirror just in case I catch a glimpse of the new owners. Then I let out a small chuckle. The break-in is one thing, but imagining Peter buying the house down the street is a whole other level of crazy. Of course he hasn’t.

Once we’re onto our property and the security gates close behind us, I let out a sigh of relief. We’re home and safe.

“Home now, Soph,” I call through to the back. She still doesn’t seem to be listening, so I get out and open the door. “Come on, petal.”

Sophie slides ungraciously down from her booster seat and reluctantly hands over the phone.

“Right. No more TV until after tea. Did Miss Malik give you homework?” I put the phone in my pocket.

Sophie groans as I ruffle her hair and get us inside the house.

I lock the door behind us and check it carefully. “Shall we do some reading first?”

“No. I think I’ll watch TV actually.” She dramatically kicks off her tiny boots and yanks at her coat.

As calmly as someone who has had a rotten day can be, I make Sophie pick up her boots and put them away neatly, then hang up her coat.

“It’s not fair, Mummy,” she strops. “I hate reading.”

I gave her an exaggerated gasp. “No you don’t!”

“I do!” She folds her arms tightly.

“But Yvonne set this book aside for you because she knows you’ll love it,” I lie. I actually bought the book, but Sophie adores Yvonne and likes it when we get books from the library. “It’s about a witch and her cat and this big old house.”

Her eyes brighten. “Like ours?”

“Even better than ours.”

We head through to the kitchen table, and I get Sophie a copy of Winnie and Wilbur to read, the cover taking me back to my own childhood and the delight I’d felt reading all about Winnie the witch and the black cat she couldn’t find in her dark castle. I take a sideways glance at the control panel for the house that I tend to keep on the table to check in the evenings when Sophie is in bed. That’s when I go through all the notifications with more care, checking that the cameras were set off by cats and dog walkers, not Peter. I itch to check it now. But I don’t. I smile and encourage my daughter as she reads for fifteen minutes.

After reading, Sophie has some basic maths and spelling exercises to work through that I help her with. There’s a bit of pouting, and some eye rolls but we’re through the tasks in about thirty minutes, much to her delight.

Finally, I tell Sophie she can watch cartoons while I make her dinner and she hurries off to the snug. But I can’t resist scrolling through the security system before grabbing the fishfingers from the freezer. Trembling, I grab the iPad and thoroughly examine every video captured throughout the day while I wasn’t here. Carrie’s cat leaps over the back wall into the garden, taking shelter from the sleet under the garden bench. The front camera picks up a few dog walkers sauntering down the lane. In the background, the removal van comes and goes from the house further down. I pay closer attention, searching for the potential new owners, but I mostly see the removal men carrying heavy furniture into the house. There is one video with a different car, a white BMW. My thoughts flash back to Peter’s old blue BMW from 2007. Then a woman exits and heads into the house. I can’t see her features, just a hint of blonde hair.

I let out a sigh of relief. No Peter. Now I just need to find out more about the man hanging around the park near the school. I put the oven on to heat up, grab some potatoes from the fridge, and quickly fire off a message in the primary school parents group chat.

Hi All, I heard there was an incident last month. Apparently a guy was hanging around the park near school. Just wondered if anyone had any info or an update? Cheers, Amber (Sophie’s Mum).

I start chopping the potatoes into wedges and anxiously check on the chat every few minutes. No doubt we’re all cooking dinner, reheating fishfingers and chicken nuggets and baked beans.

I think Diego’s dad saw him, hun. One mum replies. I don’t recognise the number.

I saw him. He was a creepy fucker. I pointed him out to Carlos and he called the police.

I wipe my hands dry and text back, What happened with the police?

Hey, Carlos here. The guy was absolutely creeping on the kids, but he talked the police out of arresting him. I’ve been keeping an eye out ever since but haven’t seen him. He’d better make sure I never see him again. At best he’s a weirdo, at worst a predator.

I make a note of Carlos’s number and send him a private message.

Hey, it’s Amber here. Can I send you a photo, and you let me know if it’s the man you saw?

The floating dots dance for a few seconds. Yeah sure. Did you see him at the park?

No, I reply. Somewhere else. This photo is old, but you should get the idea.

I attach a jpeg of Peter from when he was stalking me at university. In it, he’s on campus, standing next to the English department building with his eyes levelled down, staring right at the camera.

Time stands still as I wait. From the snug I hear the faint sounds of Sophie’s cartoon, the dramatic smash of an explosion and high-pitched, urgent voices. I grip the kitchen counter with my fingertips, needing something to ground me, to keep me present in the room. The oven beeps, reaching the desired temperature, and the surprise jolts through me. I almost miss the vibration of my phone.

I don’t think it’s him, Carlos responds.

I’m lightheaded, surging with something akin to adrenaline, or relief, barely able to stay standing. Please, please let it not be Peter.

The dots dance a second time. A moment later, Carlos sends a follow-up.

I can’t be sure though. Who is this guy?

His second statement is like a spear running through me. He can’t be sure. I still don’t know if Peter is here or not, and if he is, how close he’s come to me or my daughter.

I respond, He’s dangerous. If you see him call the police and let me know.