Page 22 of A Not So Quiet Christmas
Chapter 16
Ihadn’t been able to stop thinking about what could have happened to Seb if I hadn’t seen him at the bus stop and as I stood in the bathroom brushing my teeth ready for bed, I could still see the little boy’s worried expression when he realised his mum wasn’t there to meet him. The relief on Lizzie’s face when she landed felt equally disconcerting. She’d clearly been frantic and the fact that the woman had had no one to call upon in an emergency made me feel sad for them both.
As I rinsed my toothbrush under the tap, I knew my thoughts weren’t the result of recalling my own childhood. No matter how many times mum was late picking me up, I’d never come to any harm. It was my adult life that that day’s predicament had resonated with. Just like the low numbers attending my thankfully non-existent funeral, I had very few people to call on in an hour of need.
Thanks to Lizzie and Seb, I’d realised how small my support network was. The only people I could count on were Jules and Harry. But they both worked, which meant in an emergency like the one I’d experienced that afternoon, me and any child I might have in the future would be stuck. I shuddered. In a place like London, the repercussions of that didn’t bear thinking about. However, I knew I only had myself to blame. Developing a support system involved building relationships, something I hadn’t exactly put much effort into. I took a deep breath and slowly exhaled, dismissing my train of thought altogether. After all, it was daft to worry over nothing. Not only was I childless, having decided my love life wasn’t worth the hassle, motherhood wouldn’t be calling on me any time soon.
Finishing off in the bathroom, I switched off the light and made my way down the landing to bed. When I’d first arrived at the cottage, it hadn’t felt right taking Lillian’s room at the front of the house, so I’d opted for the spare at the back. Frank was already snoring when I climbed into bed. He’d positioned himself at the foot of the mattress and was out for the count, and listening to him, I realised just how dog-tired I was myself. Not that I understood why. I hadn’t exactly exerted myself that day. All I’d done was sort through Jules’s aunt’s clothes, a task that had been a joy rather than a chore. I reached over to turn out the bedside lamp and as the room fell into complete darkness, I told myself the fresh country air must have been to blame and snuggling down ready for a good night’s sleep, I immediately felt my body relax. Emptying my mind, I closed my eyes ready to drift off.
My eyes flashed open.What was that?I silently asked.
Convinced I’d heard a noise from the garden, I lay there straining to hear. My ears were met with quiet and after a moment I began to wonder if I’d imagined it. I listened harder to make sure, but there it was again. A shuffling about in the grass below.
I told myself it was probably a cat pouncing on its prey. Being in the countryside there had to be an abundance of mice around. It was the perfect feline playground out there. I was worrying over nothing, so I closed my eyes again and settled back down.
Cough! Cough!
I bolted upright.Jesus Christ! That is no cat. There was definitelysomeonenotsomethingmooching around outside. My pulse raced as the shuffling continued. Whoever it was, they were obviously having a good snoop about. They coughed once more, and my panic rose. For all I knew, they could’ve been looking for a way into the house.
I threw back the duvet and putting my feet on the floor, I felt my senses heighten. Frank, on the other hand, continued to doze. “Fine guard dog, you are,” I said to him, making sure to keep my voice low as I tiptoed over to the window. If someone was about to break in, it was clear I was on my own. Frank hadn’t lifted an eyelid, let alone barked.
With a pounding heart and shaking hands, I plucked up the courage to pull back the curtain a little and peep out into the garden. Forced to squint, as my eyes searched the darkness for the intruder, try as I might, it was too dark for me to see anything. Almost whimpering, I again asserted I was worrying over nothing, comforting myself in what Jules had said about Little Leatherington being a safe place. Not that that explained why I could still hear someone trespassing on Aunt Lillian’s property.
Letting the curtain fall, I wondered if I should head downstairs to take a proper look. “But then what?” I asked myself. “A citizen’s arrest?” Realising the intruder could have a weapon, my imagination began to run wild at the prospect of coming face to face with a knife, or worse, a firearm. I was, after all, in the middle of farming land, so there were bound to be a few shotguns knocking about the place. Having already had one brush with death, I thought better of it. But I couldn’t just stand there. I had to do something, or at least get help. I hastened over to the bedside table and picked up my phone.
Ready to ring 999, I hesitated, wondering where the nearest police station was. With Little Leatherington being so remote, I guessed it was probably miles away, which meant I could’ve been murdered in my bed by the time the emergency services landed. For the second time that week, I pictured Jules and Harry opening the door to a Met police officer about to ruin their Christmas with news of my death and as my desperation built and the noises continued, it was clear I needed help sooner rather than later. “Well, you did say to call if I needed anything,” I said, remembering Oliver’s text. My hands shook as I quickly accessed my messages and clicked to ring his number. “Come on, come on,” I said, waiting for him to answer. “Please pick up.”
“Hello,” Oliver said, sounding groggy.
“You have to come over. Now.”
“Antonia?” He paused, clearly needing a moment to gather himself. “What time is it?”
“Never mind that. There’s someone in the garden. I think they’re trying to break in.”
“What?”
Almost able to hear him jump out of bed, it seemed I, at last, had the man’s attention. “There’s a burglar.” I looked over to the window. “Out there. They must have read Aunt Lillian’s obituary somewhere and thought the house was empty.”
“Shit! It’ll be Clarabelle.”
“Who the hell’s Clarabelle?” I asked. Surely the village didn’t have yet another local weirdo? “And why would she want to steal from a dead woman?”
“Stay where you are. I’ll be right over,” Oliver said, before the line went dead.
