‘Because what if it’s just the house creaking? I’ll look like an idiot.’
‘But at least you’ll be a live idiot instead of one who has taken a golf club to the temple because he didn’t want to call the police. The local constabulary are very nice around here. When the farmer’s son went for a joy ride in his dad’s tractor after one too many vodka shots they were very understanding.’
‘Right. Again, most helpful. I think I’ll go and have a quick check.’
‘Shall I call the police for you?’ she offered.
‘Or you could stay on the line.’
‘And listen to you being bludgeoned to death? Delightful. I guess it beatsStorage Hunters.’
‘What?’ he asked, keeping his voice low.
‘Nothing. Try to tell me there’s something wrong without being obvious. Then I’ll know to call the police and you can hide.’
‘Great idea. I’m sure what a six-foot-four career burglar wants to do on a November evening is play hide-and-seek with me.’
‘Just say something that’s not obvious like… do you want a cup of tea?’
‘For heaven’s sake I’m not inviting them for tea and biscuits,’ whispered Sam.
‘No, but if you say that they’ll think there’s more than one person in the house.’
‘Huh. That’s not a bad idea. Okay. I’m walking downstairs.’
She could hear the stairs creak a little and her heart started to pick up speed. She was feeling quite tense on Sam’s behalf. What if there was someone robbing his home?
‘Did you keep the door stop?’ she whispered.
‘What?’
‘The door stop that used to keep the living room door open. Shaped like a chicken. Did you keep it?’
‘Yes. Why?’ His exasperation was evident but as he was possibly about to meet a hardened criminal, she let him off.
‘Because it would make a good weapon. If you can get that far without getting whacked.’
‘Oh, thanks.’
‘Sorry.’
‘Shhh now. I’m nearing the bottom.’ She did as she was told. Blythe gripped the phone tighter. She could hear Sam breathing heavily. The long wait was agonising.
All of a sudden, there was a screech and a clatter and then silence. ‘Sam. Sam! Are you all right?’
The phone had gone dead.
*
Blythe was racing across the village with her phone to her ear. She’d dialled 101 and ran outside. This was serious and she feared for Sam’s safety. She wasn’t much of a jogger but when she put her mind to it she wasn’t a bad sprinter. Despite having to give her details to a police call operator whilst running she was still at the green in no time. A quick scan as she raced towards the cottage showed everything looked in order although she knew it wasn’t. There were no lights on. She darted down the side of the property.
‘How can we help?’ asked the operator.
‘I think there’s a burglary in progress,’ she said, in between puffs. She may have been quick but she wasn’t that fit. She gave Sam’s address and despite the operator asking her more questions she shoved the phone in her back pocket. Her focus was to get inside and help Sam. An image of him lying on the floor with a gash in his head shot unhelpfully into her mind. She took a breath and turned the key in the back door. It was dark in the utility but she knew her way around it so was at the internal door in two strides. Her hands were shaking as she carefully turned the key and tried the handle. The door opened a crack and she listened. All she could hear was her heart thumping.
When she’d been speaking to Sam he was at the bottom of the stairs heading for the living room. She carefully made her way through the kitchen, her senses on red alert. Was the burglar still here? Were they ransacking upstairs? She couldn’t hear any footsteps above her and she recalled when she’d visited Murray that the floorboards above creaked in places. She returned her attention to the hallway. If the burglar wasn’t upstairs, they had either left or they were waiting to surprise her. She very much liked the idea of the former. She gently felt along the worktop for anything she could use to defend herself. Her fingers touched something. It was kitchen roll on a wooden holder. It would have to do.
Blythe gripped the kitchen roll holder and stepped quietly into the hall. A shard of light from the tiny diamond window in the front door cast a distorted pattern across the space. The living room door was open and she was pleased to see no sign of Sam’s prostrate body lying there. She crept towards the doorway. She held her breath as she inched forwards.
