I feel cruel, thoughtless. I didn’t want to interfere, go against Trent’s wishes, but I should’ve got hold of Ceecee to let her know what was happening since we overlap appointments.
Now, I’ll have to go there to explain to him and not have an alternative for him to move ahead with.
When I’m stopped at the next set of lights, I pick up my phone to send a strongly worded message to Trent, then stop myself.
Not only is the next driver over staring at me like they’re itching to turn me in for texting while driving, but I also don’t want to send a text in anger, then have to apologise later when my head clears.
Instead, I do the decent thing and tuck my phone into my pocket, sticking my tongue out at the next driver like I’m eight rather than eighteen, and gunning the engine the moment the light changes, pulling ahead of them as we merge lanes, the slight advantage cheering me far more than it should.
I park the car two houses down, securing the wheel lock and hoping the alarm is loud enough to hear from inside because I’d hate to lose the best present anyone’s ever given me. Especially since it’s only been a day.
Harry’s car is parked in the driveway, and I take a deep breath, putting my hand on my abdomen to steady it.
This won’t be comfortable but better the news comes from me.
I open the door, shaking despite my best efforts. Images crowd my brain until it feels full to bursting, crowding each other, trying to win pride of place, a competition to see which one can scare me most.
Andy’s face when it changes. The spatter of blood that was all I saw of the end of him. The confusion and shock when he zip-tied me to the bedpost. The dawning realisation that I might not make it out alive.
Enough.
I open my eyes, forcing myself to focus on the room, my movement through it, everything that’s happening right here and now, not the horrors stuffed in my memory.
The kitchen is empty, and I touch the side of the kettle out of habit. Still hot and there are mugs missing from their hooks. I tiptoe over to the connecting door through to the dining room and inhale the deepest breath I can; like I’m diving and need enough to plunge down to the ocean floor.
When the door swings open, I expect to see at least one, more probably two people around the table. To find it empty jolts me and I walk straight to the table, then peer at the noticeboard to see who’s on.
Ceecee and me. The latter out of date.
I move into the lounge, still not finding anyone. Then I pause outside Ceecee’s bedroom door.
If she’s in there with a client—which she should be—then she’ll happily gut me like a fish for interrupting.
I back away, retreating to the dining room and checking my message. Harry’s car is outside, so he hasn’t left. Could he be hiding inside, out of view, waiting?
I mean, he could. He could do a lot of things.
Why would he, is the crucial question? Why would he not have approached me outside the house if that’s where he was waiting? Why isn’t he at the dining table with a mug of coffee, milk, no sugar, rather than nowhere to be seen?
Ceecee should be in her room with her own client. Even if he’d cancelled again like he did weeks ago, and she offered Harry the spot, he’s not the type to make that change without thinking it through.
None of it makes sense.
My eye snags on the noticeboard again and I move to read it more thoroughly. My name is still on there, but so is a new girl. Liz.
If Trent did what he said he was going to, and came to tell everyone I’d retired, then she could be my replacement. Considering Ceecee had already mentioned she knew a working girl who was ready to take some hours, I’m sure someone slotted in straight away.
But if she was here, why did Harry text me? He would have complained about the new girl rather than making it sound like I left him high and dry.
I call Trent, worried now and not in the mood to leave that to fester. It goes straight to voicemail, and I leave a message. “Can you call me? I’m at the Sydenham house and there’s something wrong.”
When I disconnect the call, I try Harry’s mobile, praying I’ll hear the ring in Ceecee’s room and the worst thing that happens today is I’ll have put him off his stroke.
It goes straight to voicemail, too. No sound of ringing or buzzing anywhere within these walls.
Don’t be such a coward.
I think of Trent’s misplaced praise. That I’m brave. That I’m strong.
