And then he straightens and walks back into his house, leaving me staring after him in shock.
37
Rufus is sprawled along the sofa, with the blinds closed, watching a movie when I come in. He glances up and does a comical double-take at my appearance. I imagine my face is bright red and sweaty. My legs are still trembling, and I slump onto the chair. His brow puckers in concern. ‘Are you okay?’ He pauses the TV on a young Lauren Hutton’s face.
‘Just hot. What’s this?’ I indicate the TV. I don’t want to worry him by telling him what Henry just said to me.
‘Someone’s Watching Me!My lecturer lent it to me. It’s a 1970s made-for-TV movie by John Carpenter. Have you seen it?’
‘About a woman in a high-rise flat being stalked? A long time ago.’
‘Yes, that’s it. Very Hitchcock and De Palma. Andy says it’s one of Carpenter’s underrated works. Do you want to watch it too?’
‘Sure.’
Rufus presses play. It’s only five minutes in and Lauren Hutton’s character is just moving into a flat after a break-up. She’s lonely, and witnessing her drifting around her apartment all by herself resonates within me. As the plot unfolds I try to concentrate, but I can’t stop thinking aboutthe confrontation with Henry. I already feel frazzled and unnerved, and this thriller isn’t helping. We watchedDisturbiatogether on Saturday night, and the film about a teenager’s fascination with his neighbour whom he suspects of being a serial killer was a bit too close to home for me.
‘Why won’t anyone believe her?’ I burst out, after Lauren Hutton’s character is fobbed off yet again by the detective. ‘They’re treating her like she’s just highly strung and irrational.’
Rufus doesn’t answer. He’s in his element, the TV screen reflecting in his wide brown eyes. I mutter an excuse about needing the loo and leave.
You have no idea who you’re dealing with. Keep away from us.
Henry must suspect I’ve overheard their conversation. Maybe he saw me with the boom microphone. Maybe it was him in the garden and who I caught on tape that same night. I don’t know what he’s up to, or what he’s planning, but he’s obviously up to no good. And judging by the conversation I overheard, Marielle is in on it too. Is she being coerced into it by him? It didn’t sound that way, but at times her demeanour around him suggests that he scares her.
I, on the other hand, don’t bow down to bullies.
I walk into the kitchen and freeze in shock.
Someone is standing at my patio doors.
Phoenix, who had been in the living room with Rufus, is suddenly by my side, leaping into action and barking wildly.
The evening sun has cast the figure in shadow. Man-shaped.Henry.My heart jumps but, no, this man isn’t tallenough. Could this be the same person who was in my garden the night I overheard the Morgans? My gate was locked so how did he get in?
He raps his knuckles on the glass and gives a little wave, causing Phoenix to bark even louder. But this gesture reassures me. I must know him.
I move closer to the door, a shaft of sunlight nearly blinding me, and shield my eyes with my hand. Then I see who it is.
Drew.
An uneasy feeling creeps up on me. Why is he here, and why has he come to the back like a fugitive not wanting to be seen?
He must notice my reticence as he calls through the glass, ‘Sorry, Lena, I was trying to avoid Henry.’
I instruct Phoenix to be quiet and unlock the patio doors, opening them a fraction. ‘What’s going on, Drew?’
I’m relieved when he doesn’t try to come into the kitchen but stands on the patio, his hands clasped in front of him. He’s in his work clothes. ‘I just wanted to thank you,’ he says earnestly, a lock of his hair falling into his eyes, ‘for everything you did for me. For listening.’ His eyes are hazel in the sunshine. He’s handsome, and at a different time in my life, I might have been attracted to him.
‘That’s okay. I’m just so pleased you found her.’
‘Yeah, cheers. Feel a bit bad that I blamed it on Henry but there were a few things that made him look a bit sus.’ He shuffles his feet. He must be sweltering in those heavy boots. My gaze goes to the hedge that separates our gardens, imagining Henry lurking behind it.
‘Come in.’ I open the door wider and Drew steps into the kitchen. He bends to pat Phoenix, who sniffs around his ankles. I fetch Drew a glass of water and then we sit at the table.
‘Thanks,’ he says, taking the glass. He downs half of it in one go.
‘So, you said Sarah-Jane was in St Albans?’
