Her fingers closed around the lighter.
‘What’s that?’
‘Oh, it’s nothing … it’s … an old lighter … I must have dropped it.’
He knew her too well. He wouldn’t have missed how shaken up she was.
‘Can I see?’
She didn’t want him to see it but it would look odd if she refused, so wordlessly she handed it over to him.
He held it in the palm of his hand. ‘Looks like silver. Expensive.’ He turned it over. ‘Who’s RF?’
‘I don’t know,’ she lied. She’d assumed the Christmas card she’d found a few years ago was a coincidence, but now this. Could it be true? Could he really be back? No, it was impossible. She needed to talk to Annette.
‘Right.’ He handed it back to her with a puzzled expression, presumably not understanding why an old Zippo could warrant such a reaction.
She slipped it into her pocket. ‘The sun’s gone in. Shall we go inside for a glass of wine?’ She needed it for her nerves.
He hesitated and she could almost see the questions forming on his lips. Dennis was one of her most trusted friends, but she couldn’t tell him this.
It was lonely keeping secrets. She’d realized that long ago. She thought how true Sir Walter Scott’s poem was. ‘O what a tangled web we weave, when first we practise to deceive!’ And her web was so tangled it was threatening to strangle her.
But here was Dennis, with his flat cap that he wore all year round and his open, trusting face, wanting nothing from her but companionship. A true gentleman. She liked who she was when she was with him.
‘Come on then, Dotty,’ he said, breaking into a smile. ‘Let’s get in and have a cuppa. I think it might be a bit early for wine.’
As she took his arm she tried to push away the thought of the lighter and what it signified, knowing that she wouldn’t be able to sleep that night.
Because she couldn’t ignore the truth any longer.
15
Imogen
‘What are we going to do?’ I wail.
We’ve tried everything. We’ve tried endlessly to move the hatch door, we’ve shouted for help, we’ve drummed our fists against the metal, but to no avail. It won’t budge. We could hear the dogs barking at first but now there is just an eerie silence.
Dennis looks grey and keeps pulling at the collar of his jumper. He clutches his chest and I’m worried he’s about to have a heart attack.
‘Come on, let’s sit down and think about what to do,’ I say, helping him back down the steps. He perches on the only chair by the bench and I get out my phone, but there is still no reception down here. I’m trying to repress the feelings of terror but they threaten to bubble over. I have to keep my head. There is no point us both freaking out, and I can see that Dennis isn’t coping well. He keeps rubbing his chest and sweat has broken out on his forehead. ‘It will be okay,’ I say, pacing the room, but I can’t stop myself from catastrophizing. Nobodyknows we’re here. Nobody even knows this place exists. Josh will come home and wonder where I am. How long would we survive down here without food or water?
‘My chest is hurting,’ mutters Dennis and I’m seized with panic. How is this happening?
‘Take deep breaths. It’s probably an anxiety attack.’
He does as I say. A hot feeling rises from my feet, up through my body and to my face. I used to get anxiety attacks when I was a kid but I haven’t had one for years. And I can’t afford to have one now.
‘What about your phone? I don’t have any reception, do you?’
Dennis taps his trouser pockets theatrically. ‘I left my phone on your kitchen table after I called the police.’ His eyes are dark with alarm. ‘What are we going to do?’
‘Someone will come for us.’ I try to sound more confident than I actually feel. ‘At least we’re not in darkness. We have electricity.’
‘Great,’ mumbles Dennis. ‘Electricity but no air. Or food or water.’
‘This was an air-raid shelter, wasn’t it? People would have been down here for hours.’
