30

Abi laughed softly. She stood, straightened, groaned at the residual pain in her rib, and brushed past her boyfriend. “Don’t be so stupid,” she told him. She returned to the kettle, boiled it again, and retrieved a second cup to add to the one already there.

“Think about it,” Steven said, following her, hovering near her. “She was out that night. You couldn’t get hold of her, you said it was strange of her.”

“That doesn’t mean anything, Steven, and you know it.”

There was an air of indecision around him. Abi retrieved the sugar from the cupboard and he watched all the way, before stating, “It means everything. Think about it—where was she when the old lady across the road died?”

Abi shrugged.

“And what about the troll?”

“The troll?”

Steven nodded. “Simon Turnbull, I read the case online. He was found butchered in his own home.”

“And?”

“Maybe you’ll recognize him by his screen name: TheMarvelBuddha.”

Abi paused, looked straight ahead and replied, almost to herself. “Sounds familiar,” she noted, before scooping a third sugar into her cup.

“That’s because your gran had been arguing with him for weeks!”

“Oh,” Abi replied, nodding slowly. “I see.” They locked eyes for several seconds as Steven tried to stare his point into her, to make her believe what he was seemingly convinced of. “How do you take your tea again?” she asked eventually.

“What? What are you doing?”

“I’m making us a hot drink so we can relax and discuss this properly.”

“Discuss? Discuss?” He shook his head, took a step back. “There’s nothing—what is wrong with you?” He ran his hand through his hair, exposing his thinning hairline, the deep-set wrinkles in his forehead, and the stark plainness of his skin. “This is serious.”

“I know it is, but that doesn’t mean—”

“Where’s your gran?” he interrupted, cutting her short.

Abi sighed heavily. “Let’s leave her out of this.” She finished pouring hot water into the two cups and slowly began stirring the contents. “Would you like some biscuits with your tea?”

“Where. Is. Your. Gran?” Steven reiterated.

“I think we have some chocolate biscuits if you’re—”

Abi’s words caught in her throat as Steven rushed forward and grabbed her, one hand on either side, his large, strong hands wrapped around her arms. He pulled her around, forcing her to face him, to stare into his eyes.

“I don’t know what’s going on in there,” he told her. “I know this must be hard for you. I know it must be scary, but this is serious. Where is your grandmother?”

“You should moisturize more, dear. Those wrinkles are unbecoming.”

Steven groaned and released her, almost knocking her over as he did so. He slammed his fist against the counter and grunted in her direction, adding, “This is fucking ridiculous. I’ll go get her myself.”

“You do that,” Abi called after him. “I’ll have the tea and biscuits ready for you when you get back.”

He stormed off, his heavy boot-clad feet racing across the living room and then up the stairs, each step reverberating throughout the house, shaking the foundations.

—

Abi finished making the drink and then calmly placed a selection of biscuits—some topped with chocolate, some plain, some still in their wrappers—on a small plate. She took the biscuits into the living room and placed them on the coffee table, followed by the two cups—tea, two sugars, lots of milk for Steven; coffee, three sugars, no milk, for her.

She turned on the television, tuned into a repeat of a soap opera, turned the volume up, and then nestled into the edge of the sofa, cup in one hand, biscuit in the other, an audible sigh on her lips as she sunk into the soft material.

“This is the life,” she muttered to herself.

But just as soon as she sat down and began to relax, the chaos started. A thundering noise from upstairs drowned out the sound of the television, forcing her to pause her relaxation and search for the remote. By the time she found it, nestled underneath the cushion, the noise had increased, more banging, more shouting, each noise louder than the last.

She sighed, shook her head, and then hit the Volume Up button, keeping her finger pressed until the noise was drowned out by the sound of scripted gossiping. She lay the remote down on the arm of the couch, lifted her feet onto the coffee table with another audible sigh, and then picked up her cup.

Seconds later, the banging increased, heavy footfalls on hollow wood.

“The door is locked.” Steven stood between her and the television, his arms folded across his chest, which heaved with each breath he took. There was a thin film of perspiration on his forehead that he wiped with the back of his hand.

“You’re in my way, dear.”

He looked behind him, to the TV, and then back again, his mouth agape. “What the fuck is wrong with you? Are you listening to me? The door is locked.”

“I can’t help you with that.”

“It’s a padlock.”

“Yes, and?”

“It means that it’s locked from the outside.”

She turned to meet his questioning gaze, their eyes locked again, the desperation, shock, and confusion evident on his face. “You’re sweating like a fatty in a cake factory, dear. Maybe we should open a window.”

“I—I—” He ran a hand through his hair again, uttered a short burst of laughter, unsure what else to do. “I don’t know what this is, but I—” He threw his hands up in the air. “You know what, fuck it—it doesn’t matter. I’ll get help from one of the neighbors.”

“It’s a bit late to start waking up neighbors, isn’t it? The poor sods might have work in the morning.”

“What? Someone is dead.”

“Still, you can’t start knocking on doors and crying blue murder at this time. People have lives to lead. Shit to do.” She paused and allowed herself a smile. “Except Robert, of course.”

“What the hell, Abi?” Steven shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. If they don’t answer, I’ll drive to the fucking police station myself.”

“You do that,” she noted with a nod. “Good night for a drive. I think I’m going to go lie down. This is all getting a bit too much. First the surprise, then the fall, now I have a headache. A rest will do me good.”

He acknowledged her with a slow, cautious nod and watched as she slowly, methodically, climbed to her feet, flashed a warm smile in his direction, and then left the room.