I’m on my way home again, and I’m two minutes late. I speed up. Anxiety gnaws at my insides like a hungry rat.
The shopping took me longer than I thought, and there were queues everywhere, even in the library. The handles of my recycled plastic bags, packed to the brim, are cutting into my fingers. I try to run, but it’s impossible, weighed down as I am with library books, veggies, bread, milk and everything else. I have to settle for walking as fast as I can in the freezing, drizzly rain, taking in deep breaths through my nose and panting loudly. The strong wind is battering me, tugging at my coat and trying to slow me down. But if I keep up this pace, I will just make it home by 7.30 p.m.
Even though I bought the cheapest of everything, I still couldn’t get all we needed. There was just twenty-five pounds in Mum’s current account, and I didn’t have the card for her savings account with me, so I could only withdraw twenty at the cash machine. All my grandparents are dead, and we don’t have any other family, so it’s not like there’s anyone we can ask for money, so we have to be careful. I shopped at the cut-price supermarket, dashing up and down the aisles, and I borrowed six books from the library. Because of all the queues, I only had ten minutes to look around the shopping centre, gazing in windows, wandering around clothes shops, deciding what I’d buy if I had the money. I usually spend at least half an hour this way.
A police car patrols slowly past me as I hurry down Pride Street, and I keep my head turned away, moving out of the streetlights and into the shadows. I feel uneasy. Guilty. As if Social Services have sent them to capture me, put me in a home and force my mum to see a doctor.
I rush through the back door at 7.29 and counting. Dropping the bags, I lock the door behind me, throw the key onto the hook, gather up the bags again and stagger to Mum’s room. I tap three times.
‘Mum, it’s me,’ I pant. ‘I’m home.’
No sounds from inside the room. I frown.
‘Mum?’ I tap at the door again. ‘Mum, are you there?’
There’s an agonizing silence. But just as I begin to panic, I hear the sound of keys clinking, and the shuffle of Mum’s slow progress towards the door. It swings open and, to my horror, I catch a glimpse of Mum’s fear-ravaged face. She looks a thousand times more terrified than when I arrived home from school earlier. Frantically she beckons me inside.
‘Mum, what’s happened?’ I ask as, leaning on her sticks, she clumsily re-locks and re-bolts the door as fast as if the devil himself was right behind me.
Mum can’t speak. I leave the bags lying on the floor, guide her over to the sofa and sit her down.
‘I – I fell asleep.’ Mum makes a huge effort to explain, even though she’s shivering violently. ‘I woke up – and someone was trying the handle of my door, trying to open it and get inside.’
I bite back the impatient words that rise immediately to my lips. Not again!
‘It must have been a dream—’ I begin, but Mum shakes her head.
‘No, Anni, it was real!’ she says emphatically. ‘I could hear footsteps. I could hear someone moving around outside. Someone’s broken in!’
I have no choice. I know nothing will reassure Mum except another search of the house.
‘I’ll go and check.’
Mum clutches at me. ‘It’s too dangerous, Anni!’
I’ve never seen her quite this frightened before, and I feel a ripple of unease. ‘It’s fine.’ I try to soothe her, rubbing her back. ‘You were probably still half asleep and dreamed it all—’
A loud noise from upstairs stops me in my tracks. A bang, followed by a crash. What on earth was that?
‘You see?’ Mum whispers in a trembling voice.
My nerves start to jangle and suddenly I’m on edge, adrenalin pulsing through me.
‘It’s probably just another tile falling off the roof,’ I say, trying to find the most logical explanation. ‘The wind’s pretty bad out there.’ If I let myself be sucked into the bottomless pit of Mum’s fear, we’ll both be done for. There’ll be no escape for either of us. But I’m curious. ‘I’ll take a quick look.’
‘Anni—’
‘Just lock the door behind me and only open it if I tap three times,’ I say, helping Mum to her feet. ‘I’ll be as quick as I can.’
At the door Mum strokes my hair and whispers, ‘Take care.’
I nod and slip out into the corridor. I hear the key in the lock behind me.
The house is cold and quiet as I tiptoe along the corridor towards the entrance hall. The only sound is the roaring of my own heart in my ears. I check the front door. Still locked and bolted, no sign that anything has changed. I debate whether or not to switch on the light above the stairs, but in the end I do, and I move silently up the main staircase, eyes darting right and left, looking for signs that someone has passed this way.
Then, when I reach the top of the stairs, I see that the pattern of threads I laid out there so carefully has been disturbed.