“Is the back door locked?”
“Yes, Sandra.”
“What about the side door?”
“All checked and double-checked.”
“Are you sure you’ve checked the patio doors, last time I looked they were unlocked, really Keith, you need to sharpen up.”
He comes across and pulls me close. “Relax, I’ve checked and triple-checked, nothing is getting in, or out, anytime soon.”
I nod and feel my panic subside a little. As Keith pulls back, I say quickly, “What about the CCTV, is it switched on and pointing in the right direction?”
“Yes, darling, everything’s as it should be.”
“Ok. Well, I should get to bed then. I’ve got a lot to do tomorrow, there’s the bridge club and the cricket wives meeting, not to mention we’re getting those trees delivered.”
“You do too much, you should slow down.”
I turn away before he sees the irritation on my face. “It’s fine, I like to be busy.”
As I walk away, I try to get my nerves under control—they’re getting worse, not better, I should up my medication.
“Sandra.”
“What?”
“Everything is ok, isn’t it?”
“Of course, why wouldn’t it be?”
“It’s just well, you know.”
I turn and measure my response because God knows Keith doesn’t deserve the diatribe, I feel like hitting him with.
“There’s nothing to know. Everything’s fine, I’m just busy. You know me, I like to keep myself firing on all cylinders and if I slow down for a second the rot sets in. Now, can I go please, there’s nothing to see here?”
As I turn my back on my husband, I feel bad. Keith tries so hard and it’s not his fault I’m so particular. I know this move was for a number of reasons and the main one being that we halved our workload. It was hard work running a house the size of ours, and even though we had staff; it was still a lot to think about. Keith is looking old and I’m worried about him. I know he hoped for a quieter life here, but surely it’s always like this when you move house, new beginnings and all that.
As I climb the stairs, I think about our old house and the panic bubbles up again. Meridian House. A large estate on the edge of Kingston. A vast property that took a lot of running and upkeep. We’ve always had money, that’s never been the problem, inheritance, hard work and solid investments, assured us of a life others can only dream about. Through it all Keith remained a loyal husband and I know he puts up with a lot. It’s why I took the plunge and move in with the masses. For him.
As I get ready for bed, I think about the neighbours. They don’t like us; I can see it in their eyes. We’re not like them, it’s painfully obvious. Older, less interesting and not about to drink a small off license dry in the name of pleasure. We have standards they don’t share, and they look at us as objects of ridicule. I know what they think and it hurts—a lot. I never knew it would be so difficult sharing space with a group of strangers and it is, difficult, I mean because I have standards that have been set across decades but the world is changing and I can’t keep up.
I head to my room and forget the last time I actually shared one with my husband. Before we moved here, in fact, it must be several years ago now. It was snoring that started it and soon his visits to the spare room became so frequent he actually stopped trying and moved in there permanently. I’m not sure when our physical relationship stopped. I’m not even sure why, probably after that operation I had when I recuperated for three months. We just never went back to it and now live as friends rather than husband and wife. At least we have that—friendship. Keith is, and always was, my best friend which is why I made the move—for him.
Sighing, I set about my bedtime routine as I always have done and a little more of me dies inside. I’m tired. Tired of trying. Tired of pretending and tired of living. When you’ve lived the sort of life we have, nothing measures up. These people aren’t interested in our tales of foreign holidays, celebrity friends and stories that would make an excellent film or three. They aren’t interested and if they only took the time to ask, we would make their lives look mundane in comparison. No, they look at us as has-beens, pompous old gits who love nothing more than moaning about things they don’t think important.
Well, I do. Everyone should have standards, and they should set them high.
The trouble with sleep is it has its own agenda and when your guard is down, you’re at your most vulnerable. I’m more vulnerable than most because sleep is the only thing I have no control of and that’s where the shadows claim my soul.
I can taste blood and my wrists hurt. It’s difficult to breathe with the soiled rag tied around my mouth, and I’m so afraid. Is Keith alright? He’s stopped moving and I lean back to nudge him, just desperate for a response. His groan settles my heart because it means he’s alive at least.
They’re still here, I can hear them moving around. Heavy footsteps moving from room to room, crashing through our treasured home like the worst kind of monsters. Raiding, ransacking, destroying. They want we have without the hard work involved in getting it. Bastards. How I wish I could defend us against people like these. Security alarms, what a joke. These men know ways around everything and here they are, taking what’s ours and humiliating us in the process.
I don’t think I’ve ever been so scared in my life as I sit helplessly while thieves ransack our carefully crafted home and steal possessions that have taken years to acquire. Heirlooms, gifts and extravagant purchases, all gone in a violent night of terror. Keith is slumped behind me, tied to the chair and out of my eyeline. Desperately, I listen for signs he’s alive because the blow he took to the head could have ended his life. I’m worried for Keith, what if he’s unconscious and doesn’t get the help he needs? They manhandled me into this position, but other than my pride; I wasn’t hurt.
Briefly, I wonder why the security alarm didn’t go off. They serviced it last week. Surely it can’t have broken already.
I think I sit bound and gagged for the entire night because as soon as the thieves have what they want, they leave as quickly as they came.
At first, I don’t register they’ve gone. It’s a large house and they have spent a few hours here already. Then, as the dawn breaks and the sun filters through the crack in the curtains, I hear the gardener arriving outside and feel hopeful they’ve gone. In fact, it takes two more hours before we are found by the cleaner and her screams almost deafen me as she struggles to understand the sight she is witnessing.
What happened next was embarrassing, excruciating and worrying as they took Keith off in an ambulance leaving me to answer the questions from the local officers who came to assess the damage.
By the time the dust had settled, Keith was home and nursing his injured pride with nothing more than a mild concussion. Other wounds went deeper though and from that day on, any trust was gone and we lived in fear of a repeat performance.
They never caught the thieves and just told us to make a claim on the insurance because it was doubtful the thieves were from around here, anyway. ‘Probably a gang from the north,’ explained the police officer as if we don’t have thieves in Surrey. I felt let down and betrayed and doubted my husband’s ability to protect us. Maybe that’s why I decided to downsize and surround ourselves with friendly neighbours. There is safety in numbers, after all. The friendly part is something I need to work on because I know we’re at fault for alienating the neighbours. It’s all about our standards that we can’t appear to let slide.
* * *
The day passes as normal and I’m glad that Keith has something to occupy his time. What with the golf and the committee, he’s extremely busy and I make sure to do as much as I can to keep busy and establish a role for myself in this community? It’s hard though, I’m not going to lie about that, so when I see a new face I decide to try at least.
As I pass number 9 on my way back from the cricket wives meeting, I see a woman on her knees picking out the weeds from an extremely neglected garden.
As I stop, she looks up and smiles. “Good afternoon.”
“I don’t think we’ve met I’m Sandra Wickham, I live in the Wisteria on Sycamore Street and you are?” I stare at her keenly and she stands and nods.
“Donna Evans, I’ve just arrived, although my husband’s been here for some time.”
I look around, biting my tongue because this house lets the development down but she’s trying at least, so I say magnanimously, “If you need any advice, I’m a keen horticulturalist and happy to help.”
“That’s kind of you but I’m just tidying the place up. Thanks for the offer though.”
She bows her head and I look towards her front door and try to maintain the conversation. “That’s an interesting shade of pink you chose for the door, most people opted for green, what made you choose that colour?”
“We didn’t, it was our landlord.”
“So, you’re just renting.”
“Yes.”
“How long do you plan on staying, to be honest, I never knew they were renting out these properties?”
“I’m not sure, darling, my husband’s job dictates how long we’re in a place.”
“What does he do?”
“Security.”
Feeling a sudden interest, I say quickly, “Then I may be interested to meet your husband. We need security advice and by the sounds of it he’s the man for the job.”
Donna straightens up and I can see her mind working hard as she says quickly, “I doubt it. He’s not one for giving advice, he just does what he’s told most of the time.”
“Um, he still may be some help, I could probably send some work his way.”
I’m not sure why but Donna looks a little agitated and starts to back away.
“Listen, I’m sorry, darling but I’ve just remembered I’ve left something in the oven. If you leave it with me, I’ll mention it when he comes back but he’s away and I’m not sure when that will be.”
It appears she can’t get away quickly enough and I feel a little irritated. So much for being friendly and actually trying to help someone. Typical tenants, not prepared to engage with the community due to the fact they’re not likely to stick around for long.
As I head home my thoughts turn to Keith and my heart sinks. Poor Keith, I’m not sure he’s strong enough, which is why I need him to get involved with this community because he needs it more than he realises.