They had given out gale warnings, with the potential for gusts up to 80 mph. Marion Still had shut the doors and windows firmly and put the bolts across, but just as she was going upstairs, she thought of the bins and the garden bench. The bins were housed in the side passage, to which there was a gate, shared with next door, whose dog could push it open.
She sighed, put down her mug of tea and book, and went to check. The side gate was firmly closed, so that even if the wind blew through its slats, the bins could not be blown away. But the bench was flimsy. She had switched on the outside light but the bulb had gone. She went back for her torch. The bench was pulled out from the wall, beside the flower bed. She was looking at it, wondering if perhaps she should put something on top of it and if so, what, when she heard a slight sound behind her. The wind had not yet got up to a serious extent but the trees were moving about among themselves and she heard a gate slam somewhere down the road. She stood very still, the torch beam directed down at the bench. Nothing. She waited a minute longer, then shook herself and turned to see if there was anything at all she could put on top of it to anchor the bench down. There was a pot by the kitchen door. Perhaps that.
The sound she heard then was like someone clearing their throat softly. Or coughing. Or …
She rushed to the back door, pushed it open and slammed it behind her. She leaned on it and locked it and drew the bolt.
She knew it had nothing to do with the wind, the rain, foxes, badgers, cats … it had been a human sound though she knew she would find it hard to convince anyone else.
‘Police, how may I help you?’
‘They’re outside again.’
‘Can I have your name and address please?’
It was a busy night, they said, there had been two major road traffic accidents and the weather was starting to cause problems across the region, they would be with her as soon as they could.
Her tea had gone cold of course. She went into the kitchen. The curtains were drawn, and the back door had frosted glass so she put on the kettle and waited and there were no sounds. No sounds.
Her hands were stiff, though it was not cold. It was hard to lift the kettle and pour her tea and then to switch off the light. She went back into the sitting room to wait. After a while, she heard the wind getting up at the front of the house. A gust and then silence. A stronger gust. But then nothing. Silence all round, front and back.
She ought to call again and cancel the request, because when the police turned up, not only would she feel stupid, they might charge her with time-wasting. Or refuse to come out to her again. Perhaps they would fine her. Could they do that?
The phone ringing made her jump and spill her tea. For a moment she did not answer it, fearing that it would be the police to cross-question her, but then, it might be Brenda, who was always sympathetic.
There was only silence. She gave the number. Waited. Gave her name.
A faint sound, like the wind.
She ended the call quickly.
It was another forty minutes before they came, two young men this time, fresh-faced, one with a beard, genial, friendly. ‘Now then, Mrs Still, I gather you’ve been hearing things?’
The same routine, quicker this time, out into the back, torches sweeping round, one trampling the flower bed, the other lighting the fences on either side.
‘Anybody out there?’
‘Show yourself if you’re out there, come on …’
‘Cats, Mrs Still.’
‘Or foxes.’
‘Could be, could be. No sign but they’re cunning little beggars. Pretty sure it isn’t people though.’
‘I heard a sort of cough.’
‘A cough.’
‘As if someone was clearing their throat.’
‘Might that have been a neighbour, out emptying the bin or having a quick smoke?’
‘No.’
‘Well, there isn’t a sign of anyone now. What’s over the fence, Mrs S?’
‘A bit of scrub, a path to the garages. Then the backs of the houses in Albemarle Road.’
He looked at his colleague and shrugged. ‘Quick over the fences and off?’
‘If there was anyone.’
‘We’ll drive round Albemarle and take a look, see if there’s any sign. But honestly, Mrs S –’
‘It’s Still.’
‘I think these noises you thought you heard were animal not human. If I were you I’d go to bed. We’ll make sure everything’s locked up and then just don’t worry. But if you do hear anything again …’
‘I know, don’t hesitate to call you again.’
‘Exactly.’
‘Thank you, you’ve been very kind.’
She did as they had said, went straight to bed, not even making a third lot of tea. She felt limp as a dishcloth, but whatever it was they had said or done had reassured her and she had only been reading her new copy of Good Housekeeping for five minutes before she was too tired to focus and switched off the light. Even the 70mph gusts failed to disturb her.