When Jo’s head hit the pillow, she was out for the count. The crash, however, woke her instantly. Once awake, her body flew into action pumping blood away from her extremities to her heart. Her body knew it was terrified before her brain did, but her brain cottoned on fast enough.
Someone was trying to get into the house through the kitchen window.
As her heart thumped uselessly against her rib cage, the noises from the kitchen intensified so much they hurt her already pounding head. The metallic taste of fear at the back of her throat almost made her gag. She understood what they meant about your whole life flashing before you. It wasn’t so much a list of events as a new perspective, a finished context.
Instinctively, Jo knew that if the intruder came into her room, he’d sense in moments that she was wide-awake, because her brain was so alive it was practically humming. She held her breath and closed her eyes in the dark. When her head started spinning she opened them again. She could now, without any doubt, hear the heart-clenching sound of the slatted windows over the kitchen sink being slid out of their holdings one by one and being leaned neatly against the garden wall. Then there was silence. She allowed herself some deep breaths. Had he got what he wanted and left?
Then, suddenly, a loud bang as the glass was kicked and some of it shattered against the wall. Then real terror as she heard the intruder’s hissed swearing. She was trembling.
It suddenly dawned on her that no one upstairs would be able to hear the intruder. She was the only one who would be able to stop him doing whatever he intended to do. And her job—her well-paid job that came with a Clio—was to protect the children. While most of her brainpower was spent on interpreting what she could hear, a part of it veered off into wretched musings. No wonder they gave her the downstairs suite. Maybe this was why the other nannies kept leaving!
She bit her lip and screwed her eyes shut. A touchy sea monster chose that moment to wake up in her stomach. She realized she had drunk too much the night before. Half of her brain regretted it, half was glad, and the other half rationalized that it didn’t much matter as she was about to be murdered anyway.
But what was she thinking? This was no time for musings about musings! The Fitzgeralds’ lives were at stake. She needed to be strong. She needed to take control. She needed courage. But most of all she needed aspirin.
She inched her head over to one side of the pillow, noticing for the first time how loud it sounded. She could now see the phone on her bedside table. As she stared at it, willing it to float toward her, she heard a muffled sound, as if the attacker was climbing in through the window. Then a loud crash and a muffled yelp as he fell onto the bread maker.
Jo grabbed the phone and dived back under the duvet. Once under there, she fought the temptation to phone her mother and instead tried to dial 999. Unfortunately, her hands were shaking so much it didn’t matter that she couldn’t see anything.
Slowly, silently, she turned the top of her duvet over, leaving the phone and her hands outside it. She focused all her attention on her hands, trying to stop them shaking long enough to make the call, while the sound of a man treading softly round the kitchen outside her bedroom door sent her heart shooting into her mouth.
“Emergency, which service do you require?”
“Police.”
A click, a pause.
“You’re through to the police. How can we help?”
Jo could now clearly hear a ten-foot man treading stealthily round the conservatory, near the television. Jo tried to speak, but no noise came out.
“How can we help?”
“I’m in the bedroom.” She started to cry.
“Keep calm and tell me your address.”
Jo stuttered out the Fitzgeralds’ address.
“Well done. Now keep calm and tell me who you are.”
Jo tried to cry calmly.
“I’m Jo.”
“What’s happening, Jo?”
“He broke in…through the kitchen window.”
“Keep going.”
“I’m in the bedroom, near the kitchen.”
“Have you seen him?”
“Downstairs. I mean next to the kitchen.”
“Have you seen him? Do you know what he looks like?”
Jo shook her head at the phone.
“Do you have reason to believe this is a sexual intruder?”
Jo couldn’t answer, as she was suddenly preoccupied with the fact that her limbs seemed to have frozen.
“Hello? Jo? What’s happening now?”
“He’s gone away again. No I haven’t seen him. Maybe there’s two of them.”
“Stay on the line. There’ll be someone there as soon as possible.”
Jo stayed on the line, burrowing down beneath her duvet, feeling stronger just having the phone in her hand, connecting her to the police.
A mile away, Nick and Gerry, two extremely bored CID officers from the neighboring district, were patrolling the area on a burglary initiative. Nick was leaning against Gerry, wiping dog crap from his trainers.
“Jesus,” he was saying, “this isn’t dog crap, it’s human.”
“Shut up and wipe before I gag.”
They were interrupted by a radio message.
“EK2, 45 Ascot Drive, Highgate, suspect’s on the scene, informant is female resident. Graded I, India.”
“That’s near here,” said Nick.
“You’re not wrong, my friend,” replied Gerry.
“Think we should help out our uniformed friends, Gerrard?”
“Wouldn’t be able to sleep at night if we didn’t, Nicholas.”
“You’re all heart.”
“And it would get me away from your shoe.”
They got into their car and sped off to the house, the windows wide open.
Meanwhile, a police car waited by the curb. Inside it, two constables waited for the longest shift ever to drag itself to an end.
“My point is,” repeated the driver, “I wouldn’t want to be plain clothed even if you paid me to be.”
“No one will pay you,” yawned his partner. “That’s my point.”
The radio cackled into life, and the driver jumped into action.
“Yeah, received by EK2,” he barked, put on his blue flashing light, started his siren, sped off down a dead end, cursed, stalled, spun round, and sped off again.
Nearby, two Flying Squad officers stood staring at an Oxfam shop, which was underneath a flat they were about to visit. It was the tenth tip-off flat they’d been sent to that night for the Urban Bomber. The ninth flat they’d been sent to had been a little old lady, who’d opened the door to them, taken in their tatty jeans and leather jackets, and promptly had a heart attack. They’d had to call an ambulance for her.
They stared at the Oxfam storefront in silence.
“That’s a nice top,” said one eventually. “You’d look good in that.”
“Fuck off.”
Their radios crackled into life. They listened to the message and looked at each other.
“We can try here and probably kill someone else’s nan, or go for the intruder two minutes away and save a female resident.”
They got in their car and sped off.
“I can hear the sirens,” whispered Jo into the phone, feeling calmer. Then she saw her door handle turn and almost wet herself.
“He’s at my door!” she hissed under the duvet.
“It’s okay. They’re coming.”
A car screeched to a halt outside 45 Ascot Drive, and Nick and Gerry rushed to the front door. Two minutes later the constables arrived.
“She said there may be two of them,” whispered a constable.
“Why you whispering?” asked Gerry. “Siren make you go deaf?”
“What’s that smell?” asked the constable.
“Shit,” groaned Nick, looking at his shoe. “That’s me. Sorry.”
Meanwhile two Flying Squaddies flew to the back garden and made their way to the kitchen door. One found the broken slatted windows by the wall, saw the man-sized hole in the window, and peered round the kitchen door to see a tall, dark figure hunched up at a door in the back corner of the kitchen, listening intently, his hand on the handle.
He whispered into his radio.
“Intruder’s about to enter informant’s door.”
As he spoke, the front door was kicked from outside. He jumped through the window, followed by his partner. By the time they arrived in Jo’s dark bedroom, they could vaguely make her out, standing by her bed, in a most becoming T-shirt and knickers, brandishing an encyclopedia at a tall young male intruder.
Suddenly Nick and Gerry appeared, followed closely by two constables. The intruder held up his hands and Jo screamed, dropping the encyclopedia on her head. The intruder then launched himself at Nick, Gerry sprang at the intruder, and the constables attacked the Flying Squaddies. Meanwhile Jo crouched on the floor finding God.
The intruder wrestled himself away from Nick and Gerry, bolted for the door of Jo’s living room, ran straight into her box marked fragile, collapsed knee first onto a sharp edge poking out of it, dived sideways onto the metal framework of her rucksack and catapulted himself headfirst into her door frame, from where he executed a stunning backward triple toe loop onto a different, larger, sharper edge poking out of her box marked fragile, all the while emitting a warlike howl. Finally, he crumpled facedown in her suitcase, a resigned and changed man.
Everyone heard the trumpet before they saw it and when the bedroom light was flicked on, they froze, like children caught with crumbs all over their faces. Gradually, one by one, they noticed Vanessa and Dick, who were standing outside the room, wearing one set of pajamas between them and each with a hissing cat by their feet. In the following silence, they took in the carnage, trying to make sense of everything.
After a moment, the Flying Squaddies looked at the constables they were garrotting and let go, only to be pounced on and half-nelsoned by Nick and Gerry.
Vanessa blew the child’s trumpet again.
“Right!” she shouted. “I’m not afraid to use this!”
Dick brandished his mobile phone. “I’ve called the police.”
“We are the police,” said Gerry.
This took a moment to sink in.
“So are we,” said someone in a half-nelson. “Flying Squad.”
This took another moment to sink in.
“So are we,” said one of the constables. He hated to be left out.
“No shit, Sherlock,” said Gerry. “We thought you were strip-a-grams.”
“Convince me you’re Flying Squad,” Nick ordered the man underneath him.
“Let go or I’ll fucking geld you.”
Nick let go. He knew the Flying Squad tone. Gerry was persuaded to do the same with the man beneath him.
Vanessa and Dick tried to take in the situation as quickly as possible.
“What are you all doing in my house?” asked Dick eventually.
“Our house, darling.”
Three children appeared behind him in the kitchen. “Go back to bed!” yelled Vanessa. Everyone jumped.
“What is that awful smell?” she asked.
“Oh shit,” said Nick. “That’s me. Well it’s not me—”
“There’s an intruder,” sobbed Jo.
“There are six intruders,” corrected Vanessa. “One who seems to have filled his own trousers.”
“It’s a dog crap, I haven’t—”
“He’s the intruder!” shouted Jo, pointing at the intruder, who was lying in her suitcase, his nose in her favorite lace thong.
“I’m not an intruder,” he whispered.
“You look like an intruder to me, mate,” said Gerry, taking the opportunity to half-nelson him.
“Well, I’m not!”
Gerry pulled his arm tighter behind him.
“Ow!” yelped the intruder.
“What would you call yourself then, mate?”
There was a long silence, as the intruder wiped his tears angrily on Jo’s underwear.
“I’m an accountant,” he hissed.
“Right,” Nick told Gerry. “Cuff the comedian.”
Then to everyone’s surprise, Dick rushed forward and collapsed on the floor next to the intruder, his arm round his shoulder.
“Oh my God!” he cried. “It’s Josh!”
“Where?” asked Gerry. “Who’s Josh?”
“My son!” cried Dick. “Get off him!”
“Are you sure, sir—”
“Get off my son!”
Slowly Gerry let go of the intruder’s arm and let it fall limply in Jo’s undies. There was a very long silence. Eventually, the intruder squirmed painfully into a small fetal ball facing Dick.
“Hi, Dad,” he said weakly. “I like the new TV.”
Jo blinked as Gerry stepped away from Dick’s eldest son. Painfully, slowly, Josh opened out the full length of his body and lay on his back in her open suitcase, breathing shallowly. As Jo frowned down at him, Josh Fitzgerald slowly came into focus.
He had his father’s tall, boyish figure and thick, wavy dark hair. A bruise was just beginning to show between liquid brown eyes that were heavy with thick, wet eyelashes, a fresh cut emphasized high cheekbones, a line of blood trickled toward full lips and a firm jaw, and his chin, complete with dimple, was trying hard not to quiver.
She stared at him, dumbfounded. Did he really have her thong wrapped round his left ear, or was she still drunk?
“It’s Josh!” yelled Zak suddenly, eyes bright, racing into the room. “With blood all over his face! And lots of policemen!” He bounced up and down, holding his willy. “Mummy,” he begged. “Can Toby come and play?”
Cassandra and Tallulah stayed behind their parents.
“Why have they hurt Josh?” asked Tallulah. “Did he take a biscuit without asking?”
Everyone turned to Jo.
“He-he-I-I…He. He-he-I…” she explained, vaguely conscious that that wouldn’t stand up in a court of law. She pulled herself up straight and managed not to lose her balance. “I thought,” she spoke very slowly and nearly clearly, “that heee was a big, axey murderer.”
They turned to Josh, who was now quivering.
“Yes,” said Vanessa. “An easy mistake.” She knelt down next to Josh. “The doctor will be here as soon as possible.”
“Hi, Vanessa.” He breathed with difficulty. “Alright?”
“Why didn’t you ring the doorbell?” she asked him gently.
“Lost my key. Didn’t want to wake you.”
Vanessa smiled. “Oh, we have missed you, Josh. You do liven things up.”
She turned to Jo, who was now holding her head.
“Jo,” she said, getting up, “You appear to be in some pain.”
Jo nodded, then stopped.
“Did someone hit you on the head?” Vanessa came toward her.
“Yes,” explained Jo, pointing at the encyclopedia on the floor. “I did.”
Jo was surprised at how little sympathy she got.
“I thought he was an intruder,” she said, a quiver in her voice.
Vanessa was about to answer when her senses were suddenly overpowered. She froze, her eyes watering, her throat spasming. She wasn’t the only one. Everyone suddenly started to shuffle away from each other, their eyes averted in embarrassment.
Vanessa’s jaw dropped as she pointed in horror at Jo’s bed. Has someone crapped on the duvet?” she said, holding her nose.
“Oh shit, yes, that’s me,” groaned Nick. “Well it’s not me, obviously, it’s dog crap.”
“So let me get this straight.” Vanessa smiled slinkily at the Flying Squaddie. “You’re a policeman, but you’re in plain clothes.”
“That’s right.” He grinned.
“Very plain clothes.”
He nodded. “Right again.’
A constable slouched behind Vanessa and her squaddie, punctuating their conversation with the occasional sotto voce “tosser.” Now he remembered why plain clothes thought they were better than uniform. Because women did.
Meanwhile Nick and Gerry took a statement from Jo and tried to calm her down. They failed, especially when they suggested that she put it down to experience as a dry run.
Later, as Vanessa saw six policemen off the premises, answered their questions and gave details, all without any pajama trousers on, Dick poured Jo some brandy in the kitchen and the doctor saw to Josh in her suite. There was no internal damage and no broken bones, just broken pride, a badly twisted ankle, and some very nasty bruises. Josh finally shuffled out into the kitchen and sat down slowly opposite Jo, and both sat in silence while Dick whispered to the doctor by the door. Jo felt almost as self-conscious about her naked legs under the glass table as she felt wretched for what she’d done.
Eventually she spoke to Josh.
“I-I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I thought you had an ax.”
He gave her a sardonic smile. “I’ve never heard it called that before,” he whispered back.
“Well well,” said Dick from the kitchen. “You’ll both laugh about this someday.”
“Absolutely,” agreed Josh. “If I live that long.” He glanced up at Jo through thick eyelashes, a glimmer of a smile on his lips. Jo wanted the ground to swallow her up. Then she wanted the ground to throw Josh down on top of her.
“I thought I was protecting the family,” she repeated in a monotone.
“Dad,” said Josh, eyes still on Jo, “please tell Inspector Clouseau here that I am family.”
Jo felt stung.
“Dick,” she said, ever so politely. “Please tell the Milk Tray Man here that climbing through someone’s window at night and skulking around their house is not big. It’s not clever, and it’s not…big.”
They stared at each other for a moment.
“Now now now,” soothed Dick, handing them both mugs of hot, sweet tea. “It was a simple case of mistaken identity. You both scared each other, and you’re both sorry.”
Jo and Josh eyed each other over their mugs.
“All friends?” asked Dick.
“I thought he was going to attack me,” Jo murmured over her mug.
Josh stayed staring at her over his mug, and Jo couldn’t tell if he was smiling at her behind it.
“The night is yet young,” he said quietly.