They found nothing when they dug up my beautiful garden in Burma, nothing at all, except for the bootee, so what was the point? Here, as the first blush of dawn filters through my curtains, I hear the chorus of birds greeting the day. I stand at the window for a long time gazing out as the sun tints the treetops gold. When I peer down from the window I see a man wearing a grey trilby and navy-blue mackintosh turn into our front entrance. I falter. It’s still early. Have they come for me already? When I hear voices lower down in the house, I steal across to my door and open it slightly, acutely aware of the tread of my footsteps on the creaking floorboards. The front doorbell chimes and after it has been opened I hear voices again. This time from the hall and a little louder than before, although still muted, and not loud enough for me to hear what they are saying.
I grip the door frame and although I feel dizzy with anxiety I step out on to the landing. Then, leaning on the bannister rail, look down the stairwell. An internal door closes and the hall empties – it’s completely silent. I breathe a sigh of relief and go back to my room. Maybe the man is one of Douglas’s colleagues and nothing to do with me.
This top-floor room with sloping walls has become my prison – or perhaps a source of solace? Either way, I am safe up here. If I swallow the tablets our housekeeper gives me with a glass of water morning and evening, they say I am not a danger to myself … or anyone else. I smile. If I remember to swallow and don’t merely put them under my tongue …
I hear voices again and tiptoe back to the landing. From my vantage point I see the man who had been wearing the navy-blue mackintosh. Now he is staring up at me. He smiles, inclines his head and begins to climb the stairs.
Despite the fog in my brain there is one thing I am sure of.
I am not ready to go.