27

I wasn’t going to go down there. I was perfectly safe if I didn’t go down there.

‘Hello?’

I didn’t get quite as far as the basement steps. I stopped just short of them, towards the end of the kitchen units with the bin to my side. Wrapping my free hand around the countertop, I gripped my phone in my other hand.

‘Do you need some help?’

That would be the worst thing, wouldn’t it? If he was hurt. If he was unconscious or had collapsed or had suffered, I don’t know, a heart attack or something.

My actions (or inactions) would be unforgivable then.

And yes, he’d looked fit and healthy, but looks could be deceiving and why was I wasting time up here when he might be hurt?

‘Donovan?’

Or perhaps he really couldn’t hear me.

Was that possible?

I supposed it could be. The basement walls and floors would be thick.

Or – and this I really didn’t want to think about – maybe he was messing with me. I’d told him about my claustrophobia. I’d told him how uncomfortable I was about the basement. He’d seen that I had a problem with it. I knew next to nothing about him and he could be exactly the type of arsehole who’d get a kick out of terrorizing a woman.

I went up on my toes and peered down the steps. They twisted to the right at the bottom and my stomach twisted with them.

I teetered forwards, stretching out my arm but unwilling to release the countertop just yet, then froze when I heard a vehicle blast by on the street outside.

A gust of wind must have followed it because the front door swung fully open and bumped against the hallway wall.

I swivelled and stared back at it.

The breath I was holding seemed to chill and condense in my lungs.

‘Donovan?’

When he still didn’t respond, I got that awful feeling again.

Could he be somewhere else?

Was the basement empty?

Angst crackled around me. A static charge.

I wrestled with what to do.

The front door is open behind you. You have fresh air and an exit. You are not shut in. You are not confined here.

I shuffled ever so slightly forwards until only the tip of my finger was still touching the countertop behind me.

I glanced back at it, then watched it drop free.

When I looked frontwards again I rocked precariously on my ankles, feeling as if I was balancing on a high wire that was trembling out of control, the wobbles getting worse, amplified by my own spasms of fear.

I paused for a second and took a fistful of my sweater in my fist.

‘Donovan? I’m sorry, but would you mind coming back upstairs now?’

Nothing.

‘Please? I know it sounds silly but this is making me uncomfortable and I really think—’

I was interrupted by a sudden, fast rapping on the front door behind me.

‘Knock knock,’ called a high, cheery voice. ‘Lucy? Where are you hiding?’