We both froze.
Donovan’s breath scoured my cheek.
I could feel how still and tense he’d become.
He isn’t expecting this.
‘Not a word,’ he told me, and then he withdrew his hand from around my shoulders while still clenching my wrist, pocketed his phone and ducked down briefly to scoop up Sam’s keys before standing again and raising my wrist way up behind me with my elbow straight, forcing me to pivot forwards from my hips, and walking me to the top of the stairs.
He held me there, suspended above the stairwell as I looked back towards the cupboard where Bethany was trapped, my wrist and arm stiff and aching, my hair dangling in front of my face. Could it be Sam at the door? I didn’t think so. Not unless his support group had finished early for some reason.
‘Down.’
I was leaning so far forwards I would have fallen without Donovan holding me up. His grip on my wrist was relentless. I was scared my arm might break if I stumbled. As I awkwardly negotiated the stairs, I had to strain to look out of the tops of my eyes at the way ahead, the pain thumping absently in the back of my skull.
At the bottom of the stairs he used the same technique to steer me through my bedroom towards the middle window closest to the sofa, where he finally released my wrist and braced me against the wall with his hand on my upper arm, his arm straight, elbow-locked, before reaching out to separate the blades of the shutter blind.
I rubbed the tender skin of my wrist as he looked down towards the front of our house.
My arm felt strangely weightless, numbed, my bones rubbery and weak.
‘Are you expecting anyone?’ he asked me quietly.
I didn’t say anything.
‘Answer me,’ he said, pinning me harder against the wall.
‘No.’
‘No, you’re not expecting anyone?’
‘That’s what I said.’
He rose up on his toes, peering downwards.
The doorbell sounded a second time.
I listened for the sound of the doorbell app on my phone coming from his coat, but I couldn’t hear it.
Then he adjusted his grip, pulling me sideways until I could see what he was looking at. ‘Who is that?’
I could see John – or rather, the top of his head and his angular, bird-like shoulders, the tan raincoat he had on and the pale moon of his scalp where his hair had thinned. There was something in his shopping bag now. The opaque plastic was stretched and weighted down by it.
‘It’s our neighbour, John.’
‘What does he want?’
‘I don’t know. Maybe he heard me scream?’
‘No, that’s not it. I saw him before. He was outside when the courier came.’
I didn’t say anything to that. Obviously I’d seen John, too. I’d also seen the confusion and concern that had crossed his face.
‘Sometimes when he’s on his way to the shops he asks if we need anything?’ I suggested.
‘He has a shopping bag already.’
Donovan thrust his face next to mine to get a better angle on John.
Was Sam’s phone still off, I wondered? Because he had the same doorbell app as me. Perhaps he’d answer on his phone and start wondering why I wasn’t answering the door myself.
‘He’s not leaving,’ Donovan muttered.
I swallowed with some difficulty.
‘The lights are on,’ I told him. ‘He knows I’m home.’ I hesitated. ‘He’s ex-police.’
Donovan leaned back from the window and gave me a sideways look.
‘It’s true,’ I told him quickly. ‘John worked for the Met before he retired.’
‘Well, isn’t that just perfect.’
The doorbell rang for a third time.
‘He’s not going to give up,’ I said. ‘John won’t. He’s not the type.’
Donovan growled and spun me around, then marched me across the room towards the landing, meanwhile fumbling his phone from his pocket and juggling it in his hand, tapping it with his thumb, clamping it to his ear.
‘Pick up,’ he muttered. ‘Pick—’
His call was answered and he immediately began to speak in a low voice.
‘Are you still in the room with him?’
It took several seconds before I heard a muffled response. ‘I’m here for you. You’re here for me.’
The delivery sounded off and it took me a second to realize that I was actually hearing more than one person talking. And there was something unusual about the reply, too. The cadence and the flat, forced tone of it. It sounded like the people in Sam’s support group were repeating a chant.
‘Keep listening,’ Donovan said. ‘This line stays open. We have company. If you hear anything you don’t like, you know what to do.’
‘Sam?’ I shrieked. ‘Sam, can you hear me?’
Donovan swore and snatched his phone away, slamming me against the wall.
Pain lit up across my side.
The breath was knocked out of me.
‘He can’t hear you.’ His pupils were two dark orbs, sucking in any light. ‘The person on the other end of this call? They’re wearing a concealed earpiece. Sam won’t even know they answered my call. But they’re listening very carefully to us. Understand?’
A chill permeated my torso.
I nodded.
I understood.
I also sensed that I’d pushed Donovan about as far as I dared for the moment.
‘Good,’ Donovan said. ‘Then let’s go and answer your door together. And don’t try anything stupid because I guarantee you it won’t just be Sam who suffers if you do. Remember, there’s plenty of space upstairs in that cupboard next to Bethany for your neighbour, too.’