“Pete?” She made her way through to the kitchen and then back down the hallway into the lounge. “Pete?”

He must be still outside checking the shed.

She pulled open kitchen cupboards. They were simply equipped, again like a holiday place. It was all so temporary and here and there scuffs on the walls and scratches on the paintwork witnessed the passing of other tenants, mysteries; as she supposed their brief stay would be to whoever came here next. Unseen, but with a little of their spirit left behind in the fabric of the place.

There were indeed eggs in the fridge and bacon, a pack of ham and some salad. If he liked omelettes then maybe... She gave a tiny snort of laughter. Again her life was reduced to a film or a television drama; the ubiquitous omelette. There was no wine, she was disappointed. To complete the set there should be cheap wine or at least a quarter bottle of whisky.

“Pete?” She had pushed open the back door. How long did it take to check on a shed?

It was at the end of the garden, beneath a brick wall. A small flagged path dissected the neat lawn. There were no flower borders but a couple of shrubs broke up the monotony of the little space. “Pete?”

The little quiver of fear was so small at first that she called it hunger. “Pete, are you there?”

Perhaps she shouldn’t be out here calling in the open. She didn’t want him to be angry with her and this probably wasn’t sensible. She stepped back inside and pulled the door closed. Crossing to the window she peered out into the garden. There was no sign of him.

In the lounge she stood behind the heavy drapes to squint out through old fashioned net curtains to where the car sat at the curb. He wasn’t there. Her throat had dried and the quiver of nerves shuddered through her gut.

As her feet thudded on the carpeted stairs she remembered his grin as she had pushed past him such a short while ago, “Come out, come out,” she had said. Had they? Had they come out while she was in the shower?

On the landing she paused to listen; perhaps he was in the master bathroom. There was no sound of running water and then the click of a handle turning echoed through the house.

She ran into her chosen room at the back and stared out. Now at the end of the grassed and paved garden she could see the shed clearly. She could see the door as it swung on shining metal hinges. She could see Pete, and she could see the man beside him and the glint of dark metal in his hand and she heard the fall of feet on the stairs.

Chapter 41

She glanced around. The wardrobe door stood open. Should she climb inside? It was empty and the very thought was ridiculous. The curtains were short offering no chance of concealment. The room was so simple and sparse that there was nowhere to hide.

The stairs creaked and she scurried back to glance through the window. Pete was at the end of the little path. He and the man with him were staring at the house. Pete shook his head, he lifted his hands and gestured. There was tension in every line of his body.

She had to hide.

She had to help him.

Now there was movement on the landing. A small tin of deodorant stood on the dresser. She grabbed it and snapped off the plastic cap.

She chose the bed, the hiding place of frightened children. As she slithered underneath, the door to the room next door slammed back against the wall.

Even with the covers dragged down as far down as they would come it was hopeless. Like a creature in the jungle she had fallen into a trap. No way out. Nowhere to go. She lowered her head to her hands, closed her eyes. Her stomach clenched in fear.

The booted feet and lower legs were visible now in the glow from the window on the half landing. Pauline tried to remember what she had left in the room. Was it obvious that she had been there? Well, of course it was. There was a damp towel, a steamy bathroom filled with the scent of shampoo and body spray. There might as well have been a great arrow pointing to her hiding place. It was all over. This was the end and Pete wasn’t here. She really would have liked to be with him now. To face this horror alone seemed an unduly harsh twist of fate but then had she not been alone for twenty years?

The intruder didn’t call out. Feet paused briefly before the wardrobe and the door swung open. Next was the bathroom and the overwhelming evidence of her occupation and then it was time. The black boots were inches away from her face. They flexed and bent. She held the small can in front of her.

There was a small change in his breathing as he leaned down. The bedcovers twitched and the light changed as he flicked the pink duvet back and away from her space.

Without a moment for thought she acted. Her finger jabbed down hard on the plastic button and she straightened her arm aiming directly at his eyes. As the spray hit him he yelled out, harsh and piercing. Shock and pain combined to send him back onto his behind. She slithered out and across the carpet. He was a huge man but temporarily incapacitated.

The sharp, but brief pain wasn’t going to hold him; she knew that. He had thrown one arm out to balance while the other was across his eyes. She stamped down hard on his flexed fingers and was rewarded by another yell. The sickening crack as small bones fractured was followed by a more piercing scream. She stomped again and as the figure on the floor rolled away from the source of his agony she leaped across him and made for the door.

He was swearing now and pushing to his feet. She ran from the room, slamming the door behind her. It wouldn’t hold him for long but it would give her an extra moment. Her feet flew across the landing and down the stairs. The thud of the door hitting the bedroom wall and the roar of anger told her she had moments only to unlock the bank of bolts that Pete had fastened so securely a couple of hours ago. She wouldn’t make it, there was no chance. Already he was across the small space at the top of the stairs. There were bolts and chains and dead locks requiring screw keys. It was impossible.

Spinning through one hundred and eighty degrees she kept her eyes down. If she looked up and saw him then it was possible that fear would overwhelm her. The hallway was narrow and short, in moments she was in the kitchen.

At last a small piece of luck, he had left the garden door open. She was through it and turning instinctively towards the road. Pete and his captor were at the bottom of the back garden so she must go to the front and away. A tall wooden gate closed off the access and she ran at it. Grabbing out at the metal handle she dragged and pushed but it was secure. A wheelie bin stood beside the wall and she clambered onto the wobbling top. As a security breech someone’s head should roll but for now it was a life saver. In just moments she’d dropped to the paved path at the side of the house. Adrenaline and muscles made strong by her outdoor life carried her forward.

The little car was yards away. He would have locked it surely? She hurried to it and snatched at the passenger door handle. Unbelievably he had left it unlocked, perhaps for just such a situation, perhaps in the rush to stop her stretching and bending as they had been visible on the pavement earlier; but for whatever reason it was open.

Leaning in she popped the little door of the glove compartment and thrust her hand to the back where she knew she would find the tiny tag of cotton. She took a deep breath as his words echoed in her mind. You’ll have to do it slowly; if not it’ll twist and that’s a bugger.

“Slowly, slowly,” she muttered under her breath, “slowly.” It moved and began to slide towards her. “Slowly.” As soon as there was space she pushed her hand into the dark recess and grabbed the pistol hidden there. She had no idea whether it was loaded and didn’t know how to fire something she had always been afraid of. She supposed there would be a safety catch but had no idea what that was or how to release it but she grabbed at the handle and dragged the thing into the light. The gate at the side of the house began to swing backwards.