Dead Man's Footsteps

forecast was on the Sony wide-screen television, which Abby recalled her winning, perched clumsily on a metal drinks trolley, which was another prize.
    The tray crashed to the floor. Her mother looked as if she had seen a ghost.
    Abby ran across the room and threw her arms around her mother.
    ‘I love you, Mum,’ she said. ‘I love you so much.’
    Mary Dawson had always been a small woman, but now she seemed even smaller than Abby remembered, as if she had shrunk during these past two years. Though she still had a pretty face, with beautiful pale blue eyes, she was much more wrinkled than last time Abby had seen her. She hugged her tightly, tears streaming down her face, wetting her mother’s hair that smelled unwashed, but smelled of her mother.
    After her father had died, horribly but mercifully quickly from prostate cancer ten years ago, Abby had hoped for a while that her mother might find someone else. But when the disease was diagnosed, that hope went.
    ‘What’s going on, Abby?’ her mother quizzed, then added, with a sudden twinkle, ‘Are we going to be on This Is Your Life ? Is that why you’re here?’
    Abby laughed. Then, clutching her mum tightly, realized it had been a long, long time since she had last laughed. ‘I don’t think it’s on any more.’
    ‘No prizes on that show, Abby dear.’
    Abby laughed again. ‘I’ve missed you, Mum!’
    ‘I miss you too, my darling, all the time. Why didn’t you tell me you were coming back from Australia? When did you get home? If I’d known you were coming I’d have tidied myself up!’
    Suddenly remembering the time, Abby glanced at her watch. Three minutes had elapsed. She jumped up. ‘I’ll be back in a sec!’
    She hurried outside, looking warily each way up and down the street, then went over to the taxi and opened the front passenger door. ‘I’ll be a few more minutes, but the same applies. Call me if you see him.’
    ‘If he turns up, miss, I’ll beat the crap out of him!’
    ‘Just call me!’
    She returned to her mother.
    ‘Mum, I can’t explain it all now. I want to call a locksmith and get a new lock put on your door, and a safety chain and a spyhole. I want to try to get it done today.’
    ‘What’s going on, Abby? What is it?’
    Abby went over to the phone and picked up the cradle, turning it upside down. She didn’t know what a bug looked like, but she could see nothing underneath it. Then she looked at the handset and couldn’t see anything wrong with that either. But what did she know?
    ‘Do you have any other phones?’ she asked.
    ‘You’re in trouble, aren’t you? What is it? I’m your mum, tell me!’
    Abby knelt down and picked up the tray, then went to the kitchen to find a cloth to clear up the spilt rice pudding.
    ‘I’m going to buy you a new phone, a mobile. Please don’t use this one any more.’
    As she started wiping the mess off the carpet, she realized it was the old carpet from the sitting room at their home in Hollingbury. It was a deep red colour, with a wide border of entwined roses in green, ochre and brown, and was frayed to the point of baldness in some patches. But it was comforting to see it, taking her back to her childhood.
    ‘What is it, Abby?’
    ‘Everything’s OK.’
    Her mother shook her head. ‘I may be a sick woman, but I’m not stupid. You’re frightened. If you can’t tell your old mum, who can you tell?’
    ‘Please just do what I say. Have you got a Yellow Pages ?’
    ‘In the middle drawer of the bottom half,’ her mother said, pointing at a walnut tallboy.
    ‘I’ll explain everything later, but I don’t have time now. OK?’ She went over and found the directory. It was a few years out of date, but that probably didn’t matter, she decided, flipping it open and leafing through until she found the Locksmith section.
    She made the call, then told her mother someone would be here later this afternoon from Eastbourne Lockworks.
    ‘Are you in trouble, Abby?’
    She shook her head, not wanting to alarm her mother too much. ‘I think someone is stalking me – someone who wanted me to go out with him, and he’s trying to get to me through you, that’s all.’
    Her mother gave her a long look, as if showing she didn’t fully believe the story. ‘Still with that fellow Dave?’
    Abby replaced the cloth in the kitchen sink, then came back and kissed her mother. ‘Yes.’
    ‘He didn’t sound a good ’un to me.’
    ‘He’s been kind to me.’
    ‘Your