Shooting in the Dark

her alone.
    She fought the image of him standing at the end of her bed. He was not there. This was Sam’s house, and Sam was there to protect her. The man who was stalking her had insinuated himself into her head, so that she carried him with her wherever she went. But he was an illusion most of the time. The trick was to learn when he was illusion and harmless, and when he was reality and dangerous.
    She put her earphones on and listened to the audiotape of Le Carré’s The Naive and Sentimental Lover. But it was too creepy and made the fact of being watched only more obvious.
    But I’m not going to let this undermine me, she thought. I’m going to go on living my life. Even as she thought it, she wasn’t sure if she meant it or not, if she would be strong enough to overcome the more or less constant fear that rolled her innards into a tight fist.
    A stair creaked and she held her breath. Nothing. An imagination. But there it was again, closer now, and she heard herself shouting out Sam’s name without thinking about it.
    The door to her room opened immediately and she was already scrambling back against the pillows, trying to force herself through the headboard before she realized that the voice belonged to Sam Turner.
    He strode across the room and sat on the edge of the bed. She let him put his arm around her and listened to the soothing tones of his voice as he stroked her back. The hollow thumping in her chest racked her body and her breathing was similar to an asthmatic attack for several minutes.
    He’d been out to check the windows and doors. Everything was all right. There was nobody else in the house. She was safe. Perfectly safe.
    He stayed for half an hour, until she was almost asleep. She felt him release his hand and move away from the bed, and she let him go, feigning sleep. She listened to him close her door and heard his soft footsteps make their way to his own room.
    Angeles determined to control herself. An active imagination was not always a blessing. Tomorrow she would be more careful. Make sure that she knew what was happening.
    Someone walked past the house. Angeles tensed as the footsteps became louder, and she took a long breath as they paused for a moment below her window. After a couple of beats they continued along the road, eventually disappearing altogether.
    But what was the pause about, she wondered, as a throbbing sensation filled the spaces behind her eyes.
     

28
     
    Janet baked two apple cakes that morning: a large one which she and Geordie and Ralph would demolish after dinner and a small one to take to Angeles. She hid the large one in the cupboard so the cats wouldn’t get to it and the smaller one she put in a round biscuit tin together with a vial of arnica tablets.
    She dressed Echo in a red and white babygro and fed her while sitting in the nursing chair next to her bed. She started with her left breast this time, making sure she didn’t push Echo into a left or right bias because of her feeding routine.
    The child gurgled softly on the bed while Janet dressed herself in a pair of cotton trousers and a halter-necked top in a lighter shade of blue. It was interesting and gratifying to have developed breasts at last, something worthy of the name. Adolescence had been a nightmare, watching all the other girls shopping for brassieres and bursting out of their school uniforms. And then, later, taking the jibes of her mother and the boys who roamed the neighbourhood in search of a handful.
    It had been like a miracle towards the end of her pregnancy when those two large nipples had developed a bed of plump flesh for themselves. And an even greater miracle when Janet discovered that they actually worked, that Echo lusted after them with every fibre of her being and was never less than stunningly satisfied with what they provided.
    And, of course, Geordie, who had always protested that he loved her exactly as she was before the miracle - hey, flat chests are sexy these days, it’s fashionable - was now delirious.
    She smiled at her reflection in the mirror, still the same round face. Some things change, but others remain the same.
    She carried Echo downstairs and showed her the kittens while Venus looked on suspiciously. She put her in the pram, packed the biscuit tin in the carrier and, after propping a note for Geordie on the kitchen table, set off for Sam Turner’s house.
    Angeles opened the door almost as soon as Janet rang the bell. ‘I thought you weren’t