‘Is it Daddy?’ he says, his voice bright. ‘Has Daddy come?’

I want to put my hand over his mouth, keep him quiet, but if I do that he’ll get hysterical.

The banging starts again. Three loud thuds. It’s then I realize it’s coming from the front of the house. I hold my breath for what feels like minutes but can only be a few seconds, my mind whirring with panic.

If it’s him, what will I do?

‘Want to see Daddy,’ says Joe, wriggling and squirming in my arms. ‘Let me down.’

I squeeze him closer to my chest, muttering prayers under my breath. But holding Joe tighter just makes him more agitated. He breaks free of my arms, kicking me in the stomach as he descends to the floor.

‘Ow,’ I cry, doubling over, and he makes a run for the door.

The pain winds me. My eyes sting with tears but I have no time to think about it. I have to get Joe away from that door.

I stagger after him. If he opens the door then it’s all over.

‘Daddy,’ he shouts, banging his fists against the door. ‘Where you?’

I stand in the hallway unable to breathe, waiting for Mark’s reply. But all is silent. The banging has stopped. A few moments later I hear footsteps and the sound of a car door closing. As the engine starts up my body starts to loosen. He’s leaving.

‘Daddy gone?’ says Joe, turning to me with tears in his eyes.

I stand for a couple of seconds, waiting. When I’m sure the car has gone I rush to Joe.

‘It’s okay, Joe,’ I say, taking his hand. ‘Everything’s okay.’

‘No,’ he screams, shaking his head furiously. ‘Don’t want you. Want Daddy. I hate you.’

He yanks his hand away from mine and starts pounding the door with his fists.

‘Want to see Daddy,’ he cries. ‘Daddy’s outside. Want to see him.’

‘Joe, calm down,’ I say, guiding him away from the door. ‘Daddy’s not there. Look, I’ll show you.’

I pull back the bolt. The door is stiff and I have to yank it open.

‘See,’ I say to Joe. ‘There’s no one there.’

I quickly usher Joe back into the house but as I close the door I take a tentative look over my shoulder. All I can see is the lake and the gate and the blur of the road, yet somehow I can’t shake the feeling that someone is out there, watching me.

10

Soldier Number 1

Rowan Isle House, July 2004

Right. This time I promise I’m going to write in this journal and not just put it away in a drawer like I did last time. It’s been nearly a year. But then not much has happened that would be worth writing about. In fact, there have been times when I’ve been so bored I’ve felt like screaming. I’m supposed to be in training to be a soldier, one of the elite, but I’ve done nothing but gardening and housework for almost ten months.