23

Lisa

12 December

When I wake up I see a circle of light on the ceiling. It flutters from side to side, hovering but never settling on any one spot. My head aches. I check the time on my phone. It’s 1 p.m. We’ve slept in.

I lie there for a while, watching the room turn pink with the winter sun, but then Joe wriggles beside me.

‘Too hot,’ he says, kicking the covers off. ‘Can have drink?’

I’m just about to answer when there’s a knock at the front door.

‘I get it,’ cries Joe, and before I can stop him he’s out of the bed and running out of the room.

‘Joe,’ I shout, leaping from the bed on to the freezing stone floor. ‘Joe. Wait for me.’

I walk down the corridor, the events of the previous evening flashing in front of my eyes like images on a projection screen: Isobel’s strange father cowering behind the door, the fat ginger cat purring before the fire, Jimmy, the screaming and those words I’ve tried to block out ever since hearing them: ‘She killed him.’

I hear voices as I reach the hallway. Who can it be?

‘Lisa?’

I look up. Isobel is standing at the front door. She’s wearing a black woollen winter coat and a thick baby-pink scarf. In her hands she holds a box of eggs.

‘Oh, hello,’ I say, looking behind me to see where Joe has got to. ‘I’m sorry, I was just … Did Joe let you in?’

‘Yes,’ says Isobel, smiling. ‘He’s gone to have a play in my car.’

I step to the door and look out. Joe is sitting at the wheel of the car, making an almighty noise sounding the horn.

‘I should bring him in,’ I say, my head beginning to throb.

‘Oh, he’s having fun,’ says Isobel. ‘Look at his little face.’

She’s right. He’s beaming with happiness. After being cooped up in this house these last few days, anything would seem like fun, even a boring old car horn.

‘I just popped over to see how you were,’ says Isobel, cradling the box of eggs to her chest. ‘I was a bit worried about you last night, the way you rushed off from the pub like that.’

‘Rushed off?’ I repeat, my voice competing with the blaring noise of the horn.

‘I thought Jimmy might have scared you with his silly talk,’ she says, rolling her eyes. ‘Honestly, he can be a bit much at times.’

I think back to the previous evening and the woman Jimmy says is a killer. My friend. A murderer. I still can’t make sense of it. Then I remember leaving the pub, trying to get Joe into the car and hearing him say ‘bye bye’ in that strange voice.

‘There was someone …’ I begin, recalling the dark figure I saw disappearing up the street. ‘Someone watching … I –’

‘Lisa, you don’t look well. Why don’t you come inside and sit down?’ says Isobel, guiding me back into the house. ‘I’ll make you a cup of tea.’