Chapters (55)
- Cover
- ANNA WHARTON
- Dedication page
- ONE
- TWO
- THREE
- FOUR
- FIVE
- SIX
- SEVEN
- EIGHT
- NINE
- TEN
- ELEVEN
- TWELVE
- THIRTEEN
- FOURTEEN
- FIFTEEN
- SIXTEEN
- SEVENTEEN
- EIGHTEEN
- NINETEEN
- TWENTY
- TWENTY-ONE
- TWENTY-TWO
- TWENTY-THREE
- TWENTY-FOUR
- TWENTY-FIVE
- TWENTY-SIX
- TWENTY-SEVEN
- TWENTY-EIGHT
- TWENTY-NINE
- THIRTY
- THIRTY-ONE
- THIRTY-TWO
- THIRTY-THREE
- THIRTY-FOUR
- THIRTY-FIVE
- THIRTY-SIX
- THIRTY-SEVEN
- THIRTY-EIGHT
- THIRTY-NINE
- FORTY
- FORTY-ONE
- FORTY-TWO
- FORTY-THREE
- FORTY-FOUR
- FORTY-FIVE
- FORTY-SIX
- FORTY-SEVEN
- FORTY-EIGHT
- FORTY-NINE
- ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
- Praise
- THE IMPOSTER
Outside on the landing, she hears the soft padding of footsteps. One or two floorboards creak underfoot. Perhaps Maureen or Patrick has got up to use the bathroom? But there’s something different about the creak of the door that opens, as if the sound is contained in the wall beside her. And there’s something else – it’s not followed by the soft ping of the pulley light in the bathroom, the stir of the electric air vent. Just a dull click that could almost be coming from inside her own room.
She gets up, tiptoeing across the floorboards. She presses her ear up to the door. She tries desperately to still her breath or at least slow it down so she can listen, but instead the rush of her own blood pounds inside her ears. Her hand reaches for the brass doorknob; she turns it, feeling it click underneath her grasp. The latch breaks free of the frame, and Chloe opens the door slowly, peering out onto the landing. All is still, all is dark. The moon beams through the small window at the top of the stairs, falling on Christ on the wall inches from her own head. Each door is still closed. No light shines out from underneath the bathroom door.
Perhaps she had imagined it. Perhaps what she thought were footsteps was actually the soft tap-tapping of the radiators, of the copper expanding and contracting between the joists. There would be a simple explanation. Only she’s about to return to the warmth of her sleepy duvet when she sees another slit of light. It is shining out from the room next to hers – the room Maureen told her is for storage. She stops still – something about the door is different. She realizes the shiny padlock has gone, and in the exact same second a shadow passes underneath the door. Someone is in there. Someone is in the padlocked room. And then, as quickly as that thought occurs, the light inside goes off. As if whoever it is knows she is watching.
Chloe stands once again in the darkness, the moon making her nightie shine whiter. She holds her breath, listens for another sound. But there is nothing. No one moving inside, no footsteps. All is absolutely still again.
Why would anyone be in there at this time of night?
She wraps her body around her own door frame as if it might offer something more solid. Now her mind really is racing. Her toes wriggle against the grain of the wood under her bare feet, a soft draught wraps itself around her ankles. She shivers.
She takes one step back into her room and closes the door, wincing as it clicks into place. Back in bed she peers out from under her duvet, once again unable to make out a thing in her room. She doesn’t hear another sound, as if it had all been a dream.