Rescuing Rose (20 page)

'Good evening, Madam!' said the first one pleasantly, lifting his hat.

'I'm sorry, but I've asked you not to call. '

'But we would like to share the joy of God's love with you. Have you five minutes of your precious time to spare?'

'No. '

'But Jehovah is waiting to welcome you into his glorious Kingdom. '

'Then he'll be waiting a long time. '

'But Jesus loves you, Miss Costelloe!'

'That's what they all say… ' What? 'How did you know my name?' I snapped.

'Because you're on the electoral roll. ' Oh. Of
course
.

'Look, ' I said wearily, 'you're wasting your time. I dislike organized religion and I
don't
believe in Jesus. Happy Christmas.
Goodbye
!

I double locked the door, put the chain on again, and settled down in front of the box. On the screen was a euphoric Jimmy Stewart, running through Bedford Falls.

'Merry Christmas everybody!' he was shouting. 'Merry Christmas!' It was
A Wonderful Life
wasn't it?
Not
…

The next day, while most of the country stuffed themselves senseless, watched telly and quarrelled, I worked. At seven-thirty, I bagged up my thirty-three replies, all ready to be posted, then got out a bottle of wine. And yes, I know, I
know
, you shouldn't drink alone, slippery slope and all that. But I thought, why shouldn't I? It's Christmas Day; I'm pissed-off and I've been working non-stop. Forty minutes later I'd had most of a bottle of rather good Merlot when I heard the gate squeak again. Then the doorbell rang and I stiffened, bracing myself for more grief.

Away in a manger.
. . piped childish voices. Relieved, I groped for my bag.
No crib for a bed
. Where was it? Oh. Right here.
The little lord Jesus
… I peeped through the spyhole, then drew back the chain.
Lay down his sweet head
… There were five of them standing on the step aged between about seven and twelve. They were obviously local kids, on a late trawl for pocket money, but their voices were clear and sweet.
The stars in the

bright sky
… I opened my purse.
Look down where he lay
… What on earth should I give them? A fiver would be about right I didn't have one. I only had a twenty quid note.
The little lord Jesus
… Oh, what the hell…
asleep on the hay
.

'That's to share, ' I said, handing it to the biggest boy. 'And don't spend it on cigarettes. '

'Oh no. Thanks Mrs, ' he said.

'Yeah. Fanks, ' said a younger boy. 'You can have another carol for that if you like. '

'She can have two more, ' said a small girl generously.

'It's okay, ' I said. 'One was fine. '

'Happy Christmas!' they said as they left. 'God bless!'

'God bless
you'
I replied. 'Think I'll turn in Rudy, ' I said, dizzy with drink. I covered his cage.

'Nighty night!'

It was only ten to nine but I ached for sleep: the combination of work, wine and seasonal sadness had exhausted me. My head hit the pillow like a brick. But I had strange dreams. I had the dream I sometimes have about my mother—my 'real' one I mean. We'd met at last, but it was at the Old Bailey, where she was in the dock. I was the prosecuting lawyer, in a wig, and I was cross-examining her. And my voice, which had started quiet, got louder and louder until I was really shouting at her. I was letting rip about how she'd deserted me and never, ever, ever come back.

'How could you
do
it?' I yelled. 'How could you? How
could
you?'

She looked ashamed and appalled. I have this dream every now and then and it always makes me feel happy and light. Then I had an erotic dream about Ed, which upset me, followed by a nightmare about Citronella Pratt. She was looking at me pityingly and saying, 'Oh
poor
Rose. You've got
so
many problems haven't you? Oh I
do
so
feel
for you. ' And I was about to ask her what she was being so bloody smug about what with her husband famously running off with a man, not to mention the fact that she'd lost her crappy column in the
Sunday Semaphore
and was now reduced to being the agony aunt on that cheap weekly,
Get
! magazine, when something suddenly woke me up.

I sat bolt upright, eyes staring into the blackness, listening as intently as a border collie on
One Man and His Dog
. I'd heard something. Definitely. What was it? There it was again! The squeak of the gate. It kept stopping and starting as though someone were trying to inch it open without being heard. I glanced at the luminous dial on my clock and my scalp prickled—it was half past two. Heart pounding, I tried to remember if I'd left the chain on the door. I'd taken it off when the carol singers turned up, but had I remembered to put it back on? I'd been exhausted, depressed and squiffy by then so there was a chance I might not have done.

I flew to the window and, careful not to touch the curtains, peered down through the tiny gap. The gate
was
open, but I couldn't see anyone—maybe it had been a cat, or a fox. I watched the garden for a minute or so, then sighed with relief— whatever it was, it had gone. I switched on the light and was just about to go down and check the front door when there was a creak on the stairs. Oh
God
… And now another. Then another. There was someone in the house. Sick with fear I turned off the light; and a wave of panic engulfed me as I tried to think where I'd left my mobile phone. Then I remembered—it was in the kitchen, charging up. Oh
fuck
. I frantically searched for something I could defend myself with: a marble bookend perhaps, or an umbrella, or my alabaster bedside lamp. I wondered whether I'd be able to kick-box him, but he might well have a knife. I heard another step creak, and then another. By now I was almost crying with fear. The only reason I'd seen nothing when I'd looked out of the window was because the intruder was already inside. I
had
left the chain off. I had. I had! And I was about to pay with my life.

My pulse had doubled and my breath was coming in ragged gasps. I got down on the floor and rolled under the bed, trying to breathe silently through my nose: and the steps on the stairs were getting nearer and nearer as adrenaline sped through my veins like fire. My entrails were coiling and twisting and I could feel beads of sweat stinging my eyes. My heart was beating so wildly I thought it might burst from my chest. For now the creaking had stopped, and there was silence… He was standing outside my door. My chest hurt with the effort of holding my breath as I waited for the handle to turn. Please help me God, I prayed. I'm sorry I said I don't believe in you but I had it rammed down my throat as a kid. But please I whimpered, please, please, please, please
please
—don't let me die. And as I mentally uttered those words the steps restarted, then faded slightly as the intruder went into my study next door. He was in my study. He was clearly looking at stuff there, and then he'd come in here and find me. He'd come in here and find me and kill me. All of a sudden I knew what to do. I'd belt downstairs—I could be out in the street in a flash.

I rolled out from under the bed, tremblingly groped for my trainers, then waited silently for a second. NOW! I burst out of my room then hurtled downstairs, two at a time, reaching the bottom in three or four strides. I flew to the front door and pulled on it, but—oh God, oh God—it was locked! I couldn't believe it—the evil fucking bastard! He'd locked me in—I was trapped! Hyperventilating, I fumbled in the hall drawer for the spare key—where was it? Oh
God
… I couldn't find it—
shit
! Suddenly I heard footsteps—oh sweet Jesus!—he was coming downstairs. I'd have to escape through the back door, into the garden and over the fence. As I sprinted into the kitchen, panting like an elderly Alsatian, I could hear his descending tread. And as my shaking hand sprang to the back door handle I heard, 'What are you
doing?' What
? I whipped round.

'What do you mean what am
I
doing what the hell are
you
doing you
maniac
creeping in at this time of night without telling me, I nearly fucking DIED!'

'I'm sorry, ' Theo said. He looked stricken. 'Didn't you get my messages?'

'NO!'

'But I phoned you a few hours ago to tell you I was on my way back and that I'd be coming in late. I left two messages on your answerphone and one on your mobile asking you not to put the chain on. As it was off I assumed that you'd got them. '

'No! I didn't! I'd gone to bed. ' I sank shakily onto a chair, weeping now with shock and relief. 'I'd gone to bed very early, ' I sobbed, 'so I didn't hear the phone. I thought you were a burglar, ' I wept, 'or even my phone pest. I was totally terrified. '

'I'm sorry, ' he said quietly. He looked grey and exhausted. He ripped off a piece of kitchen roll and handed it to me. 'Don't cry. '

'And why did you go in my study?' I asked my voice an octave higher than usual.

'Because you'd left a lamp on. I was trying to turn it off but I couldn't find the switch. '

'But what the
hell
are you
doing
here?' I asked. 'You said you'd be back on the twenty-eighth. '

'Well, ' he sighed. He looked at me, then looked away. 'I… was worried about my book. There's still loads to do so… I thought I ought to get back. '

'So you left?'

'Er, yes. That's right. '

'But you'd only just
got
there. '

'I know. But I… realised I'd made a… mistake and that I should be working. ' How
weird
.

'But Theo, how on earth did you get from Leeds to London on Christmas Day without a car?'

He shrugged his shoulders. 'I hitched. '

For the past week I've hardly laid eyes on Theo; he's been working hard, as have I. The house exudes the air of concentration you'd find in a college library during finals week. He's also been uncharacteristically withdrawn since his abbreviated Christmas break. If I make a cup of tea, he waits until I've gone back up to my study before going into the kitchen himself. If I'm watching TV he doesn't come into the sitting room to see what's on as he sometimes has. He's not interested in talking—that's obvious: the sign round his neck says
Do Not Disturb
. I've heard his mobile ring a few times but he always keeps the conversation short. Then this evening, I heard him emerge…

It was a little after ten-thirty and I was lying on the sofa reading a letter from a swinging granny who was getting divorced for the fourth time and who was worried that her pregnant daughter might be lesbian, when I heard his tread on the stairs.

'I've finished my book, ' he announced quietly.

'Congratulations, ' I replied.

'I went through the manuscript seven times, and each time I found more mistakes. But now I know that it's perfect. No glitches. It'll go off for printing next week. '

'And when does it come out?'

'In May. '

'That's a fast turnaround. '