When She Finds You

by A J McDine

  It’s not until I push our gate open that I notice the cardboard box on the front step. It’s a big box with the Amazon logo on. Wondering if Matt has ordered something for the nursery, I open the door, drop my keys and bag on the sideboard and go back for the box. The baby kicks me in the ribs as I bend over to pick it up.

  The address label and brown tape have been ripped off the top of the box although the flaps are still tucked in. I shift it onto my right hip and as I do the contents lurch sideways. I struggle through the door and along the hallway and drop the box with a thud on the kitchen table.

  Perhaps it’s the baby sling Matt said he was going to order, although the box feels too heavy for that. I insert a finger underneath the flaps so I can prise the lid open. A sharp pain like the sting of a bee makes me pull my hand back and exclaim out loud. A line of blood runs the length of my index finger. As paper cuts go it’s a humdinger.

  Blood drips onto the kitchen floor. I suck my finger and pull a face at the metallic taste. It reminds me of the first few weeks of my pregnancy, when I felt as though I was chewing coins. Even Matt could smell the metallic odour on my breath. I hold my finger under the cold tap until the water runs from crimson through pale pink to clear. I’m wrapping a folded square of kitchen roll around it when the phone rings.

  ‘What now?’ I mutter, marching back into the hall and snatching the handset.

  ‘Hey baby.’ Matt’s voice is crackly. He’s obviously in the car. ‘I left early. Should be back in an hour or so.’

  ‘OK.’ I hold my finger up and watch blood seep through my make-do bandage. Tucking the phone under my ear, I wrap the kitchen roll tighter. ‘What have you ordered from Amazon?’

  ‘Amazon?’

  ‘Was it something for the baby?’ I ask, but the line goes fuzzy and then breaks up and I’m talking to myself. When I phone him back it switches straight to answerphone. I replace the handset without leaving a message and head back into the kitchen.

  This time I use the bread knife to prise open the box. There’s another box inside, a red Nike shoe box big enough to fit a pair of size elevens in. Whatever it is, it’s patently not for the baby.

  ‘Not more running shoes, Matt. We’re supposed to be saving,’ I say to the empty room, pushing the box into the middle of the table in disgust before remembering with alarm that new shoes on the table is bad luck.

  I swipe the box off and as I do the lid flies open to reveal not the brightly-coloured pair of running shoes I was expecting but Mr Pickles, curled up like a Cumberland sausage ring. At first my brain doesn’t compute and I say, ‘What on earth are you doing in there, you silly cat?’

  I’m about to give him a gentle prod when I notice his half-closed eyes are glassy and there’s a dullness to his normally shiny coat. As the realisation hits me I stifle a scream.

  My heart hammering in my chest, I shrink backwards until the edge of the worktop bites into my back. I can’t take my eyes off the box. From here the cat looks as if he’s asleep, but I know if I touch him his body will be stiff and as cold as stone. I stay like this as the minutes tick past and the room grows darker. Adrenalin is pulsing through my body, sending my blood pressure rocketing, yet I’m paralysed with shock.

  The phone rings again, bringing me to my senses. I bolt out of the kitchen and grab it like a lifeline.

  ‘Sorry about that. Bad signal.’ The sound of my husband’s voice makes my legs go weak with relief.

  ‘Oh Matt, Mr Pickles -’ I gabble.

  He cuts through me. ‘What were you saying about an Amazon parcel?’

  ‘Matt, listen -’

  ‘I haven’t ordered anything, I promise.’

  ‘Matt, just listen, please. Someone trashed the garden last night.’

  ‘Our garden?’

  ‘No, Cam.’

  ‘Trashed as in vandalised?’

  I nod, forgetting he can’t see me. ‘We’ve spent all day clearing up. And we couldn’t find Mr Pickles. Geoff said he’d turn up. And he was right. He turned up at our house -’

  ‘What, like that film, The Incredible Journey? You ought to phone the Gazette.’

  ‘No, he turned up dead. He was in the Amazon box.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Someone killed him and left him on our doorstep.’

  ‘Sophie, don’t joke. It’s not funny.’

  ‘I’m not joking. It’s a message for me. A threat. But I don’t know what I’ve done wrong.’ I dissolve into tears.

  ‘Did you see anyone at the house?’

  ‘No. The parcel was on the doorstep when I got home.’

  ‘And there’s no-one there now, hanging around?’

  ‘I don’t think so.’ My voice sounds strangled and I gulp back the tears.

  ‘Good. Look, I’m just coming up Detling Hill. Stay in the house and lock the doors. Make sure your phone is with you. I’ll be twenty minutes max, OK?’

  ‘Matt, you’re scaring me.’

  ‘Sorry, I don’t mean to.’ He is quiet for a second. ‘Just be careful. I’ll be as quick as I can.’

  I replace the handset in the receiver, reach in my bag for my mobile and slip it into my back pocket. Once I’ve double locked the front door I take a deep breath and head back into the kitchen.

  This time I keep my eyes averted from the shoe box as I check the bolts on the back door are closed. My heart’s still leaping about in my chest as if I’ve downed a dozen expressos. I expected Matt to calm me down, tell me not to worry, that it was probably some stupid kid playing a prank. But he sounded so serious, so worried, that he’s ramped up my own anxiety levels. What did he mean, be careful? Does he think I’m in danger, too?

  Who would kill Mr Pickles? Everyone at Cam has loved that cat since the day he wandered into the garden and decided to stay. He was our lucky mascot. Rosie doted on him, sneaking him pieces of chicken from her lunch even though she knew he was supposed to be on a diet. Martin and Maureen used to take him to the vet for his annual injections. Even Nancy bought him a cat toy every Christmas. Angela was the only one who hadn’t fallen under his spell. But she wouldn’t have… would she?

  My head’s spinning with conjecture and hypotheses when Matt’s key turns in the door. I meet him in the hall and sink into his arms.

  ‘You OK?’

  ‘Not really,’ I mumble into his chest.

  He holds me at arms’ length, studying my tear-streaked face. ‘I’m not surprised. You’d better show me where he is.’

  I dip my head towards the kitchen. Matt thumbs a tear from my cheek and gives me a brief smile. It’s supposed to be reassuring, but there’s anxiety behind his blue eyes. Anxiety and another emotion I can’t quite put my finger on.

  ‘Jesus,’ he says, when he sees the lifeless form of Mr Pickles squashed into the shoe box. He picks up the empty Amazon box. ‘Where’s the address label?’

  ‘It’d been ripped off. The shoe box was inside.’

  Matt drops the box onto the table and goes to lift Mr Pickles out of the Nike box. I grab his arm. ‘Don’t touch him!’

  He glances at me. ‘It’s OK. I’m not squeamish like you.’

  ‘What about fingerprints?’

  ‘Too late. Mine are already all over the box. I want to see if someone left a note.’

  Matt eases the dead cat out of the box. Mr Pickles’ body is rigid. He looks like a life-sized version of one of those fake cats people keep on the parcel shelves of their cars. I grimace and stare at the ceiling.

  ‘No note. He’s been strangled. Look.’

  Matt turns the cat’s body upside down and parts the fur at the base of Mr Pickles’ white neck to reveal an angry red weal as wide as a thumb.

  I gasp. ‘What kind of person strangles a cat?’

  ‘A dangerous one,’ he says, replacing the cat in the box. ‘Have Geoff or Angela had anything like this happen to them?’

  ‘Angela had the arson attack, but Geoff hasn’t had anything.’

  ‘Why you and Angela?’


  ‘I wish I knew. There’s something I need to tell you about the vandalism at Cam.’

  I describe the message of hate scrawled on the wall. Matt drops the box on the table and it lands with a dull thud.

  ‘Christ,’ he mutters. ‘What next?’

  ‘DC Bennett said the arson at Angela’s may have been a case of mistaken identity and it was me they were targeting all along. I’ve been going over and over it, trying to get things straight in my head. But I can’t think of anyone who’d want to frighten me like this, can you?’

  Silence.

  ‘Matt, are you listening to me?’ I gesture at Mr Pickles. ‘Can you think of anyone who’d do this?’

  His eyes dart to mine. ‘Sorry, no, I can’t.’

  I reach for my mobile. ‘I should call DC Bennett.’

  Matt pauses, his hands on the Amazon box. ‘Who?’

  ‘The detective who came to Cam this morning.’

  ‘Is that really necessary?’

  I give him an ‘are you mad?’ look. ‘Someone’s murdered a cat and left it on our doorstep. What if I’m next?’

  ‘I’m sure she wouldn’t -’

  ‘She won’t mind. She told me to phone if anything else happened. Anyway, how do you know DC Bennett’s a woman? I never said.’

  ‘What?’ says Matt, his forehead wrinkling. ‘Oh, the copper? You did. You must’ve forgotten.’

  I stare at him. ‘I don’t think I did.’

  He pats my bump. ‘I expect it’s your baby brain. Either that, or early onset dementia.’

  ‘That’s not even remotely funny. I’ll phone her from the sitting room while you get rid of the cat.’

  I fish DC Bennett’s number from the pocket of my jeans and dial, but it goes straight to voicemail, so I leave a long, garbled message that sounds unintelligible, even to my own ears. Matt wanders in and stares out of the window with his hands in his pockets. When I’ve finished the call, he turns to face me.

  ‘I’ve put him in the shed.’

  ‘Thanks.’ I sink into the sofa, exhausted.

  ‘I know this is probably the last thing on your mind but I’m starving. What’s for dinner?’

  I bite my lip. ‘I’m sorry. I haven’t even made a start on it.’

  ‘It’s OK. I’ll rustle up something.’

  He holds out a hand and pulls me to my feet and I follow him back into the kitchen. He opens the fridge and peers inside. ‘What do you fancy?’

  The thought of eating makes my stomach roil. He thrusts a packet of flaccid ham under my nose. ‘Ham, egg and chips?’

  I make it to the sink just in time.

  ‘What’s up?’ he says.

  But I’m too busy vomiting the entire contents of my stomach to reply.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Now

  To my surprise I plummet into a deep and dreamless sleep the moment my head touches the pillow. I wake just after seven to find Matt propped up on one elbow, staring at me.

  ‘Why are you looking at me?’ I mumble, running a hand through my tangled hair.

  ‘Because you’re beautiful. And you and our baby are the most precious things in the world to me.’

  I groan. ‘Even at this time in the morning?’

  ‘Especially at this time in the morning.’ He runs a finger along my cheekbone. ‘I don’t suppose…’

  I glance at the alarm clock. ‘I promised I’d be at work by eight. Maybe tonight?’

  He rolls over and reaches for his phone. ‘Maybe,’ he grunts.

  I feel a flicker of irritation. After the couple of days I’ve had, wouldn’t it be obvious sex is the last thing on my mind? I swing my legs over the side of the bed, trying to ignore my puffy ankles. ‘So, I’ll see you at ten?’

  He’s too engrossed in his emails to answer.

  As the doors open to the public for Cam’s tenth annual open day I feel a surge of pride laced with a hefty helping of gratitude to Geoff, Mary and the others. Only the sharpest-eyed visitor would notice anything was amiss. There’s still a smudge of red paint on the wall and the flower beds are emptier than normal, but otherwise the garden looks amazing considering it was a scene of devastation only twenty-four hours ago.

  To my surprise Lou is one of the first people through the door. She spies me, rushes over and we hug.

  ‘Still blooming, darling. Everything OK?’

  I eye her skinny jeans and fitted top with envy. ‘I’m the size of a house, I have constant heartburn and some nights I’m getting up three times to pee, but yes, other than that I’m fine.’

  She laughs. ‘Simple. Don’t look in the mirror, take plenty of Gaviscon and remember it’s your body’s way of preparing you for sleep deprivation on a grand scale. It’ll be worth it, I promise.’

  ‘I know. And I shouldn’t complain. But I’ll be glad when the baby arrives. I seem to have been pregnant forever.’

  ‘You’re doing brilliantly.’ She rubs my arm and looks around. ‘Is Matt coming?’

  ‘He’s supposed to be here now.’ I scan the heads of the people milling around by the entrance but there’s no sign of him. ‘I expect he got sidetracked.’

  ‘And your NBF? Is she coming, too?’

  ‘My what?’

  ‘New Best Friend. That awful Roz woman.’

  ‘Don’t be mean. Roz is lovely. You must have rubbed her up the wrong way.’

  ‘If you say so.’ Lou glances over her shoulder. ‘Is she here?’

  ‘I haven’t spoken to her for a couple of days. I think she might be away.’

  ‘Right.’ Lou pauses. ‘She’s married with a kid, right?’

  ‘Yes. Caitlyn’s almost two. Why?’

  ‘It’s probably nothing, but it struck me as a bit weird, you know?’

  ‘Not really. What are you wittering about?’

  ‘I was in Waitrose the other day and she was in the checkout queue ahead of me. She had no idea I was there.’

  I frown. ‘People go shopping. It’s hardly news. If this is because you’re surprised a lowly hairdresser can afford to shop in Waitrose you’re a bigger snob than I thought.’

  ‘Of course not! It’s what she was buying that caught my attention. Meals for one, one of those tiny loaves, a small pack of cheese and two pints of skimmed milk. Two pints!’

  ‘And your point is?’

  ‘There were no nappies or wipes, no rice crackers or boxes of raisins. No bananas or Sudocrem. No big six-pint cartons of full fat milk. No beer or shaving gel, for that matter. It was your archetypal singleton’s food shop. I should know,’ she adds with a twisted smile.

  ‘Phil and Caitlyn have been staying with his mum for a few days,’ I say, even though I’m pretty sure they must be home by now.

  But Lou is like a dog with a bone. ‘Even if they were, there’s always something to pick up for your kid when you go shopping, isn’t there? If wipes are on special offer or you know you’ve run out of baby shampoo. But there was nothing for a husband or child in her shopping. Nothing. Don’t you think that’s odd?’

  ‘I -’

  ‘Have you ever met Phil or Caitlyn?’

  ‘No, but Phil’s at work and Caitlyn’s at nursery when Roz comes to do my hair or we meet for a coffee. There’s no reason for me to have seen them.’

  ‘You haven’t been to her house?’

  I don’t want to explain to Lou that Roz has never invited me. It’s none of her bloody business. I straighten my back. ‘Not yet, no.’

  Lou arches her eyebrows.

  ‘I’ve seen their photos,’ I say, remembering the picture of a slightly overweight man with a cherubic toddler riding on his shoulders that Roz showed me with undisguised pride the first time she cut my hair.

  ‘Doesn’t mean anything. She could have downloaded them from someone’s Facebook page.’

  ‘What exactly are you trying to say?’

  She puffs out her cheeks. ‘You’ve known her all of five minutes and she acts like she’s your best friend, but you know nothin
g about her. She could be anyone.’

  Something clicks into place and I shake my head. ‘You’re jealous!’

  Her eyebrows concertina. ‘I’m what?’

  ‘You expected to waltz back into my life after all these years and it would be just like the old days. Sophie and Lou against the world, especially now Ed’s gone. Two’s company and all that.’

  Lou recoils as though I’ve slapped her, but I continue regardless. She’s really pissed me off. ‘It was never going to happen. I’m not that girl anymore. I have more in common with Roz than I do with you. I’m sorry if you feel sidelined, but there it is. I can’t change how I feel.’

  She is silent during my outburst and when she does speak she addresses the sky above my right shoulder. ‘I hear what you say, but hear me out. You’ve always been too trusting. Take it from me, people aren’t always who they seem. Be careful, Sophie. That’s all I ask. I’ll see you around, OK?’

  I’m left staring at her open-mouthed as she hoists her bag over her shoulder, turns on her heels and disappears through the throng of people. An elderly woman with half-moon glasses asks me the way to the toilets. By the time I’ve given her directions Lou has gone.

  I’m too busy for the next couple of hours to spare a thought for Lou. Instead I show people around the garden and talk about Cam’s work on autopilot.

  My jaw is aching from smiling so much when Rosie tracks me down just before noon. She’s hand in hand with Matt.

  ‘Look who I found,’ she says, beaming. ‘Matt said my dress was pretty!’

  ‘Your dress is pretty,’ agrees Matt, his eyes twinkling. ‘But you, my sweet Rose, are beautiful.’

  ‘You old rogue.’ Rosie nudges him with her shoulder and we laugh. Her grin widens until it threatens to split her face in two.

  ‘Come on,’ I say. ‘Let’s grab a table and have a drink. I haven’t stopped since eight. I reckon I’m due a break.’