‘I’ll see you about noon then?’ Paula said. ‘You provide the lunch and I’ll provide the labour.’
‘Greater love hath no woman than that she paint her best friend’s new flat,’ Jane said. By the time she put the phone down, they were both giggling. She picked a chilli out of the kebab and munched on it. Something made her turn towards the door.
A pair of blue eyes was staring at her through the letter-box.
Her heart thumped once. She shouted, ‘What are you doing, you bastard?’
The letter-box swung silently shut. She thought she heard a single footstep. Then there was silence. Her whole body was rigid, and her breath was unsteady. She stared into the darkness with her hand on the phone. After a few moments, when she was calmer, she thought: I should phone the police. But it was too late. By the time they arrived, he would be gone.
She stood near to the door, listening, but heard nothing. Curious, she touched the letter-box. It was slightly open, but shut easily beneath her fingers. If she hadn’t known better she might have thought the wind had opened it. But she did know better. She imagined him standing on the other side. He was probably laughing at her, laughing at her fear.
She went into the living room. The room was almost empty, but moonlight illuminated the floor cushions and the sofa, her one decent piece of furniture. She went and looked out of the bare windows. I ought to get some curtains, she thought; but she didn’t really want to. She loved the way the spring sunlight flooded into the room, and the sense the openness gave her of being part of a living community. What’s the point of living near Portobello Road if you’re going to shut yourself away? That was what she had said to Paula, when they had been making a list of essentials. Sometimes Paula was just too practical for her own good.
A car door slammed somewhere. Jane’s head jerked round. She realized she had been listening for… something the whole time.
Before she went to bed that night she jammed a chair up against the front door, but as she lay sleepless in her bed she was still listening, listening.
‘You should have shoved a knife in the guy’s face.’ Paula stabbed at the door with a brushful of white gloss.
‘And get done for manslaughter, knowing my luck? Yeah, right.’ Jane pulled the roller down the wall with more vigour than was strictly necessary. Paint splattered everywhere. ‘He was probably just looking for a flat to squat. Now he knows someone’s here, he won’t be back.’
‘Well at least call the police. What do you think they’re there for?’
‘Oh sure. He ran off the second I shouted at him. He could have been at Marble Arch by the time they arrived.’
‘For God’s sake… you have to stop thinking like a victim.’ Paula started to fill in around the doorhandle.
‘Great. Now it’s my fault.’
‘I’m not saying that. I’m just saying you have to do something. Don’t let the bastard win, you know?’ She laid the brush across the top of the can. ‘Hell with this. I’m going to make a cup of tea.’
Jane watched Paula’s retreating back. Damn, she thought. Now she’s pissed off with me. ‘Milk, no sugar,’ she called, just to keep the conversation going. ‘I’ll get a chain for the door tomorrow, OK?’
‘And report last night to the police?’
‘OK, OK.’ Jane took another swipe at the wall. It was almost finished.
After a moment Paula came back out of the kitchen. ‘And promise you’ll phone them the instant he comes back?’
‘That too.’
‘Promise?’
‘Promise.’
Nothing that night. Nothing the night after. Jane started to think it had been a one off. The night after that she was putting a poster up by the front door when she heard the noise again.
She turned and saw his eyes. Blue eyes in a strip of white skin. She got an impression of thick eyebrows, heavy cheekbones. The moment dragged on. I’m out of his line of sight, she thought. The chain, purchased the day before, lay on the kitchen table; despite her promise to Paula, she had forgotten to fit it. Idiot, she thought fiercely at herself.
She heard him say something, but the door muffled the sound. It was enough to break the spell, though.
‘Fuck off, you bastard!’ she shouted, and was pleased at how strong her voice sounded.
The letter-box swung shut. She reached for the phone and punched 999, was appalled at how long it took first to get an answer, then to be put through. What do I say, she wondered as she waited. Please, someone just came and looked through my letter-box, but he’s gone now, so it’s all right?
‘I think someone is trying to break into my flat,’ she said when they would let her. She listened numbly as the police telephonist told her someone would be there soon, that she must not let anyone in.
She stood by the door until the police arrived: three of them, two men and a woman, not much older than she was.
‘Not much we can do without a description, love,’ one of the men said.
‘Once you’ve got the chain fitted, you could try opening the door to get a look at him,’ said the other.
Sure, Jane thought. Sure.
‘If you could keep him talking for a while, we might have a chance to get here before he goes,’ said the first man. ‘The main thing is to keep calm and not do anything that might make him angry. I don’t want to frighten you, but if he decides to hang about…’
Christ, that never even occurred to me… Jane made a conscious effort to unclench her fists, noting the sharp look the woman gave him.
‘We’ll catch him sooner or later, love,’ the woman said. ‘We’ve got a very strong presence on this estate. Just give us time.’
That night she dreamed of him. His eyes, caught by the moonlight, stared out of the darkness at her. Giant shadows jumped on the green walls behind him as he came towards her. Light glinted on the knife he carried…
Her foot slid on the stair and she fell, twisting, towards him. His mouth opened, and he started to speak, but she knew she must not listen. Her scream cut the night. She woke, trembling and sweating, and did not sleep again.
Jane slept late the next day. When she did get up she was gritty-eyed and irritable. She wandered from room to room in the flat as if it were a cage. She couldn’t bring herself to do any more painting or unpacking, and she knew she ought to fit the chain on the door. She ended up slumped in the sofa drinking cup after cup of tea. All her energy had gone. A job application stared up at her from the coffee table. There were vacancies for assistants at the local library. She had been really excited when she saw the advert. Now she felt that even trying to fill out the form was tantamount to asking for a kick in the teeth.
She was supposed to meet Paula in the pub at seven. She thought about calling her to cancel, but she knew it would lead to an argument. Paula would ask about the chain. She knew it. She hauled herself up and forced herself to fit it. It took far longer than she had expected, what with trying to line the two halves of it up and sorting out the right screws.
‘Oh sod this,’ she muttered; then wondered if he were on the other side of the door listening.
She did get it done in the end, and immediately felt much more secure. At least the door was the only way into the flat. She grinned: she’d make it a fortress if she had to.