There had been no issues with my accommodation that needed his attention and as a result, I hadn’t needed to speak to him. It struck me that I’d not seen him for a few days, nor had he been at his window, staring at me.
Should I be worried? He lived alone; he was elderly and grossly overweight. Maybe he’d died alone, as my father had done, and was lying in his house, eyes wide and vacant staring at the ceiling. His body would slowly decompose as maggots made a meal of him.
I imagined his body putrefying. The noisome stink of it.
I couldn’t get the idea out of my head. I could go back, ring his doorbell. And if he answered? Hi, I’m just checking that you’re alive.
I barked a laugh that frightened birds from the nearby hedge, they flew up, squawked, then settled down again.
No, I wouldn’t ring his doorbell. But I could check his letter box. If he was lying dead somewhere in the house, the tat that was constantly being delivered, the flyers for this that and the other, would have built up.
The idea hastened my return, and I crossed the fields to the footpath and turned into our shared driveway. From the outside, nothing looked amiss. But death didn’t advertise itself with flags and banners. I approached the front door. Bay windows on either side were dressed in net curtains heavy enough to prevent the curious from peering inside. I know, I’d tried that first day when I’d come to view the apartment.
A letter box was set into the centre of the wooden door at waist height. Although I knew I couldn’t see through the windows on either side, I wasn’t sure someone inside couldn’t see out. Theo could be watching me, waiting for me to ring the doorbell.
I should have turned away but the idea that he really could be inside, dead and decomposing, was fixed in my head and I knew it would be impossible to relax unless I knew for sure.
Ignoring the possibility that he was peering out at me; I pushed open the flap of the letter box and slid my other hand inside. I’d only been inside the house once when I’d first called to see the apartment. I didn’t get further than the hallway and there had been little to see. A nondescript painting on one wall, a small hall table with a drawer my fingers itched to open. The only other thing I remembered from that brief visit was the post basket on the back of the front door. There was no draught-excluder brush to block my way, allowing me to slide my hand all the way into the bottom of the basket. It felt empty. Even if he didn’t receive much post, there’d be flyers advertising all kinds of crap. There’d be something.
Part of me was disappointed. I’d have liked nothing better than to have dialled 999 and to have emergency services arriving. It would have been exciting to have watched the police using a battering ram to access the house and thrilling to see a dead body.
In my role as a nurse, I’d seen dead bodies numerous times over the years, and I’d had to dial 999 more than once. But this would have been different. This would have been a drama and I’d have had a star part and, unlike my starring role in the deaths of Jemma and Olivia, this one I could talk about.
My fingers were still feeling around in the empty basket when I heard the distinct sound of a door banging from somewhere within. Startled, I dropped the letter box flap. It was well sprung and came down hard on my wrist. I swallowed the yelp of pain and yanked the flap open again. Too quickly, too carelessly, a silver bracelet I’d donned that morning, in a vain attempt to look a little dressed up for my meeting with Carol, caught on the hinge of the flap. I struggled to release it aware of the faint sound of footsteps on wooden floors. Upstairs, I guessed. I was safe for a minute, but if he came down, he wouldn’t miss my hand poking through his door.
I was left with no option. I’d have to take the bracelet off. A good plan, but nothing was going my way. With the evening sun on my back making me sweat, my usually dexterous fingers were hot and clumsy as I tried to move the lever to open the lobster-claw clasp. I wiped sweat from my eyes, dried my hand on the leg of my trousers and tried again. Finally, the damn thing opened. I took my hand out, then tried to pull my bracelet free but it was stuck fast. When I heard footsteps on the stairway, I dropped the letter box flap gently and scarpered.
I was giggling in relief as I pushed open my front door. The loss of the bracelet was an irritant though. It had belonged to my mother, was one of the few expensive things I had, and I really didn’t want to lose it.
Later, when I’d had something to eat and my equilibrium was restored, I’d go back and try again to release it. Theo wouldn’t notice it until opening the basket for his post in the morning. Without the sun beating down on my back or feeling under pressure, I was sure to be able to get the bracelet free.
Only one window from the house was visible from my apartment. A landing light on the first floor – it came on as soon as it was dark and stayed lit till ten. I had to go to the front of the house to see if any other lights were on. I waited till midnight before I put my front door on the latch and headed around to recover my bracelet.
A security light came on, but I knew where the sensor was. As soon as I got close to Theo’s front door, I was safe. A few seconds later the light went off. When I pushed open the letter box flap, apart from a faint glow drifting down the stairs from the landing, the hallway was in darkness.
I was so busy looking for any sign of movement within that it was several seconds before I realised what was missing… the bracelet. I reached inside, hoping it had perhaps fallen into the basket but if it had, it had fallen through a gap to the floor. I leaned my forehead against the door and swore softly. No: it had been caught in one of the hinges of the flap. It couldn’t have fallen either in or out without someone releasing it.
My landlord must have found it.
His post basket had been empty, so he’d know it didn’t belong to whoever delivered the post that morning. But there was no reason to think he’d guess it was mine. Unless, of course, he’d seen the security light come on and looked out his window in time to see me scurrying around to his door.
I gave a hollow laugh. At least I knew he was alive.
31
I stared impotently at Theo’s door for several minutes before taking a step away. The security light flashed on, blinding me and I stumbled and almost fell. I waved my arms to balance myself before hurriedly moving away as curtains at the upstairs window twitched.
I don’t think he saw me. I hoped not, because contrary to the impression I liked to give people, I wasn’t particularly brave and, unless I was in the driving seat, confrontation of any sort made me shiver and took me back to a time I wanted to forget. To those months of bullying and name calling. It was better to keep people at a distance until I could deal with them on my terms, as I had then. Deal with them – I almost smiled at the euphemism.
If Theo had seen me, he’d probably call around in the morning and demand an explanation. A good time to make myself scarce. If he didn’t get an answer, he’d assume I was working. If I could stay out of his way for a few days, he’d give up. He might connect my visit to the bracelet he’d found in his letter box, but he couldn’t prove anything. Anyway, I’d done nothing wrong. On the contrary, and it was so unlike me, I was trying to do the right thing and look out for a neighbour. That’ll teach me.