Watched: When Road Rage Follows You Home (17 page)

Esther’s shoulder ached from the way she’d snaked it behind herself, shielding what she was doing from the rest of the room. Her father glanced towards her, rolling his eyes, as Charlie continued to take the brunt of his mother-in-law’s remarks. Esther couldn’t believe the person who’d written her such a beautiful letter could be so… annoying.

‘…But that’s all the more reason to go for something other than yellow. Purple’s nice if you have a delicate enough shade…’

Left-right, left-right, left-right, left-right: perfect.

Esther moved her arm back around and dug into her pocket. She’d taken to carrying around the window keys because it felt more secure to have them on her. With the pointed part of the key wedged between her thumb and index finger, she reached backwards again, fumbling for the small hole in the centre of the lock with her middle finger.

‘…I’ve seen some really nice browns around as well. Not a dark one, a nice light shade…’

She slipped the key into the lock and pulled the handle up, using the weight of her body to push the window open and having to bite her lip to stop herself crying out as her shoulder almost popped out of the socket.

‘…The bonus with a nice brown or purple, of course, is that it makes everything else look so much brighter …’

A gentle breeze brushed Esther’s fingers as she pulled the handle closed again, snapping it into place. Unable to take the pressure in her shoulder any longer, Esther dropped her arm to the side, leaving the key in the lock.

‘…I remember when our Esther was young and she had all sorts of toys and things. They’d be all over the floor and the stairs. It’s a wonder I never broke my neck—’

Mercifully, Esther’s father finally cut her off: ‘—I quite fancy a cup of tea. Does that sound good?’

Charlie answered before anyone else had the chance. ‘Great idea – I got some posh biscuits in earlier too.’

Before Caroline could start talking about the light fittings, or anything else that she wasn’t keen on, Charlie was out of the door. Esther took the moment to turn, twist the key to lock the window, try the handle again, and then press against the glass.

‘…What are you doing?’ her mother’s voice asked.

Esther turned quickly, returning the key to her pocket at the same time. Her father had stopped in the doorway with her mum still inside the room, facing her.

‘I was looking outside.’

Her mother clearly wasn’t convinced. ‘But why were you pushing on the glass?’

‘I wasn’t.’

It was such an obvious, ridiculous lie that Esther’s mother couldn’t question it. If she replied ‘I just saw you’, then there was going to be a stand-off. Instead, she continued staring at Esther until her daughter had pressed past her, following Charlie down the stairs.

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

The ticking of the carriage clock felt like a mite crawling across Esther’s skin. She could feel it weaving between the fine hairs on her arms, tickling and itching until she couldn’t take it any longer and shivered as though she was standing at the South Pole without a coat on as a vicious, biting wind ripped through.

‘Are you all right?’

Esther’s mother was at it again. Since the incident with the window, Esther hadn’t been able to escape her gaze. Each time she popped to the kitchen, her mother followed. When she went to change her clothes, her mum ended up waiting outside for her on the landing, claiming she was fetching something from her bag in the other room.

‘Fine.’

There was a frosty silence broken only by the scratching of cutlery on plate as the four of them sat around the dining table eating. Well, the other three were eating: Esther was playing – mashing, smearing, scraping and occasionally tasting her food, all under the too-watchful gaze of her mother.

It had been such a bad idea to invite them up. Her dad was good at making small-talk with Charlie about the hotel, the house and all manner of other things but her mother would not stop watching her.

Meanwhile, the metronome ticked to the left and tocked to the right, the incessant click boring through Esther’s skull.

Mash, mash, mash.

The eventual sound of the doorbell was a respite from the endless stare-a-thon but there was also an awkward moment as Esther exchanged a knowing glance with Charlie that didn’t go unnoticed by her mother. They knew so few people in the area that no-one had rung the bell or knocked since Dougie four days previous.

Charlie went to answer as Esther continued to play with her food.

‘What’s up?’ her mother asked.

‘Nothing.’

‘So what was the look about?’

‘What look?’

Her mother pointedly put a small potato in her mouth and began chewing – they were back in the realm of grumpy teenager and exasperated parent again.

Moments later, Charlie returned and re-took his seat, nodding towards the front of the house. ‘Bloody mormons.’

Tick-tock.

TWENTY: ESTHER

Esther sat on the edge of the bed whispering as Charlie stood over her. ‘Can’t you phone in sick or something?’ she pleaded.

Charlie smoothed the sleeve of his suit jacket, half-turning to the bedroom door. ‘I’ve got to go to work – I’m off next Saturday and Sunday. We can do whatever you want then.’

‘But you’re going to leave me alone with them.’

‘They’re
your
parents.’

‘I know but I forgot how… annoying… they are.’

Charlie’s lips arched into his ‘I-told-you-so’ smile – even though he hadn’t really: ‘I’ll be home at the normal time. You’ll be fine.’

Esther couldn’t think of another reason why he should stay, so sulked instead, hauling the covers back over herself as he clumped down the stairs. She’d known he was going to have to work
some
Sundays – but why this one?

After he left, Esther tried and failed to go back to sleep until she began hearing movements in the room next door. She had somehow forgotten how long her mother took in the bathroom each morning, so gave up waiting and went downstairs. She checked the windows and doors and then sat in the kitchen wearing her pyjamas and nursing a cup of coffee.

Her father ambled down by himself, already dressed for the day in the same pair of shorts as the day before but with a clean top.

‘Just like the old days, eh?’ he said, sitting at the kitchen table and pouring himself a mug of coffee.

Esther crossed to lean against the sink, still feeling tired. ‘Something like that.’

‘She’s only worried about you. She’s not stopped talking about you since you drove away a couple of weeks ago – it’s been driving me barmy.’

Esther hid her face behind her own coffee mug.

‘Is everything
really
okay?’ he added.

She chewed on the ceramic rim of the cup, breathing the aroma in. If she was going to tell anyone what the past two weeks had been like, then it would be her dad.

‘It’s a bit… different being by myself all day. I think I miss people.’

Esther’s father had just finished sipping from the mug. He tilted his head slightly, licking his lips. ‘I told your mother that’s what you’d struggle with – but you’ll see how things come together. It depends what you want to do. If you are going back to work, you’ll make new friends there. Your mother’s convinced you’re already pregnant—’

‘—I’m not.’

He grinned again and she could see that he’d spent the past two weeks listening to her mum’s theories as if she was a music track on repeat.

‘I never said you were, I’m just saying that whatever you end up doing – careers, babies, whatever – you’ll find new people and move forward from there. These couple of weeks are just a blip.’

It was exactly what she wanted to hear. She opened her mouth, wanting to ask advice, but then the heavy footsteps were clumping down the stairs one plodding, echoing step at a time.

Esther’s mum breezed into the kitchen in a too-tight, unflattering yellow dress that looked ridiculous. ‘Morning, dear!’ Her eyes flickered across Esther’s pyjamas before settling on her husband.

Suddenly it felt as if the cupboards were hurtling towards her, as if the space was collapsing and she was trapped at the centre of it. Esther blinked her eyes closed, trying to make it go away. When she opened them, she felt slightly sick but everything was back in its place.

‘If you want to wait in the living room, I’ll bring some toast through.’

Neither of her parents seemed to sense that anything was wrong, so they left, leaving Esther alone in the kitchen. It was the same sense she’d had in the car when it felt as if it was being crushed with her inside. The mug suddenly felt heavy in her hand and her palms were greasy with sweat.

From the living room, she could hear their voices muttering. Were they talking about her? She strained to listen – it was mainly her mother talking, with her father adding in the odd ‘uh-huh’ and ‘yep’, as he always did when he wasn’t paying attention.

Esther popped four slices of bread into the toaster and turned to peer out of the back window, hoping Patch would come and save her. If she could just get through the rest of this Sunday, then they’d be going home the next day.

She hated checking the windows out of order but it was unavoidable with her parents in the house, so Esther dashed quickly up the stairs, quietly opening the door to the room where they had slept.

She felt the chill straightaway, staring towards the window that had been latched open. For a few moments, Esther couldn’t move, panic-ridden at the fact it had probably been like this all night. Anything could have happened as she slept. It had been a warm night but if her parents had asked, she would have found them a fan. There was no need for…
this
.

Esther crossed the room, spotting the small window key in the corner of the windowsill. Where had it come from? She patted her pyjama pocket where the keys were. She hadn’t lost one, which meant they must have either found an extra one, or Charlie had passed them the one he kept on his keyring.

She relocked the window, trying the handle; then unlocked, opened and relocked it again. This time it was definitely shut.

Esther ran her hands across the length of the windowsill just in case there was somehow another key. She also checked the curtain rail before returning downstairs, where the toast had just popped.

At the dining room table, things were awkward. Esther’s father sat quietly eating his breakfast and drinking his coffee but her mother couldn’t let it go.

‘Aren’t you eating with us?’

Esther stared at the clock, watching the metronome bounce back and forth. ‘I had something before you came down.’

An easy lie.

‘Is everything all right?’

‘I keep telling you – yes!’

Esther had shouted without meaning to. There was such frustration behind it that her mother rocked back in her seat. She straightened herself, putting the slice of toast back on the plate. ‘Charlie’s been quite quiet since yesterday.’

‘He’s just tired.’

‘What’s wrong with your eyebrow?’

Esther glanced up, eyes narrowing, just in time to catch a sideways look between her parents. ‘What?’

‘It… twitches,’ her mother said.

‘What do you mean?’

‘Your eyebrow flicks up and down. I’m not sure if you know it’s happening.’

Esther had no idea what she was talking about but felt so self-conscious that her knees were up to her chest before she knew it.

‘…then there’s the thing with the windows.’

‘What thing?’

‘You keep playing with the handles. I saw you yesterday and then we heard you last night and this morning.’

‘I…’

‘Plus you keep staring at the clock.’

‘I don’t…’

Her mother’s tone changed. Suddenly she wasn’t the inquisitor, she was her mum. ‘It’s all right, love. We know that moving is stressful. We’re just worried about you. I suppose I’m asking if there’s anything else going on.’

Esther started to speak but the words were stuck in her throat. She coughed slightly before it came pouring out. ‘There’s this neighbour we’ve had a problem with. He slashed my tyres.’

Her mother gasped slightly. ‘Did you see him?’

‘Well, no… ’

‘So how do you know it was him?’

Esther felt defensive, not having the words. ‘I just sort of… do.’

‘What else has he done?’

‘It’s hard to describe. He’s just
there
a lot.’

‘Wouldn’t a neighbour usually be there?’

‘Yes, but… that’s not what I mean.’ Esther stood, crossing to the bin and digging out one of the screwed up letters from the day before. She thrust the top one into her mother’s hand. ‘Look – he’s having letters sent to me calling me a bitch.’

Her mother fished a pair of reading glasses from her bag and squinted at the letter before passing it to her husband. ‘Are you sure there wasn’t just someone called Mrs Itch who lived here at some point before you?’

‘No – that’s been sent to me.’

‘How do you know?’

‘I don’t, it’s just…’

Esther leapt up again, beckoning for them to follow her. She led them onto the drive and pointed at the house numbers screwed to the wall next to the front door. Although it was still fixed in place, the plastic number two only had three screws holding it to the wall, with a distinct hole in the upward curl on the numeral.

‘Look at that – when we moved in, there were four screws holding that to the wall, now there are three.’

Esther turned to her parents, expecting them to react with surprise. Her father said nothing but her mother was peering from her to the wall and back again.

‘You’re saying this problem neighbour came here and stole a screw?’

‘He comes onto our drive when it’s dark – he dumped a load of rubbish when he slashed my tyres.’

‘But neither of you saw this?’

Esther pointed up to the security camera bracket still fixed to the wall. ‘No – we had a camera put in but that got smashed down.’

‘Did you go to the police?’

‘Sort of – it’s complicated. They came around here first of all because someone complained about the noise late at night.’