Into the Darkest Corner Read Free Page A

smile, a rueful one this time, raising his eyes as if he was already sick of the rental agent’s voice. I felt myself blushing furiously. It’s been a long time since I made eye contact with a stranger.
    I listened to the footsteps heading up to the top floor, meaning they’d gone past my flat door. I checked my watch—a quarter past eight already! I couldn’t just go and leave them inside the house.
    I shut the front door firmly and turned the lock, checking that the bolt had shot home by rattling the door a few times. With my fingertips I traced around the edge of the doorframe, feeling that the door was flush with the frame. I turned the doorknob six times, to make sure it was properly closed. One, two, three, four, five, six. Then the doorframe again. Then the doorknob, six times. One, two, three, four, five, six. Then the lock. Once, and again. Then the doorframe. Lastly the knob, six times. I felt the relief that comes when I manage to do this properly.
    Then I marched back up to the flat, fuming that these two idiots were going to make me late.
    I sat on the edge of my bed for a while with my eyes lifted to the ceiling, as if I could see them through the plaster and the rafters. All the time I was fighting the urge to start checking the window locks again.
    I concentrated on my breathing, my eyes closed, trying to calm my racing heart. They won’t be long, I told myself. He’s only looking. They won’t be long. Everything is fine. The flat is safe. I’m safe. I did it properly before. The front door is shut. Everything is fine.
    Every so often a small sound made me jump, even though it seemed to come from a long way away. A cabinet door banging? Maybe. What if they’d opened a window up there? I could hear a vague murmur, far too far away to make out words. I wondered what price they were asking for it—it might be nicer to be higher up. But then I wouldn’t have the balcony. As much as I love being out of reach, having an escape route is just as important.
    I checked my watch—nearly a quarter to nine. What the fuck were they doing up there? I made the mistake of glancing at the bedroom window, and then of course I had to check it. And that started me off, so I had to start again at the door, and I was on my second round, standing on the lid of the toilet, feeling my way with my fingertips around the edge of the frosted window that doesn’t even open, when I heard the door shutting upstairs and the sound of footsteps on the stairs outside.
    “. . . nice safe area, at least. Never need to worry about leaving your car outside.”
    “Yeah, well, I’d probably get the bus. Or I might use my bike.”
    “I think there’s a communal shed in the backyard; I’ll check when we get back to the office.”
    “Thanks. I’d probably leave it in the hallway.”
    Leave it in the hallway? It was untidy enough as it was. But then, maybe someone other than me would make a point of locking the front door.
    I finished off the check, and then did the flat door. Not too bad. I waited for it, the anxiety, the need to go around and start again, but it was okay. I’d done it right, and only two times. The house was silent, which made things easier. Best of all, this time the front door was firmly fastened, indicating that the man in jeans had shut it properly behind him. Maybe he wouldn’t be a bad tenant after all.
    It was nearly nine-thirty by the time I finally got to the Tube.

Tuesday 11 November 2003
    When I saw him for the second time, the memory had gone completely and I spent several moments looking at him. Good-looking, sensual mouth, definitely looked familiar—someone I’d kissed in a bar?
    “You don’t remember,” he said, disappointment clear in his voice. “You had a red dress on. I was on the door at the River.”
    “Oh, of course! Sorry,” I said, shaking my head as though that would waggle some sense into it. “I just . . . didn’t recognize you without that suit.” This gave me a reason to