I returned to the comfortable settee where I’d been attempting to do some reading for work, only to glance up worriedly as the lights flickered. They’d been doing that throughout the evening and each time the electricity seemed to take a few seconds longer before deciding to come back on.
I picked up my Kindle and tried to slip back into the story, but it was a romantic thriller, with a witless protagonist who’d just gone into the attic to investigate an inexplicable banging noise.As if anyone in their right mind would do that, I thought, when right on cue an inexplicable banging noise echoed through the cottage.
I leapt to my feet, looking around for my trusty meat tenderiser weapon before remembering it was currently halfway through the dishwasher cycle. There was nothing in Amelia’s neat and tidy lounge to defend myself with, unless I was planning on suffocating an intruder with one of her many scatter cushions.
The banging sounded more urgent now and, feeling a little foolish, I finally separated the sound from the noise of the storm and realised it was coming from the front door. The only unsolved mystery here was what anyone was doing out in this weather. Through the frosted panel on the door, I could just about make out a shape. From their hazy outline, I thought whoever was outside was probably male. But notreallytall, I acknowledged, with an odd feeling of disappointment.
This was Somerset and not New York, but I still double-checked the security chain was in place before easing open the door.
I recognised the caller immediately. The fisherman-style waterproofs made for an easy clue, and I’d seen the same sou’wester on Amelia’s neighbour earlier in the day.
‘Hello,’ I said, through the crack in the door, still reluctant to open it. You can take the girl out of New York…
‘It’s Tuesday,’ my caller said gruffly.
Feeling foolish for my big-city caution, I released the chain and opened the door wider. Waterproofs or no, the man still looked as though he’d taken a detour to go wading in the sea on his way to my door. Raindrops were falling faster than tears down his wrinkled cheeks, and several were waiting to drip from the end of his beaky nose. At least, I hoped they were raindrops.
‘It’s Tuesday,’ the man repeated dourly.
I stared at him in confusion. Had he really ventured out in a torrential storm simply to tell me what day of the week it was? Amelia had never mentioned that he suffered from senility, but how often had they even spoken, anyway? The man seemed to be waiting for a response. ‘So it is,’ I agreed pleasantly.
‘You’ve not put the bins out. We’ll get rats again,’ he said in a tone that could only be described as a growl.
‘Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t—’
He cut short my apology by taking one step closer and peering at me through the shadowy light.
‘You’re not her, are you?’ It was halfway between an observation and an accusation. Even so, I was impressed. There were members of our own family who wouldn’t have spotted the difference in this light.
‘Your voice is different. And there’s something about your mouth that looks all wrong.’
I wasn’t sure if I’d just been insulted, but I chose to skip past it. Amelia’s crusty neighbour might look like the old man of the sea, but there was clearly nothing wrong with his eyes.
‘My name is Lexi. I’m Amelia’s sister. That’s the woman who lives here,’ I added, unsure if my sister and her elderly neighbour had ever introduced themselves properly.
‘I know that,’ the old man said, his tone dismissive. ‘The police mentioned her name the other day when they were snooping around here.’
Snooping wasn’t exactly the term I’d have gone with, but I let it go as I suddenly realised that this cantankerous old man might be one of the few people who could shed some light on what had happened to Amelia on that fateful night.
‘Do you mind me asking if you were able to tell them anything?’
‘Shouldn’t that be confidential information?’ he asked craftily. He was clearly another armchair TV detective. He’d get on well with my mother, I thought wryly.
‘Look, would you like to come in for a moment? I could make us some tea, or something,’ I said, trying not to show how anxious I was for any snippet of information.
The man shook his head, inadvertently sprinkling me with water from his sou’wester. ‘Saw nothing. Heard nothing,’ he muttered succinctly. ‘That’s what I told them, and I don’t mind telling you the same.’
He turned as though to go and then seemed to think better of it. ‘Where is she now then, your sister?’
‘She’s in the hospital,’ I said, hearing the unmistakable thread of concern that had crept into my voice. ‘She’s lucky to be alive.’
The old man’s eyes might have once been a piercing blue, but the years and the sea had watered them down. His mouth was moving, as though he was chewing over his response but couldn’t quite manage to spit it out.
‘Just make sure you put them bins out,’ he said eventually, turning to go once again. He waited until he was at the very end of the footpath, and I’d almost closed the door, before he swivelled back to face me. ‘I hope she gets better soon,’ he said, and before I could formulate a thank you, he was already shuffling back towards his own cottage.
‘Me too,’ I said, leaning back against the front door, surprised to find an unexpected smile on my lips.
9