Picture You Dead

47

Sunday, 27 October

The taxi dropped Harry and Freya Kipling at their house. Harry was always extra generous when he’d had a few drinks, and tonight he’d had more than a few at the dinner party at their friends, Jim and Katie Morgan. He pressed a £20 note into the palm of the driver, on top of the fare.

‘Are you sure?’ he said.

‘We’ve had a good week!’ Harry said, slurring his words, ignoring his wife’s disapproving stare.

‘Very generous of you, gov.’

As they walked up to the front door in the mild night air, Freya, who’d drunk only marginally less, held on to his arm in case he stumbled. ‘Shit,’ Harry slurred. ‘That the time?’ He glanced at his watch. It was a quarter to two.

She smiled. ‘I did suggest we left a good hour and a half ago.’

‘Yeah, but that Armagnac – that was so good.’

‘Hope it still feels that good at eight o’clock in the morning – when you go off to play golf.’

‘Hmm,’ he murmured, fishing in his pocket for the front door key. He got it in the slot and pushed the door open. As he did so, Jinx shot out past them.

‘Hey, boy!’ Freya called out to him, concerned. He never normally went out the front.

Harry tripped on the doorstep and would have fallen flat on his face if she hadn’t been holding on to him.

‘Darling, was that a twenty-quid tip you gave the driver?’

‘Was it? I meant to give him a fiver.’

She looked at him, grinning. ‘You are totally sloshed.’

‘What the hell, we’re rich! Pay it forward! Brighton cabbies have been struggling ever since they let Uber into the city. We can afford to be generous to them.’

‘Not yet,’ she said. ‘We still don’t know if what we have is real.’

‘Trust me,’ he replied. ‘It is. Think I’ll just have a quick nightcap.’

‘Darling, don’t you think you’ve had enough? And keep your voice down, you’ll wake Tom.’

‘Wake him? He sleeps with bloody headphones on! I dunno how, but he does!’ He staggered through into the living room, went over to the drinks cabinet, picked up a brandy snifter and poured himself a generous slug of cognac.

‘I’m going to get Jinx back in,’ she called out.

‘Yesh, sure.’ He sat down on a sofa, more sharply than he had intended, spilling some of the brandy into his lap. Then he heard Freya calling out, ‘Jinx! Jinx!’ Then after a few moments the tone of her voice changed. ‘Good boy! Very good boy!’ He heard the sound of the front door closing and she said, ‘Biscuits? Like some biscuits?’

He looked up at the painting on the wall and smiled. Raised his glass towards the courting couple. ‘Your health!’ he said. ‘Your very good health indeed, eh?’ He winked at them and took a large sip of his drink.

Then Freya screamed. ‘Harry! Jesus, Harry!’

He put his glass down on the coffee table and jumped up, wobbling for some moments, then made his way through to the kitchen, fending off the walls and door frames on the way. Freya was standing in the conservatory, her face sheet white, pointing at the back door and looking in total shock.

For a moment he couldn’t see the reason for her concern. But then, moving closer, holding onto the worktops to keep his balance, he entered the conservatory and saw it, too.

The glass door, leading from the conservatory into the garden. One of the panels was broken, with shards of glass lying on the floor. Despite his inebriation, he felt a cold flush in the pit of his stomach.

‘The door’s unlocked,’ she said. ‘Has Tom left it open or has someone been in here?’ Then, lowering her voice, she said, ‘They might still be in here.’ Her eyes darted in panic. ‘Tom?’ She raced to the stairs.

Harry looked around for a weapon. His golf clubs? But they were in the garage. He grabbed a carving knife from the block and brandished it, stumbling up the stairs after her, then lurching along the landing. Freya opened Tom’s door and switched on the light. To her relief he was there, headphones on as Harry had said. He blinked at them in confusion.

‘Are you OK, darling?’ she asked.

Tom lifted away the headphones and replied sleepily, ‘What’s – what?’

‘A window’s been broken. Did you hear anything, darling? Anyone downstairs?’ Stupid question she knew. He never heard anything.

Tom frowned. ‘I dunno. Like what? I didn’t break the window.’

‘Go back to sleep, darling,’ she said, backing out of the room, switching off the light and closing the door.

Harry was opening the spare room door.

‘Be careful!’ she urged. Speaking quietly, she said, ‘We need to call the police.’

‘Jinx might have broken it,’ he said.

‘And unlocked the door?’

‘Are you sure it was locked?’

She looked at him. ‘We double checked all the windows and doors.’ She lifted the landline phone from its cradle and dialled.