The Danger Within

Eight

Lilian took to her bed for the best part of three days and three nights. She did not have the will to do anything else. She lost track of time. She had no wish to think about her past, and she could contemplate no future. Even sleep, frequently interrupted by nightmares, brought little respite. She rose from the bed only for calls of nature and, just occasionally, to nibble at some of the dwindling supplies she had bought on her visit to the twenty-four-hour shop. It appeared that she still had some survival instincts in place, in spite of having, perhaps almost wistfully, contemplated her available supplies of painkiller and other pills.

The doorbell rang several times. She ignored it. She had switched off her mobile, but the house phone rang regularly in the sitting room. She ignored that too. When she heard it, she could not think of anyone she wanted to see or speak to, and it could be Kurt calling.

Eventually, and somewhat to her surprise, Lilian finally felt a tweak of curiosity. She had disconnected the phone by the bed. She uncurled herself from the foetal position, sat up, swung her legs over the side, reconnected the phone, and dialled 1571, the answerphone service.

Seventeen missed calls and five messages were listed. Each one was from Kurt. Brief and apparently warm, but to her, absolutely chilling.

‘Hello darling, welcome home.’

‘Hello darling, so glad you’re home. Can’t wait to speak to you.’

‘Sweetheart. I know you’re there. Please pick up the phone. I miss you.’

‘Hello sweetie. We need to talk.’

And finally and most chillingly: ‘Hi darling. Sorry we can’t speak. But I just wanted you to know I can’t wait to see you.’

Lilian unplugged the phone again and checked her mobile. There was a long list of similar messages from Kurt sent whilst she had been in hospital, and her one reply, posted as soon as her phone was returned to her, telling Kurt that he should stay away from her, and that there was a warrant out for his arrest. Surprisingly perhaps, there appeared to be no more recent messages and no missed calls from Kurt or anyone else. She looked again, hastily pushing the phone’s controls. There was no mistake. Her mobile had been cut off. The bill, of course, was paid by direct debit from her joint account with Kurt. Lilian felt numb.

She stood up. Kurt was all around her still. His power, if not his presence, was everywhere.

She had to leave this flat. That was for certain. A thought occurred to her. She hurried to the little desk in the sitting room. Her car key was still in the place she always kept it. That was a start. But would her car still be in the car park below the building? She should at least check that out. The lift went straight down to the car park.

She made her way to the door. Outside, placed in a neat line by the doorway, were three enormous bouquets of flowers, one looking quite fresh and the others in different stages of decay. They were, of course, from Kurt. The messages echoed those left on the answering service.

Lilian leaned out and picked up the flowers in one enormous armful. She stepped back into the flat pushing the door shut with her hip, then hobbled into the kitchen where she fed the flowers into the rubbish shoot, breaking and crushing the blooms in an almost savage frenzy.