Savage Night - Allan Guthrie [58]
"What does someone who eats ice cream look like?" He pouted. Exaggerated the pout. His lip trembled.
"Bloody hell," she said. "Let go and I'll take a look."
***
SHE TUCKED FRASER'S dressing gown tighter around her. Didn't matter how tight she pulled the belt, it still felt like she was flapping about inside a sack.
There was no ice cream. Not in the freezer compartment of the fridge. Or in the separate freezer. There wasn't much in the way of food at all. Pint of milk, sliced ham, cheese, that was it. Get snowed in around here, you'd starve in a couple of days.
Maybe Fraser could afford to eat out a lot. Or he lived on takeaways.
Effie remembered the days when she used to do that. Not any longer. Not now she was engaged, and had a fiancé who cooked for her.
She closed the fridge door and jumped.
Hadn't expected to hear the doorbell ring.
Shitty-fuck.
She crept through the kitchen. No need to creep, but she did, anyway. Felt light on her feet without the booties on, even though they weighed next to nothing. Through the sitting room. Stared at the tub in the hallway. The carrier bags. Then the bodies. A bloody halfmoon shape near the top of one where the sheet was knotted. Other patches of blood. Handprints. She wondered if it was possible to see the bodies from outside the house. They'd taken the precaution of drawing all the curtains, but she checked for a gap just in case. Nah. No way anybody could see in.
So who'd come visiting? Shit, she didn't care as long as they went away.
This wasn't part of the plan, so they had no contingency for it. All the time they'd watched Fraser, he'd not once had a visitor. His house wasn't exactly accessible. Way out on the edge of town, where you never saw a bus, only the occasional taxi and fast cars. Anybody came to visit late at night, they'd most likely be staying till morning. That had been Effie's unspoken promise to him when they'd returned earlier tonight.
All Effie could do was wait out whoever was at the door. Hell, everybody goes away eventually, even if the lights are on and the curtains drawn and the homeowner's car is parked outside.
There was no law that said you had to answer your door. And there was no law that said you had to be at home just because the lights were on or your curtains were drawn or your car was outside.
She wasn't convincing herself.
Martin had parked round the back. At least that was something to be grateful for. It was secluded round that side, overlooked a railway line.
Effie realised she was holding her breath. Let it out slowly. So what if there was somebody at the door? They'd probably ring the bell once more, get no reply, and wander off.
She felt like those invisible fat men were sitting on her again.
The doorbell rang again and she clenched her jaw, screwed her eyes shut. Didn't help of course but it showed her that at least she hadn't sunk into catatonia.
Was that how Mum felt? Like a bunch of fat men were sitting on her?
Effie just had to wait. Then it'd be safe to carry on. The uninvited guest would be gone, normal service could be resumed.
But then she heard the clank of keys. And then a scratching in the lock.
She looked up. Martin was standing at the top of the stairs, a towel wrapped round his waist. He was looking at the door.
Effie tiptoed forwards. Caught Martin's eye and motioned for him to get out of sight. He frowned, but when she persisted, he disappeared back along the corridor.
The door opened.
A boy walked in. Looked about ten years old, wearing a mini-backpack, pushing a bike. He looked at Effie and said, "Who are you?"
"Who are you?" Effie said, although she knew exactly who he was. Fraser's little brother, Jordan. He should be tucked up in bed in his own home where he lived with his dad and his grandmother. Although his dad hadn't been home in a while.
The kid ignored her. Breezed in, leaned the bike against the wall just beyond the tub and the packaged torsos of Phil and Fraser. He