Hot Pursuit

Mrs Eliot nodded. ‘Oh yes, fine. No problems at all. Oh, and the gasman turned up to mend your boiler at long last. I gave him the keys like you said.’

Maggie smiled. ‘And not before time. Great, look, I’m just going to get in and get things sorted out. I’ll pop round later and tell you all about the holiday.’ She nodded towards the boys. ‘The kids have bought you a little present.’

The elderly woman smiled. ‘How lovely. I got their postcard, it was nice of them to think of me. I’ve put it on the mantelpiece; pride of place. You’ll have to come and have a look, boys.’

Ben, with a red face, hefted one of the suitcases up onto the front step.

‘Why did you have to tell her that?’ he hissed as Mrs Eliot made her way back inside. ‘You bought her that vase.’ At nine he was beginning to see himself as the man of the house.

‘Shush. Here, let me have that. You go and help Joe with the black bags; and be careful, they’ve got all the blankets from the beach hut in them – they’ll be heavy,’ she called as Ben headed back down the path. Maggie slipped the key into the lock and pushed open the door with her foot.

Inside the hallway it was still and cool. Maggie let out a sigh of relief. She always enjoyed the first few seconds when she arrived home, when the house seemed slightly unfamiliar and she could view it with new eyes; except that this time the sensation lingered a second or two longer than usual. There was something wrong, something out of kilter that Maggie couldn’t quite put her finger on. The two boys, bearing black bags, pushed in behind her and dropped them on the flagstone floor.

Ben picked up the milk. ‘Is it all right if I have some cereal, I’m starving.’

‘Of course, love, there should be some in the cupboard. Can you put the kettle on while you’re in the kitchen?’

Joe bolted upstairs to add his new holiday dinosaur to the collection on his bedroom windowsill. Still the strange feeling remained. Maggie shook her head. It was probably just that she was exhausted; the traffic on the way home had been terrible.

Ben came out of the kitchen as she piled the rest of the bags up in the hall.

‘Mum,’ he said accusingly, holding out a box towards her. ‘Somebody’s been eating my cereal.’

A split second later Joe glared at her over the banister. ‘And somebody’s been sleeping in my bed,’ he said before vanishing.

Maggie laughed and threw her handbag onto the hall stand.

‘Oh my God,’ she said, clutching her chest theatrically. ‘Don’t tell me. We’ve accidentally wandered into a police reconstruction of Goldilocks and the Three Bears.’

As she spoke, the door to the study opened very, very slowly and a tall, rangy man wrapped in a bath towel stepped, dripping, into the hall.

‘Who the hell are you?’ he said, clutching the skimpy towel tight around his belly.

Maggie blinked, once, twice, strangling the scream that threatened. ‘I’m sorry?’ she mumbled. Her first thoughts were muddled; this couldn’t be happening. Next come shock, then fear, then surprise; a startled, bright, primary palette of emotions.

‘What are you doing in my house?’ he barked furiously.

Maggie settled on outrage, an unfamiliar scarlet glow, and looked round for something to defend herself and the boys with. Everything seemed to be happening in slow motion, everything sharp and clear and crisp.

Across the hall the man’s face contorted, and his body, already wound tight, hunched as if he meant to spring. ‘I said –’ he began.

‘I heard what you said,’ Maggie snapped, easing herself towards the hall stand. Her heart began to tango under her tee shirt. She could hear the reverberation in her ears as if reassuring her she was still alive and well. But for how long? She was acutely aware that Ben’s baseball bat stood amongst the umbrellas no more than an arm’s length away.

‘Well?’ demanded the man, the colour rising on his face and chest.

Maggie nodded towards her eldest son. ‘Quickly, love, go into the kitchen and phone the police,’ she called, and, as the man turned to watch Ben scurry away, she lunged forward. Grabbing the bat, she hefted it up to shoulder height.

The man took a step back, lifting one hand to ward her off, as Maggie settled into a batter’s stance.

‘For God’s sake,’ he yelped, as she took a practise swing in his direction, his other hand still clutching at the towel. ‘Are you mad? You nearly hit me with that. And there’s no point ringing the police.’

What did he mean? Was he going to kill them? Had he cut off the phone lines? Maggie narrowed her eyes, wondering just how hard she would have to hit him to subdue him. ‘I don’t know who you are, or what you want, but this is my house –’ She swung the bat again. ‘And I want you out. Now.’

Ben appeared in the doorway with the phone and began to tap in the number.

‘There has to have been some sort of mistake’ the man said, his voice still tight. ‘They brought me here.’

‘They? Who’s they? Little green men?’ Maggie said, more aggressively now, the adrenaline coursing through her veins like molten lava. She gestured towards the door. ‘Come on. Out.’

‘What?’ he said.

‘You heard me,’ she said, sidestepping towards the front door.

‘What? Like this?’ He sounded incredulous.

Maggie nodded. Once he was out she could lock the door, and throw his clothes out of a window. Let the police sort him out. Ideas spiralled through her mind like crows.

‘Here Mum,’ said Ben, waving the phone at her.

‘I’ve already told you, there’s no point ringing the police,’ the man protested.

Maggie felt another little plume of fear rising, her stomach contracting sharply as her fingers tightened around the hickory shaft.

‘Why not?’ she said, licking bone-dry lips, watching his every move. ‘Did you cut the wires?’

He sighed and ran his fingers back through his wet hair. ‘No, of course I didn’t cut the wires – don’t be so melodramatic. It’s just that the police know that I’m here already, they were the ones who brought me here in the first place,’ he said quietly. ‘How many burglars do you know who break in to take a shower, for God’s sake?’

Joe thundered halfway down the stairs two at a time and then froze when he spotted their unexpected guest. Maggie shooed him towards the kitchen. ‘Keep back, Joe. It’s all right – don’t worry. He’s just leaving.’

The man groaned. There was a look of total disbelief on his face. ‘Look, I’m not going to hurt anyone. There has to have been some sort of mix-up somewhere –’

Maggie balanced herself on the balls of her feet. She was ready for him if he made a move. ‘So what are you doing in my house?’

‘As far as I was – am – concerned, this is my house. The lady next door gave me the key –’ He waved towards Mrs Eliot’s house.

Maggie suddenly understood. ‘That’s because she thought you were the gasman.’

The man looked hurt. ‘She said that she was expecting me.’

Maggie swung the head of the bat back and forth speculatively. ‘She was – at least she was expecting someone from the gas board. It’s taken them six weeks to get around to repairing my boiler, although actually – unless you are the gasman, they still haven’t made it.’ The bat was getting heavy. ‘Now, can you explain what’s going on?’

‘They’ve never been the same since they were privatised,’ he said.

‘That wasn’t what I meant and you know it,’ Maggie hissed. She was having trouble sustaining her sense of outrage.

The man looked down at his damp belly. ‘Would you mind very much if I just nipped back upstairs and got dressed? I was getting out of the shower when the car pulled up and as I wasn’t expecting anyone I came down to see who it was.’

‘And then I opened the door?’