Someone Who Isn't Me by Danuta Kot (romance novel chinese novels .TXT) 📕

And the steps moved past the door and faded away.

Kay sank down into her chair, trying to catch her breath. She turned slowly towards the window, knowing what she would see – a face pressed up against the glass.

There was nothing, just the square of illumination from the light, and blackness.

She should open the door, shine the torch into the night and find out who was out there, because no one had the right to be.

But she couldn’t.

The rain was beating harder against the window. She tried to pick up the milk container and screw the top back on but her hands were shaking so much she couldn’t do it.

Come on.

So someone had been out there. They’d seen the light and they’d gone.

Gradually, the shaking stopped. She grabbed a towel and put it on the worktop to soak up the spilt milk, and picked up her mug. There was just the sound of the rain now, and she was beginning to think she must have been hearing things. Why would anyone be walking round the house in the small hours, in this kind of weather?

The best thing to do would be to go back to bed and ignore all the night-time noises. Old houses were full of weird sounds – she should know that.

Putting her hands on the table, she pushed herself to her feet. She was tired, she’d been asleep and when you were woken up suddenly it was easy to mistake—

Her breath stopped in her throat.

They were back, the footsteps.

Someone had walked right round the house. Looking for what? A way in? And now they were back. She froze, half upright as the faint sound got louder, coming quickly towards the door, closer and closer.

The door. Her eyes were fixed on the handle.

Was the door locked? Had she checked it?

Milo gave an uncertain bark. And then, again, the footsteps went past, faded and vanished.

What, as Becca might say, the actual fuck? Kay stood there wide awake, listening, and sure enough, about ten minutes later, the footsteps approached again.

This time, she was ready. She flung open the door and shone her torch into the night. ‘Who are you and…’

There was no one there. Water from the gutter was overflowing onto a piece of board that had been dumped outside. Something must be blocking the gutter because the flow of water was slow at first, making a faint pattering sound, then faster and faster, getting louder, and then, as the gutter emptied, slowed, grew fainter and stopped. If you didn’t know what was happening, it would be easy enough to mistake the sound for footsteps.

There was no one here.

She leaned against the doorframe, limp with relief. No one was walking around in the darkness. No one was approaching the back door then moving on. There was no one there, and it was time she went back upstairs.

But first, she slipped her feet into her boots, stepped outside into the rain, and pulled the piece of board away. No more phantom footsteps tonight. Her fingers were covered in mud – she hoped it was mud. She sniffed them and smelled that same, sweet chemical smell that Milo had got on his coat earlier.

Horrible. She scrubbed her hands under the tap. It was time to go to bed. The combination of warm tea and the belated humour of the situation eased her tension, and when she was back in the bedroom, she knew she was ready to fall asleep.

She asked herself, just as she was dropping off, how it was she’d heard the sound of the overflowing gutter up here in her bedroom. She wouldn’t have thought the sound could reach so deep into the house… But old houses played odd tricks with sound. It wasn’t important. And anyway, there hadn’t been any footsteps.

It had been an illusion.

Just an illusion.

And the sound of the door closing? She couldn’t have heard that. At all.

Chapter 14

Bridlington

Becca jerked awake, sweating, from a dream. Another one about a locked door and knowing she was trapped in a small space with… with… It was all mixed up with a kitten calling from somewhere she couldn’t find, even though she looked and looked, while Andy kept saying, Baggers can’t be choosers, Becca, you know that.

The dream fell out of her head as she sat up, and she was glad to let it go, but it left her feeling anxious and unsettled, like she had urgent things to but couldn’t remember what they were.

She fumbled for her phone on the floor beside the bed and squinted at the screen. No messages.

It was seven fifty. OK, time to— Seven fifty! Shit! She’d slept through the alarm! She had to be at work by half eight. She fell out of bed and shoved some biscuits in her mouth as she got her work stuff together.

The kitten! She had to feed it and she didn’t have any food or any time to get any.

Milk. Kittens could have milk, couldn’t they? And she could buy some cat food from work for later.

She gave herself a cursory splash in the shower, slapped on some make-up – just enough to cover the scar. Pulling her clothes on, she gave herself another glance in the mirror – it was OK, the jagged white line didn’t really show. The time? What time was it? Five past eight. Shit! She’d have to spend money she didn’t have on the bus. Bus fare, cat food – suddenly, she was angry. What was the use of working? She was always fucking broke.

She took a carton of milk from the fridge, grabbed a towel, a carrier bag, her bag and her coat and was halfway out of the door before she stopped and went back for something to hold the milk. Her cereal bowl. That would do. She poured some milk into it, then ran downstairs into the yard.

The rain was heavier now.

Working fast, she lifted the tarpaulin that covered her bike and put the carrier