Page 4 of Hide In The House

I pick up the passport and flick through the pages to see who it belongs to. When I find the page with the photo on, I don’t see the man or woman I watched leave this house this morning. Instead, I see a young male in his late teens, and he looks moody. Or glum. It could just be that he’s trying not to smile because you’re not supposed to do so in passport photos. Or it could be that he is genuinely unhappy.

I have a feeling it is the latter.

I decide to take the passport, knowing it will be worthwhile to do so, and then keep searching. But before I can get any further, I hear what sounds an awful lot like the front door opening downstairs.

When I realise that is definitely what it is, I freeze, not daring to move another muscle in my body.

I’m no longer alone in the house.

Somebody else is here.

They are downstairs.

And I am trapped above them.

4

It’s too late to regret my life choices as I stand upstairs and wait for whoever has just entered the house to discover the broken window of the back door in the kitchen and call the police. All I can do is listen out for any sign of who it might be.

Her?

Or him?

‘Come here,’ I hear a male voice say, instantly giving me my answer. But why is he talking quietly, as if he’s by himself? He can’t be talking to me, or he would be shouting out, wouldn’t he? It sounds like he is still in the hallway by the front door, so he hasn’t had time to see the signs of forced entry yet. He doesn’t know I am here, for now at least, so if he isn’t talking to me, who is he talking to?

I fail to hear anyone respond to him, but I do hear something. I frown as I try to process what it is, and it takes me a little longer than perhaps it should. But when I figure it out, I’m shocked.

It sounds like kissing.

As if not fully able to trust my hearing, I creep towards the top of the stairs and dare to peek down to get a look. When I do, I get confirmation that it was indeed kissing that I was hearing. I also get confirmation that it is the man of the house who is here.

But the woman he is kissing is not his wife.

As I watch the pair of lovers continue to kiss passionately, him pressing her against the hallway wall as if they simply can’t restrain themselves any longer, I am aghast.

He’s having an affair?

He’s brought his mistress home?

In the morning, while his wife is at work?

While he should be at work too?

It’s crazy that he would have the audacity to do such a thing, but he has definitely done it. I am staring at the evidence right in front of my eyes. But not for long, because the pair break off from their deep and passionate embrace, and when they do, I move back for fear that one of them might turn their head my way.

‘I’ve waited a long time for that,’ I hear him say smugly as I stay out of sight.

‘I can tell,’ the woman replies, just as much smugness in her own voice too.

‘We’ve got all day to do a lot more of it,’ he says. ‘She won’t be back until six, so make yourself at home.’

‘There’s only one place I want to see,’ the woman says, and I have an awful feeling I know what place she is talking about.

My eyes move across to the door to the master bedroom, and I am fearful that in just a few seconds, they will both be on their way up here to continue their sordid shenanigans. I don’t want them to get any closer to me, and I certainly don’t want to be found here, but if they come up, they will be nearer to discovering that they don’t have this house to themselves after all.

‘Let me lead the way,’ the man says, and the sound of a creaky step on the stairs gives me the terrible confirmation I was hoping to avoid.

They are coming up.