Into the Darkest Corner Read Online Free PDF Page B

door, I jumped a little. Everything sounded so loud.
    He had a nice smile. “Hi,” he said. “You okay?”
    “Yes. I wondered if you have any teabags. That I could borrow. I mean, have. I’ve run out.”
    He gave me a curious look. I was trying so hard to look normal but I must have been giving off desperation out of every pore.
    “Sure,” he said. “Come on in.”
    He held the door open and retreated into the flat, leaving me standing on the doorstep watching his back. In normal circumstances I would rather have died than follow a stranger into an enclosed space, but these weren’t normal circumstances, and if I was to get teabags by ten o’clock I would have to do it.
    At the end of the long hallway was the kitchen, which I worked out was directly over my bedroom. No wonder those Chinese students had kept me awake with their party, I thought. Three shopping bags were on the kitchen table and he was rooting around in them.
    “I just bought tea—ran out myself yesterday. I’m Stuart, by the way. Stuart Richardson. Just moved in.”
    He offered me his hand, and I shook it, with the brightest smile I could conjure up. “Pleased to meet you. I’m Cathy Bailey. From downstairs.”
    “Hello, Cathy,” he said. “I saw you on the day the agent showed me around.”
    “Yes.” Just give me the teabags, I was thinking. Please give me the fucking teabags. And stop looking at me like that.
    “Look,” he said then, after a moment’s hesitation, “I could do with a brew. Why don’t you put the kettle on while I put this stuff away? Would you mind? Or are you busy?”
    Put on the spot, I couldn’t very well admit that I had nothing better to do than worry about where my next teabag was coming from, and besides, my watch now showed three minutes until ten o’clock, which meant I wasn’t going to get the tea in time unless I made it now.
    So I did it. I found mismatched mugs on the counter next to the sink, choosing two and rinsing them out under the tap. Milk was in the fridge. I put fresh water in the kettle and boiled it, and made the tea, stirring and adding milk drop by drop until it was exactly the right color, while Stuart put his shopping away and chatted away about the weather and how good it had been to find such a great flat just a few streets from the Northern Line.
    I got to drink my first scalding sip of tea just as the second hand hit the twelve. I felt myself relax, the relief immediate, even though I was drinking it in a stranger’s flat, with a man I’d only just met, and I hadn’t even left my own flat secure.
    I placed his mug on a coaster on the kitchen table, turning the handle exactly ninety degrees from the edge of the table, which wasn’t terribly easy because it was a round table. It took me a few attempts before it looked right. He looked at me and raised an eyebrow, and this time I managed a smile.
    “Sorry,” I said. “I’m just a bit—um. I don’t know. I needed a nice cup of tea, I guess.”
    He shrugged and gave me a smile. “Don’t worry. It’s a treat to get someone else to make it.”
    We sat at the kitchen table in a companionable silence for a moment, sipping tea. Then: “I knocked on your door the other evening. I think you must have been out.”
    “Really?” I said. “What night was that?”
    He considered. “Monday, I guess. Must have been seven-thirty, eightish.”
    More like nine , I thought. I tried to look vague. “I didn’t hear it. Maybe I was in the shower or something. I hope it wasn’t urgent.”
    “Not really—just thought I should say hello and introduce myself. I wanted to apologize if I disturb you when I come in at night. I work late sometimes, never know when I’ll get back.”
    “That must be tough,” I said.
    He nodded. “You get used to it after a while. But I always think it must be really loud, those stairs.”
    “No,” I lied, “once I’m asleep I don’t hear anything.”
    He regarded me for a moment as though he knew full