FORTY-SEVEN

The ringtone of her phone erupted from a pocket in Knacker’s jeans.

Fergal whipped his head in knacker’s direction and raised his eyebrows. Knacker fished the phone out of his pocket. ‘Someone called Ryan. Fird time he’s called today. And twice yesterday. I can’t read his texts. She’s put a pin number in.’

Fergal’s face moved within an inch of Stephanie’s nose. ‘Who the fuck is that?’

She swallowed but could not speak.

When the distant chime of the doorbell announced itself up the stairwell, quickly followed by the sound of a hand hammering against the front door, Knacker and Fergal exchanged glances.

Knacker became antsy with nerves and started to bob on his toes. ‘We ain’t expecting no one til five.’

‘You expecting someone?’ Fergal asked Stephanie, and his breath reminded her of spoiled meat.

‘Course she ain’t,’ Knacker said. ‘Like I said, her friends don’t wanna know.’

‘Shut it!’ Fergal shouted at his cousin.

‘Awright! Leave it out, will ya?’

Fergal pushed his face into hers. ‘What’s the pin number?’

Stephanie swallowed and whispered it. Fergal quickly entered it into the phone. He glared at Knacker. ‘You should have done this yesterday, twat!’ His eyes returned to the phone and he went through her messages. ‘She’s been texting him. This cunt who’s been calling.’ He swivelled his head round to confront Stephanie again. ‘I asked you a question. Is you expecting a visitor, this Ryan? You given him our address?’

She shook her head. She couldn’t manage anything else and was too scared to even sniff at the mucus that had run from her nose. The crotch of her jeans had gone cold and was starting to make her sore.

Through the shock and bewilderment that had not abated since she had been attacked by ‘Bennet’, and which had only been worsened by Fergal showing her the picture of the dead rapist on his phone screen, Stephanie made a connection between the call from Ryan and the sound of banging on the distant front door. She felt a surge of hope that made her want to cry.

‘Get it,’ Fergal said to Knacker.

Knacker pointed at her. ‘Last night. Yeah, last night. She was making freats, like. Said something about someone knowing she was here, like. Sure she did.’

‘I said, get it!’ Fergal roared at Knacker, who almost instantly vanished from the doorway in his haste to escape Fergal’s wrath.

Fergal returned his attention to Stephanie; the sides of his thin lips were white with spittle, and within his expression the hatred she interpreted made her cringe against the radiator. ‘Finks he’s hard, does he? Cavalry? Finks he can come here and sort fings out, does he? Well if he wants some then he can have some.’

‘No.’ Her voice was a whisper and her throat closed again after the faint sound escaped.

Fergal was already on his feet and striding from the room with a purpose that made her feel sick.

‘No!’ she screamed. ‘Don’t you touch him!’ Stephanie followed Fergal across the room.

He turned in the doorway and glared at her. Nothing else was required to bring her to a flinching stand still. He closed the door nonchalantly. With the key Knacker had left hanging from the lock, the door was secured.

In the far distance, over the sound of Fergal’s retreating footsteps, the front door of the house closed, shutting the visitor inside.