Warhol's Prophecy

67

HAILEY PARKED THE Astra about a hundred yards from Adam Walker’s house and sat behind the wheel motionless.

The street was relatively empty of vehicles and, if Walker was home, she didn’t want him to see her. Not just yet.

During the drive she had gone over in her mind what she would say to him. Rehearsed her part of the conversation until she knew it by heart. Decided what she was going to say to him, and how. She wasn’t going to lose her temper. She wasn’t going to raise her voice. She just wanted to speak to him.

If you’d spoken to him in the beginning, then none of this would have happened.

She sucked in a deep breath, held it, then exhaled slowly.

Her heart was thudding insistently in her chest.

Afraid to face him?

She swung herself out of the car and locked it, checking her reflection in the window before she set off towards his house.

Be firm, not rude. Just firm.

Her heels clicked on the pavement as she walked. The only sound, it seemed, in the stillness of the thoroughfare.

There were two or three birds singing in the trees that lined the street, but apart from that she seemed to be alone.

Hailey paused at the entrance to the short driveway that led to Walker’s house, gazing at the dwelling for long moments before finally heading towards the front door.

Keep calm.

Walker’s Scorpio wasn’t in the drive.

It could be in the garage, she reasoned.

He was probably in.

Watching you from one of the windows. Waiting for you.

She reached the front door, hesitated a minute, then rang the doorbell.

Her heart was beating even faster now.

Why are you concerned? He’s the one in the wrong. He’s the one who should be apologizing for what he’s done. The dog shit through the letterbox, the slashed tyres on Rob’s car, the break-in. He should be grateful you didn’t call the police.

Hailey took a step back and looked up at the first-floor windows.

No sign of movement behind the curtains.

Perhaps he wasn’t home.

And if he’s not? How many times do you come back?

She rang the bell again.

Still no answer.

Hailey crossed to the bay window, cupped her hands around her eyes and peered through the glass.

She could see very little.

The path led on to a wooden gate at one side. This obviously led to the back of the house.

She saw a latch on the gate and lifted it, pushing against the weathered wood.

The gate didn’t budge.

Hailey muttered under her breath and pushed harder.

The gate swung open and she almost overbalanced.

A narrow path continued down the side of the house, flanked on the left by some out-of-control privet hedge that also acted as a barrier between Walker’s house and the dwelling next door.

Hailey moved slowly along the path, pieces of untrimmed privet scratching at her clothes and face. She emerged into the back garden.

For a moment she stood still, remembering the last time she had been here at Walker’s house.

Remembering it because you enjoyed it?

She crossed to the back door and knocked.

No answer.

Hailey peered through various windows, but saw nothing. If Walker was inside, then he had no desire to speak to her.

Because he had something to hide? Because he was ashamed?

She returned to the back door and twisted the handle.

Locked.

In frustration, she banged again, harder this time. Only silence.

Hailey murmured something angrily and headed back up the path to the side of the house.

The gate had swung shut.

She wrenched it open.

The figure before her seemed to appear from nowhere.