Warhol's Prophecy

82

SHE WAS DREAMING: that was the only explanation.

Hailey rolled over in bed, trying to force her eyes open. Expecting the residue of her dream to vanish with the intrusion of waking.

She heard the sound again.

The doorbell?

She looked across at the radio alarm: 11.56 p.m.

Hailey was gripped by a feeling of unease.

Who the hell would be ringing her doorbell at this time of night?

Somebody playing a joke?

She was grateful she’d put the security alarm on. She glanced across at the phone beside the bed, thought how easily she could reach it if she needed to.

The doorbell sounded again.

Whoever was down there wasn’t giving up easily. She began to wonder how long they’d already been there.

She swung herself out of bed and pulled on a T-shirt, then she crossed to the window and looked out.

Either the person standing at the door had no transport or their car was parked out of sight.

Walker?

Why would he have come to the house tonight? She was meeting him tomorrow.

A smile flickered across her lips.

What if it was Rob? He’d tried his key and not been able to get in because of the bolts. Even now he could be standing there waiting for her to let him in. He’d had time to think, and he wanted to talk. That had to be it.

Surely?

She hurried towards the stairs, pausing briefly to look in on Becky, who was sleeping, undisturbed by the persistent ringing.

Hailey hurried down the stairs, crossing to the key-pad and jabbing in the four-digit cancel code. For long seconds she stood in the darkness of the hall looking towards the front door.

She could see shadows outside.

Two figures.

It wasn’t Rob.

Did you really think it would be?

Not Walker either, unless he had someone with him.

Perhaps he’d brought Caroline with him. Perhaps they had needed to tell her of their undying love for each other.

She exhaled deeply.

The doorbell sounded again.

Hailey took a step towards the front door, pausing to squint through the spyhole.

She’d been right: there were two figures standing in the porch.

The breath froze in her lungs. Her heart thudded alarmingly against her ribs.

Please God . . .

With shaking hands she slipped the bolts free, then scurried into the kitchen and fetched her front door keys. She left the chain on as she opened the door, feeling a blast of cold night air sweep into the house. It raised goose pimples on her flesh.

‘Mrs Hailey Gibson?’ said the first of the policemen.

She nodded. ‘What’s wrong?’ she murmured, barely able to force the words out.

‘It’s your husband,’ the uniformed man told her.

‘Oh, no,’ she said, her voice cracking.

‘If you get dressed, we’ll run you to the hospital.’

‘An accident?’ she said.

‘We’ll give you the details on the way,’ the other policeman said, smiling understandingly.

She wondered how many previous times he’d performed a similar task – or worse.

‘Is he badly hurt?’ Hailey wanted to know.

‘Yes, he is,’ said the second man.

She slipped the chain free and let the two men in, turning and bolting up the stairs.

Tears were already forming in her eyes.

You’ve got to be strong for Becky’s sake.

She stood in the doorway of her daughter’s room, looking at the little sleeping form.

Hailey waited a moment, then hurried into her own bedroom.

She dialled the number quickly.

Caroline Hacket was still up, still working.

‘I’m really sorry, Caroline,’ Hailey said. ‘I’ve got to go to the hospital. I need someone to watch Becky for me. I won’t be long. It’s Rob. I think he’s in a bad way.’

Caroline said she’d be there in five minutes.

‘Thanks,’ said Hailey, wiping her eyes with the back of one hand. She hung up.

She pulled on jeans, socks, stepped into trainers, then ran a hand through her hair and headed for the stairs, pausing once more at the door to Becky’s room.

The little girl was still sleeping soundly.

No need to wake her.

Not yet.

Hailey made her way downstairs to the waiting policemen.