‘Sweet dreams, sweetheart,’ I whispered, dropping a kiss on her cheek.
There was nothing to worry about. The children were safe.
But as I padded towards the door, I noticed a roaring sound from outside. I crept over to the window, pulled back a curtain and looked out.
My blood ran cold.
I looked again, in case my mind was playing tricks on me. It wasn’t. With a backwards glance at Immy, I sprinted from the room and crashed into our bedroom.
‘Stu, Stuart, you need to wake up,’ I said, shaking his shoulder.
‘Wha’s the matter?’ he mumbled, batting me away.
‘Stuart!’ I cried, ‘For pity’s sake, wake up! The river’s burst its banks!’
Chapter Fifty-Four
We pulled on the first clothes we could find and clattered downstairs.
‘You stay here while I check the levels,’ Stuart said, grabbing the torch by the back door.
‘Be careful!’ I called after him.
He nodded and disappeared into the night. I ran to the window and looked out. Rain was still lashing against the glass, making it impossible to see the garden. Something jarred. I realised what it was. I’d been able to see the swollen river from Immy’s room because the security light had been on. But now the garden was in darkness, even though Stuart should have triggered the light the moment he stepped onto the patio.
I tried the kitchen light switch, wincing at the sudden glare. Not a power cut, then. Feeling exposed, I turned the light off. On my way back to the window, I stopped by the island. My fingers hovered over the panic button for the briefest of moments, then I snatched my hand away. The police hadn’t installed the alarm to summon help in the event of a flood.
I opened the back door, screwing my face up against the rain, and yelled Stuart’s name. But all I could hear was the roar of the river, louder than I’d ever heard it.
‘Stuart!’ I shouted again. No answer. I pushed the door closed and wondered whether I should call the fire brigade. When I’d looked out of Immy’s window, the lower half of the garden had been submerged, but there was still at least ten metres between the edge of the water and the back of the house. There were countless other homes much closer to the river than ours. Even if I called 999, I knew we wouldn’t be a priority. The important thing was that the children, asleep upstairs, were safe from the floodwater. Insurance would cover any damaged furniture. I was better off checking our sandbags were in place. I pulled on my wellies, shrugged on my waterproof jacket and let myself out of the back door.
I flapped my arms in front of the security light sensor, but the light still didn’t come on, so I pulled my phone out. Turning on the light, I pointed it towards the river.
‘Jesus,’ I breathed. Dirty river water was lapping at the rose border less than four metres from my feet. I calculated in my head. If the river had encroached another five metres of the garden in less than ten minutes, how long did we have before it reached the house?
Not long enough.
‘STUART!’ I yelled a third time. ‘WHERE ARE YOU?’ But the moment the words left my mouth, the wind whipped them away. Calling him was pointless. I needed to find him.
I waved my phone in front of me as I sloshed my way towards the back wall. At the edge of the water, I stopped. Flood water was gushing through the first water gate with a terrifying speed before disappearing with a whoosh through the second gate. No, wait. Through the gap where the second gate should have been. Because the gate itself was wide open.
Before I could wonder why, I noticed a rhythmical banging at the side of the house. It sounded like… I shook my head, because it couldn’t be… could it? I ran towards the sound, following the jerking beam of the light as I squinted into the driving rain. The side gate was open and was bashing against the wall of the house, bang, bang, bang.
‘Stuart!’ I shouted, looking up and down the street, expecting to see him knocking on our neighbours’ doors warning them about the river, but the street was empty. I ran back into the garden, leaving the gate open in case I’d missed him.
A figure stepped into my path and shone a torch in my eyes.
‘Where the hell were you?’ I cried.
‘Drop your phone.’
I stumbled backwards. ‘Sheila!’
‘Drop it!’
The spindly light from my phone was no match for the powerful beam of her torch, but I pointed it at her, anyway. All I could make out around the halo of light was a length of metal swinging by her side. A length of metal with a flattened chisel end.
‘I said drop the fucking phone!’ Sheila screamed, lunging towards me with the crowbar raised high.
‘All right, I’ll drop it,’ I yelled back, holding the phone out so she could see it slip to the ground. ‘But I should warn you before you try anything stupid that Stuart’s with me.’
She laughed manically, then shone the torch towards the kitchen garden. Slumped over the nearest raised bed, his head hidden by a butterhead lettuce, was Stuart’s prone body.
‘Oh my God, what have you done to him?’
She laughed again. ‘You think I’ve killed him? I wouldn’t waste my time. It’s Imogen I want.’
‘How the hell did you get in?’
She held the crowbar up. ‘Side gate.’
‘Why did you crowbar open the water gate?’
‘What?’
I shook my head. It wasn’t important. ‘How d’you think you’re going to get away? The police are looking for you.’
‘The police
