Free Undercover by Gerard Brennan

floorboards creaked under a threadbare carpet as she crossed the room to the window. She drew back the heavy homemade curtains to reveal an old-fashioned net blind, yellowed with age. Parts of it stuck to the condensation-slick window pane. She pulled the blind away to look for weak spots. The window was double-glazed and the frame rigged with security sensors.
    The guestroom was at the front of the house and it looked out on an idyllic leafy suburb complete with smiling kids on bicycles, and old codgers walking dogs. Teddington seemed like an odd place for a professional footballer in his twenties to put down his roots but Lydia could see the appeal. Merely a stone's throw from Kingston upon Thames and a short trip into central London, it was a peaceful spot that didn't seem like the arsehole of nowhere.
    The guestroom would have benefited from an aesthetic update. From the built-in wardrobes to the bedside cabinets, none of the furniture matched. The walls boasted two wallpaper designs separated in the middle by a chipped dado rail. And little reminders from the previous occupants remained; peeling football stickers on the inside of the door, tears in the wallpaper where posters had been removed and a burnt patch on the carpet in front of the mirrored wardrobe door. This house had been lived in.
    Rory's voice rang loud from the bottom of the stairs. "You want tea or coffee?"
    "Tea, please."
    "Milk?"
    "That'd be lovely."
    Lydia checked her mobile. No missed calls. Like she could have missed one. She scrolled through the text messages she'd received on the drive to Teddington from a withheld number.
    Watchin u
    No cops
    Dont make us hurt ur boy 
    She noticed that the battery was down to its last bar so she rooted out the charger from her bag and took it downstairs with her. Rory buzzed about the kitchen putting together a plate of sandwiches to go with the tea. Her stomach rumbled at the sight of the thick white bread, the slabs of cheese and fresh slices of ham. Simple, wholesome food. Lydia's mouth watered and she hoped she might actually be able to handle a couple of bites. She needed fuel.
    "Can I plug my phone in somewhere, Rory?"
    He plonked the plate of sandwiches on the tabletop and pointed towards the microwave on the countertop. "There's a free socket there."
    There was a bunch of brown envelopes propped against the side of the microwave. They had all been opened, the contents removed and stuffed back inside for future consideration. It looked like a mixture of bills and credit card statements to Lydia and her heart beat out a quick drum roll. But she didn't linger. She took a seat opposite Rory and loosed a little sigh of gratitude as he poured her a cup of tea.
    "Everything okay for you upstairs?" Rory asked.
    "Yes. Thanks." She tried to come up with a compliment. "The bed looks lovely and comfy."
    Rory blew on his tea. "I know it's not exactly the Ritz, like..."
    "It's fine. Really."
    "I'd always meant to get the place redecorated, you know. Never got around to it. Maybe if I'd picked up a WAG she'd have sorted it out for me."
    "Yes, I suppose so." Shut up, shut up, shut up.
    "Well, I'll be looking for a new place in Manchester now. Don't want to have to travel every day for training." He pointed to the plate. "Help yourself."
    Lydia hefted a sandwich. The weight of the cheese surprised her a little. She bit a small piece off the corner and chewed. It was better than an orgasm.
    Rory choked down a hunk of his piece and chased it with a gulp of tea. He patted his chest and said, "What about Mattie, by the way? He's a Chelsea fan. Is he pissed off that you sold their best player to the enemy?"
    Her stodgy snack stuck to the roof of her mouth. She washed it away with a mouthful of suddenly over-milked and tepid tea. It took all her might to hold back a grimace.
    "Well, he's probably not your biggest fan these days."
    Rory shrugged and went back to attacking his food while Lydia broke up what was left of her bread