This is my first completed short story - well, the first one that I've actually made an effort with. All I really want to know is, is it interesting? Any other comments gratefully received.

Marie put the key in the lock, then paused, listening and not breathing, before opening the door. Inside, the hallway was decorated and furnished in various shades of brown and seemed to swallow the light, leaving a thick, heavy gloom. She walked straight up the stairs ahead of her, determined not to be put off, before coming to an abrupt stop.

No one else was in, not that other people seemed to make much difference. The house was silent, apart from an unnerving hiss of quiet. An almost unconscious deep breath and Marie unlocked the door to her room, stepping inside and closing it behind her in a swift movement.

Nothing. Just the same as she'd left it this morning: bed unmade, make-up on the dressing table, trainers by the window, well-thumbed magazines on the floor. Quiet, and dead still. Putting her bag down, she met her own anxious eyes in the small mirror above the fireplace, a defunct period piece that looked like a dusty black mouth in the wall, despite the thick layers of white gloss over its ornately embossed edges.

On the floor, a worn mustard carpet shirked the skirting and mocked the rose-strewn wallpaper, a more recent addition to the room. The furniture, a single bed with springs that dug into her back, a wardrobe, and a dressing table with drawers and a black-spotted mirror, was rough with use, but nothing was broken. When she'd first seen the room, on a glowing summer day with sunlight coating everything in an inviting, buttery haze, Marie had seen a kind of romance in living in a boarding house and sharing with strangers. The room was bigger than her one at home and had a window overlooking the small, overgrown back garden. She imagined putting posters of French films on the walls and draping silk scarves over the mirror, using candles instead of the electric light and burning incense, drinking tea with the friends she'd make there and talking about art. She'd assumed the other lodgers would all be like her, and living there would be a continuation of student life, just that she'd have to go to work instead of lectures, and she'd have more money.

Without bothering to close the curtains (rows of empty back gardens and blank houses were framed in the window), Marie stripped off her skirt and blouse, the non-descript office wear that still made her feel uncomfortable, like an actress or an imposter. She picked up a pair of jeans from the floor and pulled them on, then a plain black T-shirt. Opening the wardrobe to hang up her discarded clothes, she wrinkled her nose at the stale smell inside and thought about asking her mum for some lavender bags. She left the door ajar and went to open the window, hoping some fresh air might help. Outside, dusk was waiting and sounds of traffic signalled the start of rush hour. She shivered; it wasn't really T-shirt weather anymore.

Downstairs in the kitchen, cereal packets and tea were pushed against the tiled walls and cutlery hung on a plastic tree, spoons with spoons, knives with knives. It was the only place she'd lived in where people did their washing up as soon as they'd finished eating. Each tenant was allotted their own cupboard and a shelf in the fridge; there was a sign tacked to the door, in faded black ball-point and capital letters, reminding people to buy their own milk.

Marie put bread in the toaster and filled the kettle for tea. She was hungry but couldn't be bothered to cook something, it didn't seem worth it just for one person. At home she was spoilt by her mum's roasts and pies, substantial dinners that her dad and brother attacked with gusto. Even at university, she cooked with friends - proper meals of pasta and salad, steak and vegetables, usually accompanied with a bottle of wine that everyone chipped in for. Alone, she lacked the enthusiasm for such feasts and made do with quick snacks and sandwiches. And, although she wasn't consciously aware of it, she avoided being in the kitchen for too long, in case she got in the way of somebody else; no one ever used the kitchen at the same time.

She automatically looked through the post while waiting for the kettle to boil, not expecting anything but disappointed all the same. A lot of the letters were for people who no longer lived there, strangers who had passed through the house before Marie. She assumed the landlady collected the letters and sent them on, although as the landlady never visited the house, she wasn't quite sure how. Anyway, it wasn't her problem, but she couldn't help feeling a slight tug of anxiety at the thought of important letters misplaced, urgent bills or news unknown, pieces of people's lives just sitting here, lost.

She sipped at the scalding tea and mechanically ate her toast, sitting at the kitchen table and holding the mug by the handle, keeping her elbows by her sides, as she had been taught to do. She heard the front door open and Helen walked past the kitchen and up the stairs. Apart from introducing herself when she'd first arrived, Helen had confined herself to nods of recognition and brief hellos ever since. She worked at a local solicitor's office as a clerk and wore neat, matching skirts and jackets and had neat, no-nonsense bobbed hair.

Feeling strangely guilty but glad that there was someone else to share the silence, Marie quickly washed up her things and left them in the drying rack.

Back in her room and looking for something to do, she eyed the pile of clothes on the floor and decided to do a wash. As she went through her laundry, checking pockets and turning everything inside out, Marie's mind strayed back to her day at work, and a comment she'd overheard one of the junior managers make to the receptionist. "She's alright I suppose, but I think we can probably get someone better." That was all, but Marie couldn't help thinking it was about her. It was only her third week, and she still had butterflies in her stomach on Monday morning; the peculiar workings of the office and people's names still eluded her. Give it time, she told herself, it's a lot to take on, moving all this way and starting your first job.

A spider darted out from under the dressing table, paused in the middle of the room, then scuttled under the bed. Marie froze, gripped by irrational fear and hatred, she would have trouble sleeping tonight, thinking about it crawling around, but she couldn't bear the thought of looking under the bed and trying to kill it.

Just then the phone rang. She grabbed the mobile from her bag and answered it. Her mother's hesitant hello almost made Marie weep. "Hi Mum, yeah I'm fine. What's going on?"

"Oh, nothing really. Just waiting for your dad to come home for tea. Have you found somewhere nice to live yet?"

"Not yet Mum. I might come home this weekend to pick up some stuff."

They chatted for a few more minutes, mostly about Ben, Marie's younger brother who'd just started his second year at University. When she lived at home, Marie hadn't taken much interest in him, but now she was far away, Ben's life had attained a greater importance, a reminder of her own previous life as a student and how happy she'd been. His life, structured around terms and timetables, essay deadlines and university sports, seemed to her a place of great safety. He had a girlfriend now, her mum told her, a girl from Derby studying on the same course, and he was going walking in the Lake District that weekend. His life was circumscribed by love and care, his time spent on enjoyable and untaxing tasks.
When Marie thought about her own life in comparison, she saw something open and empty, a stony road through a flat, deserted landscape, a sky grey and pregnant with rain. Unsheltered, she thought, as her mum continued talking.

"Anyway love, your dad'll be home soon so best get the potatoes boiling. We'll look forward to seeing you Friday. "

"OK Mum, love you lots."

"You too Marie. Hugs and kisses."

The silence was worse when she put the phone down. She tried not to think about her mum in the little kitchen at home, listening to Radio 2 and setting the table ready for their tea, probably a nice steak and kidney pie with all the trimmings, Mum's speciality for Monday nights. She grabbed the bag of dirty clothes and went out onto the landing. Just as she stood there wondering how long she'd be and whether it was worth locking the door, the front door opened and she heard voices, a man and a woman.

"Here's the kitchen. Let's wait in here." The woman sounded young, around Marie's age, with a standard southern accent.

"OK, I don't suppose she'll be long." The man's voice was relaxed but a little too loud for the small hallway.

They must be friends of Helen, they're probably going out this evening, Marie thought. Maybe I should go up and tell her they're here? No, she probably knows already, there's no point.

She still hestitated. She hadn't made any friends in the area yet, and although she wanted to just walk down the stairs and talk confidently to the two strangers, her natural shyness made her reluctant. Well, I can just say hi, put my washing on and come back up, she finally decided.

They were sitting at the kitchen table when she entered. They looked surprised to see her but Marie didn't notice. She said hello and went to the washing machine in the corner. She squatted down awkwardly and started stuffing her clothes in, trying to shield her dirty laundry from the strangers' view.

"Hey, you must live here too." The man stood up and took a step towards her, smiling.

"Yes, yes I do but I haven't been here long, just a few weeks." She put in the washing powder and pressed the on switch. As soon as the sound of rushing water filled the room, Marie relaxed and her voice got louder.

"I'm sure Helen won't be long. I can go and get her if you like."

"Oh no, that's fine, we're a bit early actually. Is there a toilet I could use? I'm Gary by the way." He was still smiling and looking at her expectantly. He's quite good-looking, she thought, but a bit full of himself; not really the sort of person she could see getting on with Helen.

"Yeah, there's one at the top of the stairs, first floor. It's the green door, opposite the blue one, my room."

"Thanks", and he went thumping up the stairs.

Now it was the woman's turn to look and smile at Marie. She was pretty in a rodenty sort of way, with small blue eyes and sharp cheek bones pointing to a pinched pink mouth. Marie offered her a cup of tea.

"Well, if you're making one. I'm Shelley." She was still sitting at the table, but now got up and leant with her back against the oven, closer to Marie, who used the noise of the washing machine and kettle to avoid further conversation. Something about the woman made her uneasy. She's smiling too much, like she's making a big effort to be nice, I wonder if Helen's said anything about me?

Marie got two mugs from the cupboard, then remembered Gary. "Do you think Gary will want one?"

"Gary? Um, yeah, make him one, why not." She looked at the stairs through the open door, as if expecting him to be there.

Marie got the tea ready and wished the cleaner did a better job. The kitchen and bathroom were communal areas, and the landlady paid a cleaner to come once a week; Marie had never seen her, but knew she'd been as the bin was emptied and the tea stains gone from the table. However, it would take a bit more than a weekly clean to remove the grime of years that had worked its way into the cracks on the formica worktop or around the edges of the oven. At home, her mum was a demon with hot soapy water and an abrasive cloth, and her dad never waited long to fix a leaking tap or any other task around the house that needed doing. At university, she'd shared a house that belonged to a friend's parents, and the halls of residence were brand new for her year. Spoilt really, she told herself, but still - I wonder where Shelley lives?

The one and only conversation she'd had with Helen, the girl had said she'd lived here for nearly a year; as far as Marie knew, the place had been a lodging house for at least a decade, usually with young, single tenants who stayed for a few months before moving on. "It's ok, I s'pose. It's cheap, and the landlady is alright. And it's only a ten-minute walk to work - I was travelling by train for an hour every morning living at home - so, it's fine." And that was as far as Helen got in saying she liked the place.

She gave Shelley her tea, making brief eye contact before turning to the doorway, hoping to see Helen. Helen refused to appear, and Marie felt the weight of social obligation to entertain this girl she didn't even know.

"Helen mentioned a new girl moving in. What do you think of the place then? You're not from around here, are you?" Shelley had a slightly interrogative tone that Marie had noticed in a lot of southern voices; it wasn't aggressive exactly, but it demanded an answer. Shelley was still smiling, her eyes darting from Marie's face to the doorway and back again.

"Oh, it's alright. Not exactly the Ritz, but, you know, ok. The people are nice, Helen especially." She wished she could be more enthusiastic, smiled weakly and picked up her tea, took a sip and held the mug protectively in front of her.

Suddenly Gary returned. "Just seen Helen and she's running late. Said she'd meet us there."

Shellley moved quickly towards the door. "Nice to meet you", Maried called as they waved briefly, then she heard the front door close. Two mugs of tea sat on the table, untouched. She breathed a sigh of relief but felt strangely deflated and anchorless. She stood very still. The washing machine started to spin, an urgency in its slow-quick-quick-slow rotations. I'll call Samantha, she thought, she'll be home from work now and we can have a good chat before she goes out. Samantha was always going out, every evening she had something to do - aerobics, swimming, spanish lessons, a date or a girls' night out. Marie had only spoken to her once since moving, and then only briefly as Sam was in the middle of doing her hair before meeing friends from work.

Marie poured the two cups of tea down the sink, rinsed the mugs quickly and left them, upside down, to dry. She took the last mug and carried it upstairs to her room, holding it carefully and opening the door slowly. Once inside, she put the mug on the dressing table and looked around for her phone. She couldn't see it anywhere. She opened her handbag. It wasn't there, and neither was her purse. She emptied the contents onto the bed: a couple of old bus tickets, a new library card, keys, chewing gum - but no purse. She'd definitely had it this afternoon, she'd bought the chewing gum from the shop on the corner. She looked around the room. Her small leather jewellery case, brown with her initials on in gold, was gone from the dressing table - and with it the gold St Christopher that had been a graduation present from her parents. Half-heartedly she opened drawers and went through her wardrobe, looking in her coat pocket and trousers. Finally she sat back on the bed, stunned, staring blankly.

Of course, stupid girl! She rushed out of her room and up the flight of stairs to Helen's room. She knocked loudly, adrenalin making her brave. Would Helen be insulted if Marie told her what happened? Would she be angry with Marie for saying it, or angry with Gary? Helen opened the door almost immediately, wearing jeans and a blue hooded sweatshirt, her hair pulled back with a blue alice band.

"Yes?" She looked surprised to see Marie.

"Oh, sorry to bother you Helen but there's been a bit of a, um, a mistake about some of my stuff. Could you give me Gary's number and I'll sort it out?"

"Who's Gary?"

"You know, your friend Gary who was just here."

"I don't know anyone called Gary. None of my friends have been here. What's happened?"

Marie didn't know what to say. If Gary wasn't Helen's friend, who was he?

"What about Shelley? She was here too. If you could just give me her number - they said they would meet you later, you were running late." Marie trailed off as Helen continued to look blank.

"I don't know anyone called Shelley either. Maybe they're Rachel's friends, but she's on holiday at the moment. What did you say happened to your stuff?"

Marie couldn't bear the inquiring look on Helen's face. I'm not going to cry, I'm not going to cry - how could I have been such an idiot?

"My phone's gone, but uh, maybe, I might have left it at work. Sorry to bother you, I must have got mixed up. " She backed hurriedly away, then ran back to her room. Helen watched her, then closed the door with a shrug.

Alone again, Marie curled up on her bed and cried with her face pressed against her knees. She didn't want to think, she just wanted it all to go away. She cried until her jeans felt damp and her hair stuck to her face, then she fell asleep.

A knock at the door woke her. She turned over and put her hands over her ears, but whoever it was knocked again, harder. She pushed her hair away from her face and got up slowly, pulling her clothes into order. She took a deep breath and opened the door. It was Helen, frowning.

"Some stuff's been taken from the kitchen and Rachel's lock's been broken. I've called the police, they should be here soon."

"Why did you do that?"

"Because we've been robbed, that's why. It must have been the two people you were asking me about. I've already mentioned them to the police, they'll probably want a statement from you. Did they say they knew me?"

"But I don't know who they are! Yes, they told me they were waiting for you, I heard them come in the front door. How could they have taken - " But she knew already. "What's gone from the kitchen?"

"The jar we keep small change in, the silver letter opener that's usually in the knife rack, and all today's post. I guess they were looking for cash or something. Did you say your phone was gone?"

"Yes, my phone and my purse. And my jewellery, a present from my parents. They'll be so upset, I don't know if I should even tell them."

Helen didn't look sympathetic. "Are you sure they mentioned me? Is that why you let them in?"

"I didn't let them in! They were already in the kitchen when I went to use the washing machine. They told me they were waiting for you, you were all going out."

The doorbell rang and the two women instinctively looked towards the noise. "That must be the police. I'll let them in." Helen thudded off down the stairs. Marie wiped her eyes with the hem of her T-shirt. It's not my fault, she whispered to herself.

The policemen, one young and the other one old enough to be his father, listened kindly and attentively as the women answered their questions. Yes, just the two of them in the house at the time, a few things stolen, mainly from Marie's room, and no, she'd never seen them before, but would definitely recognise them if she saw them in the future.

"Yes, of course I would. They weren't wearing masks or anything, they were dressed normally. They were very ordinary, I didn't suspect anything. I thought they were friend's of Helen." Her voice was firm, neutral; she tried to shake the feeling that she was guilty of something, or that she was playing a part in a film. This wasn't really her life.

"Is that what they said? That they knew Helen?" The older policeman asked most of the questions, looking grave.

"I think so, they said they were waiting for someone. I assumed it was Helen because we were the only two here. Then Gary asked to use the toilet, and that's when he must have gone in my room. I even told him which one it was, so he knew it was empty. But he looked, well, normal, not like a robber or anything." She tried to push away the childish image of a robber in a black mask with a sack labeled 'swag' in black lettering; her palms were hot and she pushed back her hair to hide the action of wiping the sweat from her upper lip.

The policeman nodded and made a note in his book. He'd already told her she would have to go with them to the police station to give a full description of the intruders. She didn't mind, it would be the best way she could help.

"How did the suspects get into the house? Is the door open all the time?" The man looked from Marie to Helen for an answer. Helen spoke first.

"It's never open, it locks automatically from the inside."

"So whoever entered the house last, didn't have to bother locking it?"

"That was me, Marie was already here when I got back from work. It definitely locked, I always make sure to close it properly. I can't think how they could just have walked in - "

The younger policeman left the room. His colleague smiled wearily at the women and told them not to blame themselves, thieves are more resourceful than the average person.

"It's an old lock, probably could've been opened with a credit card", the man said as he returned to the kitchen. "We'll have someone dust it for fingerprints."

Later that evening, after being given a lift home by the police, Marie stood in the small front garden and looked up at the house. She stared, seeing in its array of windows and door the face of a sleeping enemy, an intractable opponent. It looked sullen, a neglected grandfather who, when his family finally pays him a visit, refuses to talk to them and watches the telly instead. She suddenly felt a wave of pity for the house and its mildewed window-frames, its three storeys looking a little tottery and decrepit in the autumn evening. If nobody cares for a house, how can it protect the people inside?

Helen was waiting in the kitchen with Jim, a middle-aged man from Glasgow who'd moved in just before Marie. Both of them were drinking coffee and it was obvious they'd been talking about the robbery.

"Oh Marie, sorry to hear what happened today. Helen told me they got your phone and purse." He smiled his sorrow, showing large yellow teeth, sticking out at odd angles. Marie suspected he had a drink problem from the number of empty wine and whisky bottles she saw him carrying down the stairs once a week, and was surprised to see him talking with Helen, who she'd never seen chatting to any of the other tenants. Somehow it made her uneasy.

Before she could answer, Helen asked, "Do the police think they'll catch them? You gave them the description then, after all, you were the one who spoke to them." There was accusation in her voice that Marie didn't understand. She felt a spark of anger and it gave her strength.

"They said they'll put posters up asking for information. Apparently there's been quite a few burglaries round here recently, they think it might be a gang. They said the description would really help."

Helen raised an eyebrow and made a 'hmm' sound. Jim looked down at his coffee. Marie was torn between shouting and crying, but just stood there looking at Helen. Why are you so angry, she wanted to yell, you didn't lose anything, nobody went in your room and stole your jewellery or your money. What's your problem?

Helen got up abruptly to leave the room. "The landlady's sending someone over tomorrow to put a chain on the door. We can put it on at night when everyone's in. Tonight I thought we could put one of these chairs by the door, just in case someone tries to get in." And she went upstairs.

As she lay in bed that night, Marie was surprised at herself. I should be feeling really bad now, I should hate those two people, and Helen for being so nasty, I should be upset and angry, but I'm not. I'm ok. She fell asleep quickly.

Next morning, Marie walked downstairs in her pyjamas to use the payphone in the hall. She called her office and told them she was too ill to come in, she would call them again tomorrow. The receptionist asked her to repeat her name, yawned and said she would inform the manager. Feeling lighter, Marie went into the kitchen. Helen was there washing up, already wearing a smart navy skirt suit and heels. She looked tired.

"Morning. How are you?" Marie asked politely, determined not to let the anger of last night carry over into the new day.

"Not great. Couldn't sleep very well. What about you?"

"Oh, not as bad as I expected. I didn't lose that much - it could have been worse."

Helen sighed. "I suppose so. See you later."

Alone in the kitchen, Marie hummed as she put cereal in a bowl and poured a glass of orange juice. She felt bad for Helen, that chain on the door wouldn't help her, she might even think about leaving.

She carefully washed up her breakfast things, then gave the table a wipe down. It's not a bad place, she thought, but I know I can find somewhere better. On the way up the stairs, she used the phone again, calling her mum to let her know she'd be coming home today, rather than the weekend.

"Nothing's happened, I just don't like it here very much and the job's not that interesting. I think it'd be better if I lived at home for a bit and got a job locally. Just to get a bit of money and then I can look for a place of my own. Yeah, maybe Dad can pick me up at the station? Thanks, love you."

The arrangements made, Marie hastily packed away her clothes and belongings. It didn't take that long. The room looked better without her things cluttering it up, more complete somehow. Sometimes, places get used to neglect, loneliness suits them. A few things wouldn't fit in the small suitcase she'd brought, but never mind, it wouldn't be a tragedy if she didn't see them again.

She closed and locked the door, making a mental note to call the landlady as soon as she got home. My rent's paid until the end of the month, and there's nothing else to keep me here, she thought. I'm free.