The Man I Married

by Elena Wilkes

  * * *

  Once in the car, I sat in traffic down the Stoke Newington Road, singing along very loudly to Florence and the Machine. I sang louder, blocking out all thoughts that were trying to barge their way in, but noticing the wary glance in the mirror from the woman in the car in front.

  I grinned and twinkled my fingers and she looked away. There. See? It’s easy. Concentrate on the things you can control, not the things you can’t.

  After pulling up outside Gould’s address, I sat staring out of the window for a few moments and steeling myself. Mums were pushing pushchairs, big kids tagging along beside as they made their way home from school. The slow grip of dread squeezed. I knew my eyes weren’t the only eyes watching the little kids and their distracted naïve parents. They had no idea what was living right next door to them. Behind those innocuous curtains was their nightmare of nightmares just waiting to happen.

  I checked the address again. It was one in a row of three grubby council flats, squeezed into a driveway, their entrances at an angle, making the doorways dark and full of shadows. I was aware that he might be looking down on me from an upstairs window and I was careful not to raise my eyes as I walked from the car to the doorway of Unit B. The doorway smelled strongly of urine and there was a black plastic sack that had split into a slurry of what looked like tomato and pizza box innards. I tried the bell and peered through the tiny frosted pane of glass. I couldn’t detect any movement at all.

  I went back to the car and rang Viv.

  ‘Yes, number 2, Unit B is definitely the right address. And it was arranged for half past three, yes?’ she queried.

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘So he’s not at his registered address and he hasn’t shown up at the police station… Hmm…’ she pondered. ‘Okay, that’s concerning but we can’t start jumping up and down just yet. Keep close tabs though, would you, Luce? Maybe ask the coppers at Stoke Newington to give you a ring if he turns up.’

  ‘Will do.’

  ‘Oh, and there’s no need to come back into the office today. It’s Friday. Take a flyer. You can write all this up from home, can’t you? I’ll see you Monday.’

  ‘Oh brilliant! Thanks for that, Viv! No problem. Have a great weekend. See you Monday, then!’

  I sat in the car and made the calls before starting the engine and turning the car towards home. The whole weekend spanned out in front of me and suddenly I got a wash of… What? Anxiety… Or sadness maybe? The next two days sat like a great sea of time that I had to fill. Normally I’d be elated at the thought; I had my own little routines: fresh croissants for breakfast from the deli down the road, freshly ground coffee, a newspaper: a real one with proper pages. And now… It was Paul, the bastard. He’d done this to me. He’d made this happen by giving me expectations. No – I’d allowed it to happen by giving myself expectations. Now all I had to do was un-allow it. Block all thoughts of him. Simple. I closed my eyes and concentrated on clearing my mind… But it wasn’t so easy.

  His face came to me and he grinned: all one-sided and lovely, the way he leaned across the table, his grey eyes catching mine.

  But you’re one of those women. Dan’s voice whispered in my ear. You’re just a bit full-on.

  I opened my eyes. Well then, I wouldn’t be full-on, in fact I’d back right off.

  I drove, turning the music up. I certainly wasn’t going to be played like last time. The image of his face above mine as he lovingly smoothed out my hair. The feel of his hands: their warmth, cupping my face sent a shiver down my neck, but I banished the image immediately. No.

  Paul who?

  See? Done.

  But something deep down told me it wasn’t.

  * * *

  Kicking off my shoes in the hallway and dropping my bag under the row of coats, I hooked my jacket onto the peg, listening to the rhythmic ticking of the wall clock pulsing into the silence.

  I was home, I reminded myself. I was home: my home, I didn’t need anyone or anything else. This was my nest.

  Padding into the kitchen, I found some cheese crackers in the cupboard and a glass and poured out the remainder of a bottle of wine from the fridge. Glass in hand and munching on the crackers, I meandered into the bedroom, stripping off my work clothes and finding my wonderfully sloppy yoga pants and a far-too-baggy jumper.

  The silence was all mine.

  Everything around me was mine too. The space and the light were perfect. It was only about the third flat I’d looked at but it was absolutely what I had been looking for: only one bedroom, a galley kitchen, but when I walked into the lounge and saw the size of it, that was my heart gone – Bang. A big, square, sunny room, with an original fireplace, and the sunlight slanting in through sash windows, I was sold in an instant.

  Cradling my glass, I went over and leaned against the frame to gaze out at the tiny green rectangle of Thornhill Gardens. Birds chattered in the trees, frantically fluttering from twig to branch. I’d learned to love this gentle solitude: no one asking anything of me, no demands. I was able to close my front door and give myself time to think and just be, quietly, inside my own head.

  But now, somehow and for some mad reason, this man had got inside.

  Glancing back at the coffee table, I checked where I had purposefully laid my phone. The screen sat there, black and silent. It hadn’t pinged, and even if it had, I wasn’t going to check it I told myself.

  Gazing again out of the window, I watched a couple getting out of a car; they were clearly having an argument. A thought crept into my head: had he not rung because I’d been so hard, accusing him about being married? I’d never really given him a chance to defend himself, had I? Was that it? I stared at the screen. A slight nervousness grew. I might just send him a text: something bland yet friendly: something that wouldn’t require a response and then I’d leave it.

  Hi, my fingers paused and deleted the two letters. I re-typed them and stared for a second before deleting again. I stared at the little green phone symbol, debated, and then took the plunge. It rang with a hollow ringing sound, the hollowed out feeling inside me drilling with it.

  ‘Hello?’

  For a second I was convinced it was the answer machine.

  ‘Hello?’ he said again. It was that slightly exasperated tone that people use when you’ve interrupted something important.

  ‘It’s me, Lucy.’

  ‘Lucy! Ah…’ He sounded guarded. ‘Ah, right, sorry. Sorry… Can I call you back? I’ve got someone on the other line.’

  And suddenly he was gone. I was a bit taken aback. I sat staring at the screen. Of course it was totally reasonable and quite probable that he could have someone on the other line, but I couldn’t help thinking… It was the way he’d said it: that dismissive, slightly irritated, not overly pleased to hear from me… and then the whole thing lit up and my heart shunted a gear.

  Emma.

  ‘How come you got to slide off so early?’

  I swallowed, trying to quell my racing heart. ‘Because I’m the good girl.’

  ‘You seeing your man this evening?’

  ‘Um… Don’t think so.’ I briefly closed my eyes.

  ‘No, I’m not seeing Connor either.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘Wifey found my texts on his phone.’

  ‘Oh no.’ I was trying to sound sympathetic but I actually felt antsy. I sat down and then got up again and wandered to the window, trying to shut down the rising burn of annoyance. On and on, she went. The ‘text-finding’ was great news, apparently. It meant wifey would probably throw him out and he’d be practically free. This was yet another chapter in this never-ending saga which was all variations on a sad and sorry theme. Unsurprisingly, New Zealand was now a non-starter for the foreseeable. ‘He needs to get her on-side, you see. So she won’t make things really difficult.’

  Yes of course he does. A tiny needle of we-could’ve-seen-all-this-coming pricked, but I said nothing.

  She glossed over why his wife would be checking h
is phone in the first place if they’d really been separated like he said they were. I heard her take a breath to begin the next chapter instalment but then my phone bleeped with a call waiting, and I fumbled for it.

  ‘Can I ring you back, Em?’ I tried to get rid of her as casually as I could. ‘There’s a delivery driver just pulled up and he’ll want a signature.’

  ‘Oh Lord, what have you been buying now?’ She laughed. ‘Yep, give us a ring later and I’ll give you part two.’

  ‘Sure will. See you.’

  ‘The next bit gets worse.’

  ‘Sure. Yes. Fine. Bye then… Hello?’ I tried not to sound eager.

  ‘Hello, you.’ His voice slid like syrup into my ear and my skin shivered.

  He’d rung, that was all that mattered.

  ‘How are you?’

  ‘I’m fine, how are you?’ A circle of my breath clouded the window.

  ‘What can I do for you?’

  He sounded so matter of fact that I couldn’t think how to reply.

  ‘Are you still there?’

  ‘Yep. Still here.’ I made a circle in the mist with my finger.

  ‘You sound pissed off.’

  ‘Nope.’

  ‘Really?’ I heard him take a breath. ‘I wasn’t totally sure you wanted me to contact you. You seemed a bit…’ he paused. ‘…Unsure, I suppose.’

  Did I?

  ‘About us seeing each other. I got the impression that I might be pressurising you, so I thought I’d leave you alone.’

  I swallowed. ‘Okay.’

  ‘What does “okay” mean?’

  ‘It means okay, I understand your reasoning.’

  ‘So where does that leave us?’

  I stared into the empty street. It was darker now. There were cars coming home, lights going on in houses. Kids playing out before tea. I imagined families behind closed doors chatting over their plans for the weekend. And then there was me, here. Alone. A car door slammed.

  ‘I’d really like to see you,’ I said.

  Another phone began to warble in the background. ‘Look… sorry again, I really need to get this. I’ll come back to you, yeah?—’

  And then I listened to the click of the call ending and then the silence, followed by the echo of a heartbeat. I bit my lip. I didn’t really know how I’d come across. Getting drunk had been a really bad idea. I cringed at the memory. I wouldn’t blame him if he didn’t ring back. I thought about how I must have seemed: how judgemental I’d been over Gould, then off-the-wall, then scratchy and prickly coupled with my sudden dawn departure… What else was he supposed to think, really? No wonder he’d backed off.

  I began to turn the conversation over in my mind, reading meaning into every syllable, every pause, filling the gaps, imagining what he must be thinking and knowing all the time that this was just me being too much in my own head.

  I went and sat on the arm of the sofa, clutching my phone. I stared out of the window as the late afternoon sun stretched out into the herringbone clouds, reflecting gold onto the bank of windows across the street. I wondered if I should eat something, but I wasn’t really hungry. I thought about drawing the curtains and putting the TV on but I couldn’t be bothered. I watched the brick of the houses beginning to burn red, each one with its own fire as the sun closed like a fist behind the roofs.

  I somehow knew he wasn’t going to ring.

  And then he did.

  I snatched it up without looking.

  ‘Hello?’ I breathed.

  There was a pause.

  ‘You’re not too busy now?’ His voice was muffled.

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘You haven’t returned any of my calls,’

  The voice wasn’t Paul’s.

  ‘Who is this?’

  ‘I’ve left messages at work. I need to see you.’

  ‘Who is this, please?’

  ‘It’s Simon. Simon Gould.’

  My heart zigzagged into high gear.

  ‘Simon…’ I heard myself falter. ‘How did you get this number?’ Endless warning sirens went off in my head.

  ‘I did tell you prisoners can find out all sorts of things.’ I heard the smile in his voice. ‘There’s always a way if people are determined enough.’

  My lungs wouldn’t work properly.

  ‘Is it a problem?’

  ‘Yes, Simon. It’s a problem.’ I tried not to let him hear that I was shaking.

  ‘But you weren’t at your desk.’ There was a whine in his tone, like a petulant child.

  ‘Right. Now. Listen to me. This is not okay. This is a reportable offence. It’s also a breach of your licence conditions, do you understand?’ I tried to keep my voice calm, when I actually wanted to scream What the fuck do you think you’re playing at? ‘You will delete my number and you won’t contact me in this way again. Is that absolutely clear?’

  ‘But you need to stay in contact with me, Lucy. You have to. It’s the law.’

  ‘Simon, I have been trying to see you. I came round today. You weren’t there.’

  ‘I’m doing everything I said I’d do, Lucy. I’m going to prove that I can be trusted.’

  ‘That’s good, but this isn’t the way to do it.’

  ‘I don’t need courses and support and monitoring, I just need to show people. Then they’ll see how I’ve changed.’

  ‘As I said, that’s good. But you can’t do stuff like ri—’

  ‘You’ve seen the news?’

  A tiny drumbeat started in my chest.

  ‘I can be around little children. I can be their friend. I don’t have to do anything bad. You understand that, don’t you Lucy? You get it. You trust people.’

  ‘What are you telling me, Simon? What have you done?’

  I thought he’d hung up, but then I heard him swallow. ‘You already know.’

  The line went dead. I stood for a moment, I couldn’t move. I found that my fingers wouldn’t work as I rang Emma.

  ‘Something nice?’

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘Your delivery.’

  ‘No.’ My brain stumbled and snagged and I couldn’t formulate the words. ‘I’ve just had a phone call.’ I could feel my heartbeat in my throat. ‘That prisoner who just got released… Gould. He’s just phoned me.’

  ‘Phoned you? Oh my god, Lucy, You need to ring Viv. I mean, right this minute.’

  ‘I know. But Christ, Emma. I think he’s done something.’

  ‘What do you mean, done something?’

  ‘He seemed to be… Hinting at stuff.’

  ‘Like?’

  ‘I don’t know… and I hope to hell I’m wrong… but as soon as I saw that news report about Cassie Edwards, I thought of him.’

  ‘My god, what the hell did he say?’

  ‘That’s the thing. He didn’t say anything, exactly, he just asked if I’d seen the news. It’s not what he said, it’s – Oh Christ, I don’t know Em, he didn’t say what he’d done, and he could be bluffing… He’s a narcissist and he’s dangerous and so this could all be about getting my attention, but…’

  ‘This is pretty heavy stuff, Luce. This guy is clearly playing some fucked-up game. Ring Viv, just tell her exactly what you’ve just told me.’

  ‘I’ll do it now.’

  ‘Call me back if you need to. I’m here all night.’

  I sat with the phone in my hand trying to marshal my thoughts. Just present Viv with the facts. Keep a clear head. Don’t get spooked. I found her number and repeated what had happened as precisely as I could.

  ‘Okay. Right. Is there anything else he said? Anything at all?’ I could tell she’d gone completely into professional mode.

  ‘No. That was all of it.’

  ‘So you think he’s got someone to hack your phone account, yes?’

  ‘Looks that way.’

  ‘Jesus. And there is absolutely no way you he could have got it from you? You didn’t leave your phone lying around or anything like that?’

  ‘No! No.’
I shook my head emphatically. Christ.

  ‘Get on to your phone company. Cancel everything to be on the safe side. I’ll contact the police. You’ve got a spare old one somewhere, have you?’

  ‘I think so, yes.’

  ‘So turn yours off and use the old one. Bring it in on Monday morning just in case the police want to see it, and in the meantime if you could do a report stating exactly what transpired and send it over to me asap, that’d be brilliant. I’ll pass it straight up. If it all checks out, we can have him re-arrested.’

  ‘Yes, absolutely. I’ll get onto it now while it’s still fresh in my mind.’

  ‘Good,’ she breathed freely. ‘Fine. We’ll talk about this again after I’ve spoken to the multi-agency team.’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘No problem. See you on Monday.’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘Oh – and Lucy?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Don’t spend the whole weekend thinking and worrying about all of this.’ I heard the note of real care and concern. ‘I know what you’re like. Don’t stress. We’re in this together.’

  I ended the call. I knew Viv had to ask questions about how he’d got hold of my number, but it didn’t make it sting any less. Grabbing a notepad and pen, I scribbled the date, the time, and a list of the things he’d said, and what I’d said… and then I stopped. I glanced at the phone lying next to me feeling its presence like it was something toxic and filthy. I was supposed to turn it off, to deny Gould any further access but I really needed Paul to ring me back. I so needed to tell him, someone who knew Gould and what he was capable of. A tiny bit of reassurance, but it didn’t look like it was coming.

  Going into the bedroom, I pulled open the bedside drawer and fished about for my old phone and charger and then grabbed my laptop. I was angry, furious… How dare he? But I found my hands were shaking as I accessed my account, changed all the passwords and transferred the data. My bank details, thank god, appeared untouched, but I cancelled everything to be on the safe side and then sat back, leaning my head against the headboard feeling my heart banging unpleasantly. Finally, finally, I could breathe again.

  If only Paul would ring.