by C. L. Taylor
His words sound empty, even as he says them. He looks back towards the kitchen window and the darkening sky and sighs, the voice of his three-year-old self echoing around his head.
Chapter 40
Alice
Alice has never known an afternoon at work to go as slowly as this one. The shop was busy when she returned from the pub but there was no way she could face serving on the tills, smiling sweetly and asking customers if they’d found everything they wanted. Lynne, folding a customer’s jumper and sliding it into a bag, spotted her walk in. Alice gave her a tight smile and a nod hello, but instead of going over for a chat, slipped past the counter and went into the staff changing room out the back. She hung up her coat then went into her office, pulled down the blinds and took out her phone. She read all the texts Simon had sent her, then read them again with a keener eye. There was nothing in what he’s written to suggest that their relationship, as brief as it was, was a practical joke. What kind of sick joke would that be anyway, leading a woman on, then scaring her half out of her mind? She’s certain he’s not behind the creepy Facebook messages – he’d have to be a complete sociopath to do something like that – but he did lie to her about his job. She looked him up on the BBC Radio Bristol website while she was in the pub and there he was, all blonde hair, wonky face and beaming smile. No wonder he’d responded, ‘I’ve heard that before,’ when she told him in Costa that he had a nice voice. Whatever he was up to he wasn’t working as a DJ now, not according to the note at the bottom of the webpage:
Simon Hamilton is currently taking a break from presenting. Everyone at BBC Radio Bristol wishes him well.
What else has he lied to her about? Did Flora even exist?
A sharp knock on the office door makes Alice hurriedly drop her phone into her lap. She angles herself in front of her computer screen, then says, ‘Yes. Come in!’
‘Just me.’ Lynne pops her head round the door. ‘We’ve cashed up, shutters are down and Larry’s gone home. You coming?’
‘Yeah. Just give me a second.’ As she shuts down her computer she can feel her friend studying her face. She forces herself to smile and looks across at her. ‘Are you okay?’
Lynne steps into her office, pulling the door shut behind her. ‘I was going to ask you the same thing. Did something happen at lunchtime? You’ve been hiding away in here all afternoon.’
‘Look at this.’ Alice unlocks her phone and hands it to her.
‘What is— Oh!’ Lynne raises her eyebrows. ‘Is that … is that your Simon?’
Alice nods.
‘I thought he told you he worked in insurance.’
‘He did.’
‘So he lied?’
‘Yep.’
‘Maybe he was sacked from the radio station and had to take another job?’
‘In insurance?’
‘Good point. But why would he take a break from presenting?’
‘Maybe he’s ill.’ The thought suddenly occurs to her. It would explain a lot. Maybe he lied to her about what he did for a living because he was battling cancer and didn’t want her sympathy. Maybe the text message in the cinema had something to do with that? But it was late at night and she can’t imagine any doctor breaking bad news via text. Her first thought when Simon pulled her out of the cinema was that it was a family emergency. Maybe he was caring for a sick relative or he’d suffered a bereavement? Whatever it was he could have told her. She’s not a child.
‘What are you going to do?’ Lynne asks.
Alice meets her friend’s eyes. ‘I’m going to find out the truth.’
‘Just be careful. I don’t think it’s a coincidence that whenever you try and get in touch with Simon, something horrible happens.’
Alice doesn’t make the call to Simon with Lynne in the office. Instead she waits until all her staff have left through the back door, then she locks up and takes the stairs to the car park. It’s almost empty and her heels click-clack on the concrete, the sound echoing off the walls. She walks quickly, scanning the dozen or so parked cars, checking they’re all empty, Lynne’s warning still ringing in her ears.
By the time she reaches her car she’s breathing in short, sharp bursts. She does one final sweep of the car park before she opens her door and gets in. No one’s followed her and no one’s watching. No one she’s spotted anyway.
Keeping one eye on the rear-view mirror she takes out her phone and calls Simon’s number. It goes straight to voicemail. Surprise, surprise.
‘Simon, it’s Alice again. I know you told me not to ring you or contact you again but we need to talk. I know you don’t work in insurance. I know you’re a radio presenter. I know why you’ve taken time off work.’ She pauses after the lie. ‘Do you know the Red Lion, the gastropub in Kingswood? I’ll be waiting there for you at eight o’clock tonight. Meet me and I promise once we’ve spoken I’ll never contact you again.’
Alice fidgets in her seat, rising to smooth her skirt over her bottom before she sits down again. She reaches for her lemonade, takes a sip, then sets it back down. It’s 8.32 p.m. and she’s on her second glass. She would have switched to the jug of tap water after she finished the first but when the waiter came over to ask if anyone would be joining her she felt so flustered she ordered a second. Simon still hasn’t replied to her voicemail and embarrassment and regret are setting in. She shouldn’t have come. When she got home Emily was sitting at the kitchen table, still in her work clothes, with an open bottle of wine in front of her, one glass already gone.
‘I’ve saved you some,’ she said. ‘I thought we could order a pizza and watch that film on Netflix everyone’s been talking about. I just wanted to say thanks for looking after me last night.’
Alice felt torn. Her daughter needed her. Emily would never say as much but it was there: in the forced enthusiasm in her voice and the tightness of her smile. If she went out Emily would finish the whole bottle, stalk Adam and Laila on social media and do something she regretted. Either that or cry herself to sleep. Sod Simon, Alice thought as she gave her daughter a hug. She’d already wasted too much of her life trying to figure him out and she was done with the weird messages and subtle threats. Did it really matter if she never found out who’d sent them? Let the freak who scratched her car think they’d won.
As she changed out of her uniform in her room she found herself looking forward to a night in front of the TV with a pizza and a bottle of wine. It was months since she’d done that with Emily – long before Michael and Simon had entered her life and Adam had slid into her daughter’s DMs. The only drama of the evening would be in the film they watched and that was perfectly okay with her. When she walked back out of her bedroom, phone in hand ready to order the pizza, she found Emily in the hallway, pulling on her boots.
‘You don’t mind if we do film night another night? Amy just texted asking if I wanted to go to the pub with her and Jo. It’s been ages since I saw them and—’ She screwed up her face in apology. ‘Sorry, Mum. Do you mind?’
Of course Alice didn’t mind. She was pleased that Emily was going to spend time with her friends. She might just have a pizza and wine night all by herself. That was something she hadn’t done in a while either. But after Emily left, and she scrolled through the options on the pizza app, her thoughts drifted back to Simon. What if he showed up at the Red Lion and she wasn’t there? She might miss out on her only chance to find out what was going on. She wrestled with herself for a few moments, then made a decision. She’d go to the pub to meet him. And if he wasn’t there, she’d never contact him again.
It’s 8.36 p.m. and there’s still no sign of Simon. Alice opens her purse and takes out enough money to pay for the lemonade. She’s hungry and she’s pissed off and she’s going home. She scans the room for the waiter to ask for the bill, then inhales sharply as the door opens and Simon steps into the pub.
‘Alice?’ He walks up to her table, his hands in his pockets and a wary expression on his face.
‘You made
it then.’ The steely tone in her voice surprises her. She’d expected to feel relieved to see him, maybe even pleased, but all she feels is a sharp stab of irritation as he pulls out a chair and sits down.
‘Yeah. I’m sorry I’m late.’
‘I can’t say I’m surprised.’
‘I’m sorry.’ He meets her eyes. He’s got a good three or four days of stubble on his chin and his skin looks patchy and dry. ‘For everything. I’m guessing someone at the station told you what’s been going on.’
‘Yes,’ she lies.
‘I was only ever trying to protect you.’
‘Protect me!’ She’s surprised to hear herself laugh.
‘They were threatening to hurt you, Alice. If I ever saw you again.’
‘They?’
‘Whoever’s been stalking me.’
‘It’s not your ex then?’
‘No.’ He shakes his head. ‘It’s got nothing to do with Flora.’
She stares at him open-mouthed. ‘Then why mention her when I asked you over dinner if there was anyone who’d try to put me off you?’
‘Because …’ His gaze drifts to the table. ‘Because she’s the only person I’ve ever really hurt.’
‘But it’s not her?’
‘No.’
‘Then who’s stalking you?’
He raises his eyes to look at her. ‘It could be half of Bristol for all I know.’
Alice listens intently, elbows on the table, leaning towards Simon as he tells her in hushed tones about his old job as a radio presenter and the pranks he used to play – ringing up Subway to say he was trapped on the tube, ringing hotels to say he was on the toilet in room 211 and didn’t have any toilet paper, ringing random numbers and pretending to be a mobile phone operator testing the volume levels on their phone by making them say increasingly nonsensical phrases.
‘It was all light-hearted stuff,’ he says. ‘The listeners loved it. They were always emailing to tell me how much it made them laugh or to give me new ideas. Of course, I’d get the odd email telling me I was cruel, but they were in the minority.’
‘And then what happened?’ Alice asks.
‘And then … then someone tried to destroy my life.’
He tells her about the stalker who has made his life a misery for the last three months; about the anonymous letters he received at the station telling him that he’s not the big man he thinks he is; the Twitter abuse; the photos of him going about his day-to-day business posted on social media; the texts telling him to kill himself; and the emails to the radio station manager accusing him of paedophilia and rape and demanding his job. He tells her how, after one particularly vicious text, he was too scared to leave his house for three days. When Alice asks whether he contacted the police he smiles tightly and reels off the same advice she was given by DC Mitchell after she reported the damage to her car: keep a record of everything, vary your routine, tell friends and family what’s going on etc., etc. The police are actively investigating, he tells her, but they’ve got no leads.
‘That’s why you freaked out, isn’t it?’ she says. ‘When that woman recognised you in Costa. You thought she was your stalker?’
‘Yeah. Being on the radio not many people recognise me and when she launched herself at me like that I …’ He tails off and shrugs.
‘Why didn’t you tell me any of this?’
‘I didn’t want to scare you.’ Simon rubs his hands over his face. ‘I know, I know … it was the wrong thing to do.’
‘The wrong thing? Simon, you let me believe that I had a stalker but it was you they were after. Why the hell didn’t you tell me? We had so many conversations – in person and on the phone.’
‘Yes,’ he says, ‘yes we did. But I didn’t want to come across as a victim. I didn’t want to be that person any more. I liked how I felt when I was with you. I felt like the old me. I felt … normal.’
‘Great, bully for you. So you let me freak out instead? Wow. You’re … you’re quite something.’
‘I’m sorry, Alice. I know apologising isn’t enough but—’
‘Who did you ring in the restaurant?’ she snaps. ‘After I showed you the Facebook messages?’
He sighs. ‘The detective in charge of my case.’
‘And you didn’t think to tell me then? Or after we found my car?’
‘I know. I know.’ He rubs the back of his neck, unable to meet her eyes. ‘I just … I dunno. I thought it would scare you off.’
She stares at him incredulously. She could have been – still could be – in danger and Simon still didn’t tell her about his stalker. Not because he was protecting her, but because he didn’t want to feel like a victim any more.
‘I realised,’ he says, ‘that I had to stop seeing you when I got the message in the cinema. I know … I should have told you about it but I didn’t want you to be scared. I thought the best thing to do was to cut off all contact so the stalker would leave you alone.’
‘What did it say? The message?’
He sits back in his chair, craning his neck to look at the diners. When he turns back to Alice there’s fear in his eyes. ‘I don’t even know who I’m looking for. They could be old, young, male or female, and the police are as clueless as me.’
Alice shifts in her seat, suddenly aware of an elderly couple at the next table looking at her and Simon and whispering between themselves.
‘Simon! What did the text say?’
He shakes his head. ‘It wasn’t a text. It was a Facebook message.’
‘Tell me what it said!’
‘You really want to know?’
‘Yes.’ She glances at his mobile on the table in front of him. ‘Yes, I do.’
‘Okay.’ He unlocks the phone, then slides it towards her.
She looks at him, searching his grey eyes, then glances down at the screen. Same blank profile photo. Same name, Ann Friend.
Are you enjoying the film, Simon? Nice blue skirt your girlfriend is wearing tonight. Her hair looks lovely. It smells great too.
Chapter 41
Ursula
Ursula is lying on her bed, staring at the ceiling, her fingers interlocked behind her head. Whenever she closes her eyes she sees ferrets, dozens of them, twisting and jumping around the cellar, zipping in and out of plastic tubes and digging into pieces of old carpet. When the glass in the basement window smashed they all darted from sight, scurrying backwards and hiding in tubes, squeaking and shrieking in fright. As she watched through the broken pane they slowly crept out again and resumed their play, neatly avoiding the shards of glass scattered all over the floor.
Ferrets. Why hadn’t Ed told her instead of being all mysterious about the locked basement door? She can’t stop thinking about the glass, scattered over the ferrets’ play area. It would only take one of them scooting frantically backwards to end up with a shard in its foot. There was no way she could sweep it out of their way; a broom wouldn’t reach down that far, she couldn’t fit through the small window, and with the basement door locked there was no other way in. As she tried to decide what to do, a white ferret, larger than the others, darted up the stone steps and scratched at the bottom of the kitchen door.
Bloody ferrets. She would have understood if Ed had told her about his pets. Why on earth didn’t he just say?
A sharp knock at her bedroom door makes her sit up sharply.
‘Coming,’ she says, heart thumping as she swings her legs off the bed.
Ed is every bit as angry as she expected him to be. His face is flushed red, from his cheeks to the base of his neck.
‘I take it that was you,’ he says. ‘The smashed basement window.’
Ursula drops her gaze, a muscle twitching in her cheek. ‘I’m sorry, I—’
‘What the hell were you thinking?’
A droplet of spittle lands on her chin and she raises a hand to wipe it away. ‘I heard a noise, in the basement and—’
‘So you thought you’d smash your way in? Jesus Chr
ist, what’s wrong with you? Ever heard of one of these?’ He raises his mobile and thrusts it towards her face.
‘I … I …’ She doesn’t know what to say. I thought you had men locked down there?
‘You could have killed them! I’ve had some of those ferrets for nearly ten years. Do you think I like keeping them in the basement like that? If I had my way they’d have the run of the house, but for some reason this country has fucked-up, arcane rules about keeping pets in rental properties so instead I have keep them hidden away in case the landlord drops in. It’s not good for them, being deprived of sunlight like that.’
‘You should have told me. Then I wouldn’t—’
Ed lifts his hand and, for one horrible moment, she thinks he’s going to hit her. Instead he runs it through his hair. ‘Why couldn’t you just do what I told you? Three rules, that’s all you had to keep. Three … little … rules.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Ursula says again. ‘Please, Ed. Let me make it up to you. I’ll, um … I’ll tidy up. I’ll make you dinner for a week. I’ll—’
‘Make it up to me?’ He laughs in her face. ‘How? By rooting through the drawers? By using my things? By damaging the fixtures and fittings?’ He presses a hand to the door frame and the latch she installed. ‘Oh, and I’d like my dart back please, the one you stole from downstairs.’
‘I haven’t got it. I … I did but it was in my coat pocket and I’ve lost it. My coat I mean. I lost my coat.’
‘And now you’ve lost your room.’
‘What?’
‘You heard me. I want you out on Monday. You can pack tomorrow.’
‘But I’ve got nowhere to go. I’ve got no money. And I lost my job this morning.’
‘Not my problem. And don’t even think about reporting me to the letting agency for subletting or keeping pets because I’m moving on too. My ferrets aren’t safe in the basement any more. I’ve had to lock them in their cage.’
Ursula’s lips part but no sound comes out. There’s no point arguing or begging for her deposit back. She’s massively screwed up. Again. It’s as simple as that.
