Deliver Me

by Karen Cole

  Abby glances at the photo, swallowing back emotion. Ellie looks so much like Mum in that picture. The determination and optimism in her blue eyes as she smiles at Rob makes Abby’s heart ache. This is the Ellie before she lost her baby. Unstoppable Ellie.

  ‘No,’ she says to Alex. ‘She takes after my mother, and I look like my dad’s side. Like my—’

  ‘Have you been avoiding me, Abigail?’ he interrupts, replacing the photo on the mantelpiece.

  Abby is taken aback. ‘No. Why?’

  ‘It’s just I’ve been trying to get you on the phone all week. How come you didn’t answer? If you’re not interested anymore, you just have to tell me, and I’ll back off.’

  This would be a good time to tell him that they should break it off. She really doesn’t need the complication of a relationship right now, but he looks suddenly so wounded she feels sorry for him, and flattered that he cares. Besides, even drunk at eleven o’clock in the morning, there’s something very attractive about him.

  ‘It’s not that,’ she finds herself saying. ‘I got a new phone. I . . . er . . . lost the old one and I’ve a new number.’ She’s only given the new number to Ellie, Rob and Danny, with strict instructions for them not to give it to anyone else. And so far, it’s working. She hasn’t received any more messages from her stalker.

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ Alex takes a step towards her.

  ‘I’ve just been so busy with work lately, and this pregnancy and everything . . .’ She tails off lamely. She can tell Alex doesn’t believe her. If only he knew, that’s not even half of it.

  ‘Here – I’ll message you now,’ she says, fishing out her phone. ‘Then you can save the new number to your phone.’

  ‘Okay.’ His expression softens a little, and he sits down on the sofa, taking out his mobile. ‘I don’t understand, though. Why didn’t you just keep your old number when you changed your phone?’

  She perches on the edge of the sofa next to him. ‘Some kids at school got hold of it and they’ve been calling me . . . You know, prank calls. It’s very annoying.’

  She doesn’t believe that Alex could be her stalker. Why would he send her messages warning her off himself? It would make no sense. And it would have been impossible for him to send her the message she received when she was at his house because he was fast asleep. But she’s sticking to the plan anyway, and she doesn’t tell him the reason she’s changed her phone number. ‘So, you can’t give this number to anyone else, alright? Just in case it gets back to one of the kids again?’

  ‘Alright.’ Alex shrugs. He looks around, out of the window at the rain lashing against the pane. ‘It’s quiet here, huh? Where’s your sister and her husband?’

  ‘They’re in Devon, visiting relatives.’

  ‘So, we’ve got this place to ourselves then.’ He grins.

  She finds herself grinning back. ‘I suppose so.’

  ‘I’ve missed you,’ he says, and he moves closer towards her, tugging at her jacket, pulling her to him and kissing her softly. ‘I’ve missed this,’ he whispers. There’s a taste of alcohol and something else she can’t identify. She pulls back slightly, and he places a warm hand on her belly.

  ‘How’s your little mini-me?’

  ‘Fine. I had a scan the other day.’

  She shows him the picture she’s saved to her phone and he looks at it politely, even though he can’t possibly see anything other than a blurry image. ‘I’ve still got Dylan’s ultrasound,’ he says. ‘It’s magic, isn’t it? The first time you see them.’

  Abby shrugs. ‘Where’s Dylan today?’

  ‘With Bethany.’ His expression darkens. ‘And the new boyfriend. I don’t like the guy at all. I don’t like Dylan being around him, but what can I do? Anyway –’ he leans towards her – ‘I don’t want to talk about Bethany. Where were we?’

  They are kissing again and, despite her reservations, Abby feels herself responding, kissing him back, tilting her head, giving herself up to pure sensation, forgetting, as his hand reaches up the outside of her thigh under her dress.

  ‘Life isn’t measured by the number of breaths you take . . .’ he murmurs as he reaches the tattoo.

  She pulls away sharply.

  ‘What did you say?’

  ‘It’s a quote, isn’t it? Your tattoo. Where does it come from?’ He pulls her back towards him, nuzzles her neck. She shoves him backwards, hard.

  ‘How do you know about that?’

  ‘I saw it the night, you came over to mine of course. What’s the problem?’

  Abigail is thinking frantically. It was dark that night when she took her clothes off. He couldn’t have seen her tattoo.

  ‘How could you see it? The lights were out.’

  He shrugs. ‘I woke up in the night to go for a piss. I turned on the light. You were asleep. You’d kicked off the covers and . . . Jesus. What does it matter? I just thought it was a cool tattoo, that’s all.’

  ‘Of course . . . I’m sorry.’

  ‘Have you got any other tattoos?’ He tugs at her jumper and pulls it over her head, kissing her and running his hand over her bra. She lets him kiss her, but something inside her has switched itself off, and she feels nauseous as he pushes her back against the cushions and she feels his erection press against her belly and smells his sweet, stale breath. She’s suddenly aware she’s all on her own with him. She’s suddenly afraid.

  ‘Wait. This is a mistake,’ she murmurs. ‘I’m sorry.’

  But, maybe he doesn’t hear because he carries on kissing her. For a second Abby can’t move. She’s pinned down by his weight. For a second of pure panic she thinks he’s going to force himself on her. Then she wrenches herself away.

  ‘Stop!’ she shouts.

  ‘Jesus, alright. Calm down,’ he says. For just a fraction of a second, he looks furiously angry. Then he gives a short laugh.

  ‘Fucking hell, Abby. Make up your mind. I’ve never known anyone to blow so hot and cold.’

  Abby stands up, pulling on her top. She suddenly sees what a mistake she’s making continuing to see Alex. ‘I have made up my mind,’ she says. ‘I don’t think we should see each other anymore. There’s just too much going on in my life right now.’

  He looks at her, anger and disbelief stamped on his face.

  ‘Are you sure?’

  She nods firmly. Her heart is pounding. She just wants him out.

  He gives a short, bitter laugh. ‘Well, you’ve certainly got great timing, Abigail.’ He picks up his jacket and heads to the door. Abby follows him, a horrible suspicion nudging its way to the forefront of her mind.

  ‘Are you sure you didn’t see the tattoo before?’ she asks as he opens the door.

  He turns and stares at her.

  ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘At Danny’s, on New Year’s, you put something in my drink, didn’t you?’ She’s shaking but she carries on. ‘Then you took me to a bedroom and we had sex . . . You’re the father of this baby . . .’

  He stares at her. ‘You’re fucking insane,’ he says. ‘I have no idea what you’re talking about, Abby. I’m not the father of that baby and the only time I ever fucked you, which by the way I’m beginning to regret, was the night when you came around to my house.’ He opens the door and steps out into the rain, just as a streak of lightning cracks the sky.

  ‘Would you take a DNA test to prove it?’ she asks.

  ‘Jesus. Are you serious? No, I would not,’ he says, slamming the door behind him.

  Abby turns the key in the lock and sits down on the floor with her back to the door. Then she looks down at her shaking hand. In her palm she has a strand of black hair, Alex’s hair. She must have pulled it out while they were on the sofa. She closes her hand around it.

  You never know. It might come in useful.

  Twenty-Four />
  ‘Don’t forget to feed Hector. And water the plants.’

  ‘I won’t.’

  ‘And you’ve got a check-up on Thursday. You won’t forget?’

  ‘Jesus. No. Just go.’

  It’s summer half-term and Rob and Ellie are going to Crete for a week. Their taxi is waiting outside, the engine idling. Rob is helping the driver put the suitcases in the boot and Ellie is fretting about leaving Abby on her own. For her part, Abby can’t wait to see the back of them. It’ll be a relief to have the place to herself for a change and not have Ellie worrying and fussing over every little thing she does.

  ‘See you later, Abs,’ says Rob, kissing her lightly on the cheek. ‘Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.’

  ‘That gives me quite a lot of leeway,’ she says with a laugh.

  Ellie hugs her and rests a hand lightly on her belly. ‘Bye, you two. Look after yourself and the little one, won’t you?’

  Abby watches the taxi drive down the road and disappear around the corner. A whole week to herself stretches out in front of her. She has no work and she can do whatever she likes. What she really wants to do is curl up in bed for a week and forget about everything: about work, about the fact that she’s pregnant and that there’s a sick pervert stalking her. But that’s not an option. She needs to face this thing head-on and find the bastard who’s been sending her those messages – the bastard who raped her.

  She starts off by switching on the computer and googling DNA tests. Maybe she can use the hair she got from Alex. But a brief search reveals that prenatal DNA tests are complicated and require blood from the mother as well a mouth swab from the father. Also, she would need written permission from the suspected father. She snaps her laptop shut, feeling frustrated. She’s wasting her time anyway. The man she’s looking for is not Alex. She knows logically that it can’t be him. He was with her when she received that text at his house. So why did she accuse him? She wasn’t thinking straight, she supposes. The sheer panic she felt when he was on top of her must have clouded her judgement. She flushes with embarrassment as she remembers the things she said. He must think she’s completely crazy.

  She’s still sitting there, wondering whether she should call Alex and apologize, when the phone rings.

  ‘Miss Brooke, It’s PC Whittaker here,’ he says. ‘How are you?’

  ‘I’m okay,’ she says, surprised. She hadn’t expected to hear from him again.

  ‘Just calling to give you an update on your case.’ He clears his throat. ‘Unfortunately, we haven’t been able to trace the phones used to contact you. It seems he used several different SIMs and then disposed of them.’

  ‘Oh.’ Abigail swallows her disappointment.

  ‘Have you received any more gifts or communications since you last saw me?’

  ‘Well, no, but . . .’

  ‘Good. So, it looks like he’s got the message.’

  ‘Yes, I suppose so.’

  There’s a pause. ‘Have you thought any more about talking to a detective? We could send someone round to your house?’

  Abby thinks about it. She’s fairly sure her stalker watches every move she makes. If he saw a police officer at her house, who knows how he might react? ‘No, thanks,’ she says.

  ‘Well, if you’re sure. Let me know if you hear from him again.’

  ‘Okay, thanks.’

  Abby hangs up. She’s grateful for PC Whittaker’s concern, but she’s not sure how much he can do as there is no proof, only her word, that she was raped.

  She’s tired of thinking about the whole thing, tired of feeling scared all the time. She feels like she’s going round and round in circles getting nowhere closer to working out who did this to her.

  She stands up and heads to the door. Perhaps what she needs is some fresh air. She needs bread and milk anyway. A trip to the shops might clear her head. She grabs her handbag and keys and slips out of the house. But as soon as she steps outside, she’s immediately on edge. Something doesn’t feel right. It feels as though someone’s watching her. She opens the gate and scans the street but there’s nothing to raise alarm – a mother with a pushchair, one of her neighbours parking in front of their house. She breathes in deeply, trying to steady her nerves. It’s just a short walk to the supermarket. It’s broad daylight. It will be fine. She turns into the alleyway next to her house. One step in front of the other. It’s okay, she soothes herself, it’s okay.

  In the car park the feeling of being watched intensifies.

  I’m just imagining it, she thinks, and dives into the supermarket, heading straight for the dairy section. But as she’s putting the milk in her basket she notices someone out of the corner of her eye – a man at the end of the aisle. She gets the distinct impression that he’s staring at her. But when she turns to look, he slips away out of sight before she can tell who it is. She has the feeling, though, that it was someone she knows. There was a glimpse of broad shoulders, a grey suit. Her heart pounding, she runs to the end of the aisle and looks down the next, but he’s disappeared. And she just stands there for a moment, confused and scared. Did she imagine him? Is she losing her grip on reality?

  She needs to get out of this place as soon as possible, get home and shut herself inside, so she can breathe again. She heads to the checkout and joins the shortest queue.

  She’s paying for the milk when she sees him again, just in front of her, heading out of the door – the man in the grey suit – the one who was staring at her before. The hairs on the back of her neck stand up on end. He’s not carrying any shopping, she notices with a chill. Why come to the supermarket and buy nothing? Unless . . . unless he’s been following her? Unless he’s the man who’s been watching her all along? Is this him? Is this her rapist?

  Outside the door he turns, and she sees his face in profile through the window. For a moment she can hardly breathe.

  Andrew Wilson.

  She fumbles with her debit card, trying to slot it back in her purse, her hand is shaking so much. She’s thinking rapidly, adding up facts: the lift home on New Year’s Eve, the instinctive fear she felt in his car. And she’s seized by a sudden certainty. Grabbing the milk, she rushes out of the door after him. She can still see him ahead of her, sauntering across the car park towards the main shopping street. There’s a spring in his step as if he’s happy, enjoying the summer sunshine. You bastard. How dare you? she thinks, anger surging through her, and without thinking she runs to catch up with him. She’s so angry in that moment that she doesn’t care if she’s putting herself in danger. All she wants to do is make him pay for what he’s done.

  ‘I need to speak to you,’ she says, grabbing his arm and gasping for breath as she catches up with him.

  He turns, mild surprise in his bland, brown eyes.

  ‘Oh hi, Abigail,’ he says. ‘I’m afraid the flat you looked at has been rented out. But I’m sure we can find you something else. We’ve got some great new properties. I’m on my lunch break now, but I’ll be back in the office in about forty minutes.’

  Her heart is racing out of control, fear surging through her. What the hell is she doing? But there’s no backing out now.

  ‘It’s not about the flat,’ she manages. ‘It’s a personal matter.’

  He stares at her. ‘I don’t see . . .’

  ‘It’s very important. Please. It will only take a few minutes.’

  He glances at his watch. ‘Um . . . well, okay. I was going to get a bite to eat in a café near here. You can join me, if you don’t mind watching me eat.’

  They head to the café, where he buys a Cornish pasty and a bottle of water. Abby orders a coffee and they sit upstairs by the window looking down on the street. Andrew Wilson places his phone on the table in front of them and takes a bite of his pasty, crumbs showering all over the table. ‘So, what did you want to talk about?’ he asks cautiously. ‘Is it someth
ing to do with Mark?’

  ‘No . . .’ Abby hesitates. Her heart is still racing a million miles a second and she’s trying to keep her hands steady as she sips her coffee, but she ploughs on. ‘Actually, it’s about this.’ She places her hands either side of her swollen belly and as if in answer the baby kicks, a short, sharp jolt just under the ribs.

  Andrew’s eyes widen.

  ‘It was conceived at Danny’s New Year’s Eve party.’ As she speaks, she observes his reaction carefully. He looks confused and wary. But that doesn’t necessarily mean anything. Confusion and wariness are both normal under the circumstances. ‘The thing is I don’t remember how . . . or who the father is . . .’ She pauses meaningfully, letting this sink in.

  A red flush creeps up from his neck. He looks seriously rattled now.

  ‘What’s that got to do with me?’ he blusters.

  ‘Well I know you gave me a lift. I know that you didn’t come into the house with me, but did we have sex in the car on the way back?’ Abby deliberately doesn’t use the word rape. He’s hardly likely to admit to rape, and if he’s as dangerous as she thinks he is, she needs to tread carefully and avoid provoking him. Let him think she believes it was consensual.

  He freezes, holding his pasty just short of his mouth. ‘What the . . . ? Look, I already told you we didn’t. I’m a married man – happily married. I’ve got two kids.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Of course, I’m sure.’ Andrew puts his pasty down. There’s something condescending about his tone, and the furious anger Abby felt earlier returns with a vengeance.

  ‘Have you been sending me flowers?’ she blurts.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Have you been messaging me?’ She lurches across the table, grabs his phone and tries to switch it on.

  ‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’ Andrew prizes the phone out of her hand. ‘Look, I don’t know what your deal is. Maybe you think I’ve got money, or maybe you’re just plain crazy, but I didn’t have sex with you, period. It’s not my problem if you sleep with so many people you can’t remember who the father is.’ He stands up brushing crumbs from his shirt, his face is bright red. ‘Now, if you don’t mind, I’m going to get back to work.’