Deliver Me

by Karen Cole

  ‘Where are you going?’ says Ellie, following behind as Abby runs down the stairs.

  Abby doesn’t answer. She takes out a torch from the kitchen cupboard and tests that it works. Her heart is pummelling in her chest, anger fuelling her.

  ‘What are you doing?’ asks Ellie as Abby opens the back door. ‘Abby?!’

  ‘I want to check something,’ Abby says. Then, before Ellie can argue, she steps out into the chill night air and picks her way in the darkness, down the garden path.

  The shed doesn’t have anything valuable in it, and so they never bother locking it. The padlock is hanging open as she guessed it would be. The wooden door creaks as she opens it and she inhales the smell of creosote and dust. She shines the torch on a rusty old bike that never gets used and the lawnmower and a ladder. The ladder is lying on its side where it’s kept but when she crouches down and shines the torch on the base she notices it’s covered in mud. She runs her finger along the wood. The mud is damp. Someone has used the ladder very recently.

  Twenty-Nine

  Abby has hardly slept. Each time she gets to sleep she wakes up in a panic, thinking he’s broken into her room. A couple of times she’s woken convinced he’s standing at the end of her bed.

  Sitting here in the living room, she’s tired beyond belief and she’s having trouble focusing. PC Whittaker’s head is swimming in front of her eyes like a mirage. Another police officer has come with him this time, a woman with short blonde hair who’s introduced herself as PC Harmon. She takes a sip of the coffee Abby’s brought her and looks at her notes.

  ‘Let me see if I’ve got this right,’ she says. ‘You’re saying that Andrew Wilson broke into your house?’

  ‘Yes. No. Someone did.’

  ‘Was anything taken?’

  ‘A photo of my mother, there was a teddy bear and the ladder, the ladder was covered in mud and the window, the window was open . . .’

  She’s not making any sense. She sounds like she’s raving, she knows, but her head is throbbing, and her thoughts are muddled. PC Harmon and PC Whittaker exchange a glance. PC Whittaker’s look clearly communicates ‘Here we go again’.

  ‘Hold on, slow down, Abigail,’ he says with exaggerated patience. ‘He took a teddy bear, a photo and a ladder?’

  ‘No. He didn’t take the bear. He left it on my pillow.’ Abby rubs her eyes. She needs to calm down and focus if she wants them to take her seriously. ‘I can show you.’ She goes to the kitchen and finds the bear still sitting on the table. She brings it into the living room and shows it to the police officers.

  PC Harmon puts on some white plastic gloves and places the bear gingerly in a clear plastic bag. ‘Was there a note with it?’ she asks.

  ‘Not this time,’ says Abby.

  ‘What about the others?’ PC Whittaker asks. ‘You mentioned some other notes at the police station.’

  Abby fetches the notes from the drawer where she’s kept them, and gives them to PC Harmon, who leafs through them, a worried frown on her face. She hands them to PC Whittaker without comment.

  ‘I’m scared,’ Abby says. ‘You need to do something before he does something really crazy.’

  ‘Was there any sign of a break-in?’ asks PC Whittaker. ‘How did he get into the house?’

  ‘I told you,’ Abby snaps impatiently. ‘Through the bedroom window.’

  ‘Can you show us?’

  They follow Abby upstairs to her room and examine the window carefully.

  ‘Was it forced open?’ asks PC Harmon running her fingers along the window frame.

  ‘No,’ Abby admits. ‘I must have left it unlocked.’

  ‘So, how can you be sure that he was in the house?’

  ‘I already told you, because of the bear and the ladder. Look, I don’t understand why you’re not doing your jobs.’ There’s a hysterical note in her voice. She swipes her hand in a gesture of frustration and knocks the tub of moisturizer onto the floor. It lands on PC Harmon’s foot; the lid comes off and white lotion spills onto the carpet and PC Harmon’s shoe.

  ‘We’re doing everything we can,’ PC Whittaker says calmly, but there is an edge to his voice. ‘We brought Mr Wilson in for questioning after you made your initial claim. We even checked the CCTV footage for that night. We have him leaving Queen’s Street at two o’clock, stopping at the garage on Gloucester Road to buy some petrol. He only stopped there for about two minutes and then he dropped you off at quarter past two outside your house. You entered the house alone. He’s on camera the whole time. We can show you the footage if you want.’

  Abby digests this. It confirms what she’s been thinking since her conversation with Mark. Andrew Wilson isn’t the man they’re looking for. ‘No, it’s okay,’ she says. ‘I believe you.’

  PC Whittaker clears his throat. ‘In fact, I have to tell you, Mr Wilson made some counterclaims, which did check out. He said that it’s not him that’s been harassing you but the other way around.’

  ‘What?’ Abby gawps.

  ‘Apparently you accosted him in a coffee shop in town, is that right?’

  ‘No. Yes. Well. I just wanted him to tell me the truth . . .’

  ‘Has it occurred to you that he may have been telling you the truth already?’

  Abby puts her head in her hands. It is the truth. She knows that now. The CCTV footage proves that it couldn’t have been Andrew Wilson and she’s mortified when she thinks about the way she behaved in the café.

  ‘Look,’ says PC Harmon gently. ‘If you’re worried about a break-in, there are some simple steps you can take. With this type of window, you can instal a pin half way up to stop it opening more than a few inches. We can send someone round to help with your home security if you like. Also, we’ll have a word with the neighbours. See if they saw anything that night. You never know. Are they in now?’

  Abby nods. ‘Probably.’ Being on a corner they have only one neighbour, an elderly lady called Barbara. As far as she can tell, Barbara’s almost always in.

  ‘Good. Well, we’ll be off then. Call us if you’re worried or if you think of anything else. And I suggest you go to bed and have some rest. You look all done in.’

  It’s true, Abigail doesn’t feel well. They go downstairs, and she watches out of the window as PC Harmon and PC Whittaker walk down the garden path and ring on her neighbour’s door. She doesn’t know what to think. It looks like she’s cocked it up again. She sinks down onto the sofa, feeling dizzy. The room seems to be swaying, lurching like a boat on the water, but she forces herself to concentrate.

  Think, Abby, think.

  If the police are right, then Andrew Wilson couldn’t have raped her. The only people that were alone with her that night were Alex and Hugo. She’s already ruled out Alex because he couldn’t have sent the messages. So that leaves Hugo.

  She’d believed he was in Thailand when all the flowers and messages arrived. But Danny told her the other day that he’s back. Maybe he’s been back longer than Danny thought or maybe he never left at all.

  She picks up her phone and calls Danny.

  ‘Danny, I need you to arrange that meeting with Hugo Langley.’

  Danny calls her back a few minutes later. ‘He’s staying at his parents’ house and he’s invited us over tomorrow afternoon. I’ll pick you up at two.’

  AUGUST

  Your baby is still growing this month, but slower and it’s getting a bit tight inside your womb, so you may well feel less movement. Babies born at thirty-four weeks can survive and thrive outside the womb. By now your baby will be able to recognize your voice and may even remember songs you sing now after they are born.

  Thirty

  This is one big, fuck-off mansion, Abby thinks as they step over the threshold. The hallway alone is bigger than the entire ground floor of Rob and Ellie’s house. There’s even a suit of armour just by th
e front door and a coat of arms hanging on the wall. It’s not the kind of house Abby has ever been inside, apart from as a tourist. But she refuses to be intimidated.

  Hugo Langley greets them at the door. He’s dressed casually but expensively, his red hair swept up in a fashionable peak. He’s taller and thinner than she realized from Danny’s photo.

  ‘Danny, long time no see, and Abigail, how lovely to see you again.’ He kisses her on both cheeks. His smile is friendly and his manner’s suave but there’s something shifty about his eyes, Abby thinks. She has the impression of someone playing a part, the part of a gracious host. She tries to steady her breathing, fighting off a sudden swelling fear. You can do this, she thinks. We can nail the bastard. She grabs Danny’s hand for reassurance as Hugo shows them to what he calls the ‘Blue Room’.

  The Blue Room is relatively small and, strangely enough, the only blue thing in the room is a large Chinese vase, one of many undoubtedly priceless antiques scattered artfully around.

  Hugo watches Abby as she lowers herself into a chair.

  ‘I suppose congratulations are in order,’ he says. ‘I must say I had no idea you were expecting.’

  Abby runs a hand over her swollen belly. ‘Thank you,’ she says cautiously.

  Hugo stretches and yawns languidly, ‘And when’s D-Day?’ When are you due?’

  ‘On the twenty-third of September,’ she says. ‘Just over a month to go now.’

  She observes him carefully to see if he realizes the significance of the date but he’s giving nothing away. He gives her a shrewd look through sandy lashes. ‘I don’t suppose you want a whisky?’

  ‘No thanks.’ Abby sits very still.

  ‘Danny?’

  ‘It’s a bit early for me,’ says Danny, smiling blandly.

  ‘I hope you don’t mind if I do.’

  ‘Knock yourself out.’

  Hugo opens a dark wood cabinet, takes out a decanter and pours a drink. His hand is shaking slightly, Abby notices.

  Hugo sits opposite Abby and Danny and takes a gulp of whisky. ‘Well, it’s been a while, Danny. How are you, my old friend?’ he says.

  ‘I’m fine.’ Danny sits forward. His voice is neutral, but his leg is tapping away, betraying his nervous energy. ‘How are you? I had no idea you were even in the UK. You didn’t let anyone know. How long have you been back?’

  ‘Oh, quite a while. I only stayed in Bangkok about three months. The whole thing was a complete shambles and the Director of Studies was an idiot.’

  Abby is calculating rapidly. If he’s been back since March, then he could have sent her the messages and flowers. A knot of fear tightens in her stomach as she realizes she could be sitting opposite her attacker.

  Hugo crosses his legs and pulls out a packet of cigarettes.

  ‘Do you mind?’ he says, lighting one.

  Abby shakes her head mutely.

  ‘The school was a cowboy outfit but Bangkok itself is a fascinating place. Danny tells me you’re thinking of doing a bit of travelling, getting a job yourself. I can’t recommend Queen’s College but, as a qualified teacher, I suppose you could get a job at one of the international schools. Though I don’t know much about maternity services out there.’

  Abby takes a deep breath. ‘Actually, I’m not going to Thailand. There was something else I wanted to talk to you about.’

  ‘Oh?’ Is it her imagination or does he suddenly look wary, like a cat trying to decide whether to run or pounce.

  ‘I want to talk about the baby. My due date is the twenty-third of September, which means this baby was conceived on New Year’s Eve. The thing is, I don’t remember anything about that night and I have no idea who the father is.’

  There’s a long silence. Hugo looks to Danny and back to Abigail, a slight sardonic smile playing on his lips.

  ‘Is this a joke? Come on, admit it, Danny’s set you up to this, hasn’t he?’

  ‘No joke,’ says Abby.

  Danny shakes his head. ‘It’s deadly serious. We actually think that Abby was raped.’

  ‘Crikey.’ Hugo sits back with his hands behind his head. ‘Well it has nothing to do with me, I can assure you.’

  ‘No,’ Abby says hastily. ‘We’re not suggesting that.’ There’s no point in getting his back up – she’s not going to make the same mistake she made with Andrew Wilson. ‘But I’ve been talking to everyone who was at the party that night and I’d be interested to know what you remember. For example, did you see me on my own with anyone?’

  Hugo takes a drag of his cigarette and blows the smoke out slowly.

  ‘Well, I arrived about ten. And that was the first time I saw you. You were sitting on the stairs, snogging some chap. He had dark hair, tattoos. The next time I saw you wasn’t until quite a bit later. We were in Danny’s room just hanging. Playing Truth or Dare.’

  ‘Who’s we?’

  ‘Oh, me and a couple of girls, Joss and Rebecca. You came in holding hands with some skinny chap, glasses . . .’

  Mark, she thinks surprised. ‘We were holding hands, are you sure?’

  ‘Uh-huh. You said you wanted to join in the game.’

  Again, that sense of déjà vu. The woman with the corkscrew curls, the musket on the wall. Abby was sitting with her back to the wall and she can see Hugo’s face clearly now as he takes a drag of a cigarette.

  ‘Was I acting strangely?’ she asks. If she had been drugged, maybe the drug would have already taken effect by then. If it had, surely it would have been obvious to everyone.

  Hugo shrugs. ‘Not that I remember. You were a bit embarrassed I think when that chap you were with declared his undying love.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Joss asked him if he fancied anyone playing the game, and do you remember what his answer was?’

  ‘No,’ Abby says warily.

  ‘He said he fancied you and always had. It was quite touching actually.’

  Abby absorbs this piece of information. Perhaps she has always half known that Mark had a thing about her but has chosen to ignore it.

  ‘What did I say when he said that?’ she asks.

  He shrugs. ‘You just laughed and said you should just stay friends. Poor chap. He seemed a bit crushed, actually.’ She has an image of Mark’s face, his eyes dark and wounded. Is she imagining or remembering? She thinks about what PC Whittaker said about the stalker possibly being someone she’d rejected. For a second she considers this idea, then she dismisses it. It couldn’t be Mark – gentle, nerdy Mark. No way. In any case, if everyone’s telling the truth about that night, then he wasn’t alone with her at any point apart from the beginning of the party in the kitchen, and she remembers that.

  More than likely Hugo is making it up to stir up trouble or deflect suspicion. She’s not sure she would believe anything he said. He’s a snaky, slimy piece of work.

  ‘Everyone went down to watch the fireworks at twelve o’clock,’ he continues. ‘You were talking to some woman with dark hair.’

  ‘And after that?’

  ‘We went back upstairs.’

  Abby holds her breath. ‘Just you and me?’

  ‘No, we were with my friend, Joss.’ Mark didn’t mention Joss. Abby strains to remember. She can’t recall exactly what Mark said, but she had the impression that she was on her own with Hugo.

  ‘And?’

  ‘We just talked.’

  ‘I was told we had an argument. And there was broken glass.’

  Hugo smiles. ‘Yes, well, you were very drunk. You got very angry and threw a bottle across the room.’

  Abby cringes with embarrassment. Much as she instinctively dislikes Hugo, what he says has the ring of truth. She remembers the glass smashing, shards jumping in the air seemingly in slow motion. Now she thinks about it, she can remember the bottle in her hand, the feeling of anger, but
in her memory, she didn’t throw the bottle deliberately. It was almost as if someone else had done it.

  ‘Why was I angry?’ she asks.

  He shrugs and smiles. ‘Apparently I said something objectionable. I don’t remember what. I think it might have had something to do with gender politics. Don’t worry, I often have that effect on people.’

  ‘So, what happened then?’

  ‘You left in disgust. I think you said you were going home.’

  ‘That’s it?’ Abby stares at him, trying to work out if he’s lying or not.

  Hugo meets her eyes with a faintly amused defiance. As if he thinks it’s all a big joke. ‘Yes. Sorry I can’t be more helpful.’

  ‘If we speak to Joss will she confirm what you’ve said?’ says Abby.

  His eyes narrow. ‘Sure, if you don’t believe me.’ He picks up his phone. Abby types the number into her phone as he reads it out.

  ‘Well, it’s been lovely . . .’ Hugo stands up. ‘But if you don’t mind, I’ve got to get ready to go out. I’ve got an appointment.’ He walks them to the door.

  ‘Do call me, Danny, when you’re next in London. I hope everything goes well for you, Abigail. I’m sorry I couldn’t be of more help.’

  *

  ‘What did you think?’ Abby asks as Danny drives her home along winding country roads.

  Danny wipes condensation off the windscreen frowning. ‘I don’t know. He couldn’t wait to get rid of us, could he?’

  ‘No, and did you notice his hands were shaking?’

  ‘That’s probably withdrawal. I’ve got a feeling he’s a bit of an alcoholic.’

  ‘Hmm, yes, the several glasses of whisky might have been a clue,’ Abby says sardonically. ‘Do you know this girl, Joss, he was talking about?’

  ‘Not very well. You should ring her, find out if he’s telling the truth.’

  *

  ‘Who’s that?’ says Danny as he drops her off outside the house.