The Love Trap: an unputdownable psychological thriller

by Caroline Goldsworthy

  I grasped my keys, ensuring the front door key was gripped between my index and second finger, the jagged edge of the Yale pointed outward. At the lift I pressed the button for my floor. As I stepped in I heard a man’s voice asking me to hold the lift. I jabbed at the button for the third floor again and again. I glimpsed my neighbour’s face just as the lift doors began to close.

  Oh come on girl, I told myself. You’re getting too jumpy. It’s not like the Mehic case. John is annoyed but he’s not going to start anything like that. Is he?

  I thought back to the Shubhendu Mehic case. He had been a client when I first qualified. He was guilty of trafficking drugs and girls, but the police had charged him with handling stolen goods. It was a ridiculous charge and, one of which he was innocent. I got him the best barrister I could, and he was found not guilty.

  All throughout the case I was openly followed and threatened. I moved three times in eighteen months, but they, whoever they were, kept finding me. One night my car was set alight. After that, I went to visit Mehic.

  ‘Thank you for seeing me,’ I’d said as I sat down. I was shaking, terrified at what he could do to me, if I upset him. ‘I’m still being threatened. Do you know who it is? Is it your guys? Please, you must call them off. Get your guys to leave me alone.’

  He sat back in his chair and glared at me. For several moments he said nothing. Just cleaned out his fingernails with the index fingernail of the opposite hand.

  Then he looked me in the eye. ‘I am sorry,’ he said. ‘It is not my people and it has not been on my orders. My nephew set me up. He wanted to take over my Brigăzi and to distract you from your job which you did well. I will see what I can do. Let me know if you ever need anything.’

  The stalking stopped immediately, but ever since then I have been on high alert.

  When the lift reached my floor and the doors slid open, I was still shallow breathing and close to panic. At my front door, there was a bunch of flowers. I hesitated. Was this something sinister?

  I crept towards the door, crouched down, and plucked the card, which was pinned to the bouquet. I ripped open the envelope. They were from Topher, and I began to wonder how much of what Lily had told me about him was true. With relief I opened my front door, my keys, which I had been gripping so tightly, had left an imprint on my palm. I nudged the flowers over the threshold with my foot whilst manhandling my handbag and briefcase. I pushed the door closed and leaned against it breathing heavily.

  I felt much happier and more confident the following day when I left my flat. I went down to the car park; it was less intimidating as the weak morning sun filtered through the wrought iron railings. However, as I reached my car, I stopped in my tracks. All of the lights on my car had been smashed. A hammer, I guess it was a hammer, had been taken to my windscreen and some sort of paint stripper had been flung across the bonnet. The special blue metallic paint I’d ordered as an extra was pockmarked with bubbles and rivulets. I phoned work to let them know I’d be late; I called the police for a crime number; called for a taxi and finally I called Lily.

  ‘You will not believe what has just happened.,’ I said.

  ‘Tell me,’ she said sleepily.

  Irritated I looked at my watch. It was nearly half past seven. ‘Wake up Lily, this is serious.’

  She yawned. ‘Go on.’

  ‘My car has been damaged,’ I said. ‘Is it the sort of thing Topher does?’

  ‘Damage?’ She said. ‘No. No not normally although…’

  ‘What do you mean not normally,’ I growled down the phone.

  ‘Well,’ she sighed.

  I sighed back at her so she’d know I was annoyed and waiting for her to speak.

  ‘Do you remember I did that cake decorating class?’

  ‘Yes-s,’ I replied, emphasising the sibilant. I saw absolutely no connection between the damage done to my car and a bit of icing sugar.

  ‘Well I booked up for some extra classes. I really wanted to get the hang of sugar crafting. You know, making little flowers out of moulded icing sugar paste.’

  ‘Lily, is there any danger of you coming to the point any time soon?’ I was breathing so heavily I could feel my nostrils flaring.

  ‘Yes, sorry. Just hear me out,’ she said. ‘I was really enjoying the classes, and then coming home and telling Topher how much fun I was having. I hadn’t really appreciated how much my enjoyment was annoying him. Then one day he turned up at the class—,

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘He burst into the classroom, swept everything off the workbench where I was working – absolutely everything. Then he grabbed my hand twisted it around, and up my back and marched me out of the classroom. I was too ashamed to go back. I wrote to the school and offered to pay for the damage, which they were happy about.’

  ‘Why did he do it?’ I said.

  ‘He thought I was having an affair with the teacher,’ she gave a hollow laugh. ‘It didn’t matter the teacher was a woman. He said “it wasn’t impossible to have an affair with another woman.”’

  Lily fell silent. I was speechless too. This was a side of the gentle and affable Topher I had never seen.

  ‘Was that the only time he’s been violent?’ She didn’t answer for a while and I wondered if we’d been cut off.

  ‘Lily?’ I said.

  ‘Still here,’ she replied. ‘No, there have been other times. Perhaps I shouldn’t have got you into this. He’s only ever been violent to me. No one else. Not even the children. I’m so sorry, Stephanie.’

  Then the line went dead and after a moment all I heard was the hum of dialling tone. I didn’t know what to make of the conversation. I was genuinely concerned about my safety, but I could not imagine either John or Topher taking a hammer to my car. I wandered out of the car park to the front of the block where my taxi was waiting. Going through recent releases of disgruntled clients seemed to be the best place to start.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Lily

  Naturally, I was concerned Stephanie seemed to be being singled out again, but I assumed that it was the ex, John at the bottom of it. I couldn’t believe Topher would put himself at risk with undertaking criminal damage. He’d be cleverer than that.

  ‘I can’t believe you just did that,’ my mother said.

  ‘Did what?’ I said, whirling around to face her. I hadn’t realised she’d crept up on me. For a moment I thought about getting her a collar and bell.

  ‘Lied about Topher like that.’ She folded her arms across her chest, but I still kept my distance, wary of the speed of her slaps.

  ‘I beg your pardon?’ Even though I was still afraid of her, she had begun to outstay her welcome. Although, I reflected, it wasn’t at my invitation she was here. ‘It wasn’t a lie mother,’ I said, skirting around her to get to the sink and a clean dishcloth.

  ‘Oh yes that’s right just push past me,’ she said.

  ‘I didn’t push past you, Mummy,’ I said. ‘I did nothing of the sort.’

  ‘Next you’ll be telling me Topher beats you.’ She stood, hands on hips, defying me to argue with her.

  ‘He does much worse than that,’ I replied, hanging my head, staring at the floor. Why can’t I look her in the face and tell her what I really feel. That I’ve lived a lie for so long? That I’m fed up with her bullying me, making me feel inadequate. That a mother’s love should be unconditional. I think of Darcy and James and I shudder, recalling how close I’ve come to losing it. The incident I told Fran about was the worst, but the stress of the court case in a few weeks’ time has put me completely on edge. I won’t let her do to them what she has done to me. I won’t let her damage them, in the way she did me. Yet I am too ashamed to look her in the face and have this conversation. I’ve lived a lie for so long.

  ‘You always told lies as a child. That’s why we called you Lily liar,’ she sneered.

  Heat crept across my cheeks. ‘I’ve never lied, Mother, you are a liar, not me. That’s why Dad left.’ I clenc
hed the dishcloth in my fist, willing myself to be brave. My mouth was dry and I tried to calm myself with my old breathing exercises.

  ‘That’s not what happened at all,’ she retorted.

  ‘Then you tell me why he left.’ I finished wiping down the breakfast bar. The breathing meditation had helped and I felt calmer. I wanted to go back to the sink but I remained wary of how quick she was with a slap when I was a child and, even now I’m a grown woman, I could still feel the sting. ‘I’ve heard his side of the story, now let’s hear yours.’

  ‘There’s no story,’ she said. ‘There’s the truth and then there’s what he’ll have told you. Leaving me on my own with a child. He never bothered with us after that. Not a word. No money. Nothing.’

  ‘That’s not quite true either, is it?’ I said. ‘Where are the letters he sent me after he left? What have you done with them?’

  ‘There were no letters, Lillian. He wanted nothing more to do with us,’ Her eyes glittered, the bright sheen of unshed tears.

  ‘Where are the sodding letters, Mother?’

  ‘You need a cup of tea,’ she said. ‘You’re getting overwrought. You always got overexcited as a child. I did hope you’d grow out of it.’

  ‘I’m not overwrought, Mummy,’ I said. ‘I’m perfectly well but I do think it’s time you returned to your own home.’

  ‘Fine. I won’t stay where I’m not welcome,’ she said, flouncing out of the room to go upstairs.

  I continued wiping down worktop counters, which were already clean. I tried to bite back the tears but eventually I let them fall.

  It was the first time I’d stood up to my mother and I was still shaking. It didn’t feel as good as I’d hoped it would. All I felt was I’d lost another friend.

  However, now I had set this action in motion I was not going to step down. I picked up the landline and called a taxi for my mother, asking if the driver could come in the house and bring the suitcase downstairs. There was a deep sigh from the taxi company bod, but I promised a large tip in return.

  Mummy eventually came downstairs, her eyes red, her mascara smeared on her cheeks. She looked at me, her chin jutting out. There was going to be no kissing and making up today. Even if it had been something I wanted to do.

  ‘I’ve called a taxi for you. He’ll be here in a moment. I’ve also asked for him to bring your case downstairs.’

  She sniffed, rolling her eyes at the ceiling and pouting. She stalked out of the kitchen and went to sit and wait on the boot bench in the hallway.

  I pottered around in the kitchen, trying to fill the time before the taxi arrived. I opened a cupboard to tidy the tins, but they were as straight as a platoon of soldiers. I flicked the cloth over the tops pretending I was dusting.

  Each time I moved towards the kitchen door, I stopped myself, clenching my jaw and fists. No, you are not going to give in this time. It’s always worse when you do. I heard the buzz of the comms-panel and my mother speaking to someone. A man’s footsteps going upstairs then panting as the suitcase thudded on the stairs. The front door slammed. Silence.

  I shrugged, although I was still trembling. I refused to play her games any longer.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Lily

  It was very quiet in the house after my mother had gone. I made myself a coffee and sat in the kitchen, looking out the window, enjoying the September sunshine. Darcy’s third birthday was in a few days and to my surprise, Topher said we would be hosting a party. This time, though I won’t have my mother here to help. I considered asking Stephanie, but she was more help at downing wasted drinks than preparing them. I grinned. I’ll simply leave her to do that. I got a notepad and started preparing a list of all of the things I was going to need to pick up from Waitrose.

  When Heather returned later with the children. I had a long list and a menu. I was sitting at the table, having drunk yet another coffee and I was humming to myself.

  ‘You’re in a good mood,’ Heather said.

  ‘I am,’ I replied. ‘I really am.’

  ‘Have you thought about what you want for lunch,’ she said.

  ‘I think just a sandwich,’ I said.

  ‘Okay, and what about some soup? It’s a bit cold out there.’

  ‘I was just thinking how lovely the sunshine was.’

  ‘Yes, but it’s getting a bit nippy now,’ said Heather. ‘What about your mother? Will she want anything?’

  ‘My mother’s not here. She left while you were out.’

  ‘That was a bit sudden,’ said Heather. ‘But probably for the best.’

  ‘Yes, I think so too. The kids were getting a bit fed up with her as well. I know I was.’

  ‘I can’t say I blame you,’ Heather smiled. ‘Right lunch for four then.’

  While she began to prepare food I helped the children remove their coats and scarves and I blew on cold little hands to warm them up. Although they were upset Granny didn’t bother to say goodbye to them, I think they were quite pleased we had the house to ourselves again.

  When Heather left at four o’clock, I gave the children their afternoon snack and we sat and played for a while, doing some drawings. At five pm, I wondered whether to start preparing a meal for Topher. I checked my phone. There was no text, so I decided to text him instead.

  What time would you like to eat?

  A text came back around ten minutes later.

  Don’t bother about me. I’ve got to work late. Will grab something from a takeaway. Don’t wait up. T x.

  Dinner for one, I thought to myself. I pottered around the kitchen, clearing up after the children’s snacks and games and, at six, we all strolled upstairs for bath time and extra-long story time. I had plenty of time since I didn’t have to cook for Topher. Peace descended over the house. A calm it didn’t normally have. I thought it was because Topher wasn’t here to frighten me or the children. He wasn’t here to belittle me. After the bath we sat in James’ room. He got into bed and Darcy and I snuggled up together on the rocking chair and we had lots of stories – The Hungry Caterpillar was still a favourite and, as Darcy fell asleep in my arms, I realised that like the caterpillar, I’m quite hungry myself. I took Darcy into her room and tucked her in. I snuggled the duvet around her shoulders and kissed her, stroking her straight mousy hair and little head, smiling as her thumb made its way to her mouth. I left the hall light on, the door slightly ajar so if she woke she wouldn’t be scared. Going back to James’ room, I found he was asleep and had already kicked the duvet off. I gave him a kiss, put his feet under the duvet and pulled it up to his chin, leaving his arms out, because he would fight it later. I will check on him again before I go to bed myself, I told myself

  I wandered downstairs, hesitated but went into the music room. I ran my fingers over the case – rubbing my thumb against the catch. It sprang open and I gazed at my violin. Breathing in the pine smell of the rosin block, and before I knew it, the violin was in my hands. I stroked the bow over the strings. Hardly a sound. I placed the violin on a chair and dug around in the case for the block of rosin. Without the resin on the horsehair bow there is no resonance. I brought the block to my nose and breathed in the smell. I moved to another time. Another place. A place where I was admired. Respected and perhaps even loved. I sat on the floor and holding the frog in one hand and the tip digging into the carpet, I stroked the block of rosin up and down the bow. Coating the horsehair. I used to do this before every concert. It was akin to meditation, the smell, and the rhythm. I struggled to my feet. My fingers reached out, curling around the violin’s neck, caressing the smooth wood. I cupped my chin into the plate, feeling the long-forgotten rub of boxwood against my neck. My fingers found the chords and I quickly tuned the instrument, swaying as I played a doleful waltz I’d not thought of in years.

  With my eyes closed it was as if I was back in New York, playing in the Lincoln Center. I opened my eyes to see Topher in the audience. He wasn’t smiling. He was angry with me, but as for why I had no idea. I
closed my eyes again and carried on playing as if he wasn’t there in the front row. I shivered as a drop of water fell onto my chest. I placed the bow on the music stand and searched my pockets for a tissue. The chin rest was soaked, my face wet with my tears and I tried to dry both with my tissue. I wasn’t in New York; I was back in my home in Muswell Hill. There was no audience. I was no longer that woman.

  I stood and replaced the violin in its case. My finger movements were not as good as they once were, not as deft. It sounded clumsy and inept. I headed to the kitchen to forage in the freezer, and finding some leftovers from an earlier party I microwaved those for my dinner. I sat at the breakfast bar, put a CD on, one I’d recorded many years before, the soulful strains reaching every corner of the kitchen.

  I thought back to that night after the Lincoln Center concert.

  Topher drove us back to the old house we were renting in Arlington. His anger filled the car — a black cloud waiting to burst. Was he angry about the baby? No, we talked about having children. He wanted babies too. I was sure of it.

  ‘You okay,’ I said. We were nearly home and I didn’t want to go to bed on an argument.

  ‘Fine,’ he said, but his hands tensed on the steering wheel.

  ‘Are you angry about the baby?’ I ventured.

  ‘Is it mine?’ He stared straight ahead never taking his eyes off the road.

  ‘Of course, it’s yours. Who else’s would it be?’

  ‘Not your conductor friend’s?’

  ‘Philip? Why on earth would you think that?’

  ‘I saw the pair of you on stage. You were flirting with him like a whore. Making doe eyes at him. I saw it all. I’ve been such a fool.’