The Fear

by C. L. Taylor

  I start as a dark green estate car pulls into the car park. It does a U-turn, then parks near the exit. The driver doesn’t get out but he does open a window and flick cigarette ash on the floor. As he does, the door to the garden centre bursts open and the girl I saw in the summer house runs down the path.

  ‘Chloe!’ the man in the green estate bellows, leaning out of the window.

  The girl sprints across the car park. ‘Sorry, Dad, sorry,’ she calls as she rounds the car.

  ‘I’ve been waiting bloody ages. Get in.’

  That’s a lie.

  ‘They needed me to work late,’ the girl says as she pulls at the car door. ‘I couldn’t just …’ The rest of her sentence is lost as she slides into the car and slams the door shut.

  As the car inches forward, its right indicator blinking, I look back at the door to the garden centre. Do I wait for Mike to come out or go after the girl?

  The green estate pulls out into the road and I start my engine.

  Chapter 5

  Chloe

  Chloe endures her dad’s rant all the way home. She’s a stupid girl. She’s got no sense of responsibility. She’s selfish. She’s fat. Most thirteen-year-olds would be grateful to have an after-school job. He hopes she’s more punctual when her boss asks her to do something. Mike’s his friend but he didn’t have to help him find his stupid daughter an after-school job. If she gets the sack, it will reflect badly on both of them.

  She tries to block him out by glancing out of the window and losing herself in the green blur of the hedgerow, but each time she turns her head her dad snaps at her to look at him when he’s talking to her.

  I hate you, she thinks as she looks into his eyes. You’re a bully. You bully Mum and you bully me. The only person you don’t bully is your precious little mini-me Jamie. At seven years old he’s too young to realise that his dad’s an arsehole. He thinks his dad can do no wrong, not while he’s still impressed by tickets to see Wolves play, packs of football cards and father–son trips to McDonald’s. She’d like to think that when Jamie hits his teens, the scales will fall away from his eyes and he’ll understand that it’s not okay to talk to women like they’re shit. Then again, just yesterday, when she asked him to put his plate in the dishwasher after dinner, he said, ‘Why should I? Dad doesn’t.’

  Chloe’s spent a lot of time trying to work out why her dad and Mike are friends. They couldn’t be more different. Her dad, Alan, is harsh and abrasive. Mike is gentle and kind. Her dad criticises her and makes her feel like shit. Mike tells her she’s beautiful and makes her feel like she could do anything she wanted to in life. She didn’t always feel so warmly towards Mike. She used to ignore him if he came round to their house for a BBQ or to have a few beers with her dad in the garden. Putting up with her dad was bad enough, why would she want to chat to one of his arsehole mates? And when her dad suggested she get a weekend and after-school job at the garden centre she was horrified. A garden centre? How boring was that. And anyway, she had homework to do after school. ‘It’s not like you’ll ever be an A-grade student,’ her dad had snapped, ‘even if you did homework for the rest of your life. Get retail experience now, while you can.’ It was her mum who finally talked her into taking the job. ‘It’ll get you out of the house,’ she said softly, ‘and you might make some new friends.’ Chloe wasn’t sure she wanted to be friends with people who worked in a garden centre, but the idea of avoiding her dad for sixteen hours a week did appeal. And earning some money of her own so she didn’t have to ask him.

  When the car finally pulls up on their street, Chloe sits tight, waiting for her dad to tell her that she can get out, then she runs up the path and into the house.

  ‘Mum!’ she calls. ‘I’m back!’

  She pops her head into the living room to find Jamie sitting on the rug in front of the TV, the PS4 remote welded to his hands.

  ‘Jamie, where’s Mum?’

  ‘Having a lie-down. She’s got a migraine. Again.’

  She takes the stairs two at a time, then gently pushes at her parents’ bedroom door. The curtains are drawn and the room is dark but she can make out the shape of her mother lying curled up on her side on the bed. She’s fast asleep. Chloe reaches into her back pocket for her phone and checks the time. 6.17 p.m. She wonders if Mike will be home yet. Not that she knows where that is. When she asked him where he lived and if he had a family, he shook his head and said, ‘All you need to know is that my life is a lonely one. Tell me if I’m wrong, but I’ve got a feeling you can relate?’ She’d looked away then, unable to cope with the intensity of his gaze.

  ‘Chloe!’ her dad yells from downstairs. ‘If your mum’s not able to make the dinner you’ll have to do it.’

  Chloe glances at her mum, her face slack, her shoulders relaxed and her breathing heavy and slow, then she makes her way back down the stairs.

  Chapter 6

  Lou

  Any tension between me and Mike lifts the moment the ferry pulls away from the terminal and we’re free to get out of the car. He grabs my hand and half-leads, half-pulls me up the stairs to the deck.

  ‘Let’s find the arcade.’ He beams, dimples puncturing his stubbly cheeks. ‘If they’ve got those grabby games, I’ll try and win you a toy.’

  We move from game to game – shooting, driving and dancing. Mike wins the shooting. I win the dancing. I win the driving too when I cheat and yank on his steering wheel, making him do a U-turn. He doesn’t care. He pulls me onto his lap, then without bothering to check if anyone is looking, he covers my face in kisses. When we’ve exhausted all the games, we drop shiny ten-pence pieces into the penny shove. We work as a team first, then race each other to see who can get the most coins in. As our winnings tumble over the edge, Mike wraps an arm around my waist and lifts me clean off my feet.

  ‘Let’s celebrate in style!’ he laughs. ‘The burgers are on me!’

  He leads me to the restaurant and orders burgers, fries and milkshakes. I get Mike to dip his fries in his milkshake (‘disgusting’) and he challenges me to see who can take the biggest bite out of our buns. I’ve seen lots of different sides to Mike’s personality in the eighteen months since I’ve known him. I’ve seen him thoughtful, sensitive, kind and strict (but only at the club). But I’ve never seen him like this before. The playful side of him is amazing. It’s like we’re the same age.

  It doesn’t last forever. The closer the ferry gets to Calais, the quieter Mike becomes and as the car pulls off the rank he snaps at me to ‘wait’ when I ask where we’re going. When the customs officers check our passports, his whole body tenses and he holds himself very still. He’s worried, but he shouldn’t be. As far as Mum and Dad are concerned, I’ve gone on a karate camping trip. As long as I’m back by Sunday night they’ll be fine.

  ‘My niece,’ Mike says as the uniformed man looks from him to me.

  ‘Oui,’ I say and flash him a smile. Mike twitches, ever so slightly, like he’s annoyed with me, but he keeps his eyes fixed on the man’s face.

  ‘Merci.’ He gives the passports back and waves his hand for us to move on.

  I almost threw up when I pulled into the parking lot of Malvern Police Station but anger propelled me out of the car and into the building. God knows what the duty sergeant made of me as I flew up to the desk and demanded to speak to someone urgently. My heart’s still pounding and I babble rather than speak, my voice filling the small, beige room. DS Hope doesn’t say a word. Instead she listens intently, her eyes on me, her pen poised over the notepad on her lap.

  ‘It happened at Greensleeves Garden Centre near Powick,’ I say. ‘Just before closing. The man’s name is Michael Hughes. I don’t know the girl’s surname but her first name is Chloe. I heard her dad shout to her when he picked her up. I followed them home in my car. Her address is 29, Missingham Road. It’s just off the—’

  DS Hope raises an eyebrow. ‘You followed the girl home?’

  ‘Of course. I was worried about her. I thought i
f I found out where she lived, then I could pass the information on to you.’

  ‘Why not ask another employee? You just told me you thought she worked there. That she was wearing the same red polo top as the woman on the tills.’

  ‘The woman on the tills wasn’t there when I left.’ My chest tightens as the lie leaves my mouth, but what else can I say?

  DS Hope is looking at me like I’m unhinged. Did I do something weird? Would a normal person not have followed Chloe home?

  ‘What did you do after you followed her?’

  ‘I drove straight here.’

  ‘Right, okay. So, let’s go back to the start.’ DS Hope lays her pen down on her notepad. ‘You were walking around the garden centre and you saw an adult man kissing a teenage girl?’

  I try to swallow but my mouth is too dry. Being in this windowless beige room is bringing back memories I’d rather forget and it’s taking all my willpower not to run from the room.

  ‘Yes, as I said. He went into a summer house. She was already in there, like she was waiting for him. He looked around to see if anyone was watching and then he kissed her.’

  ‘And what time was this?’

  ‘Nearly six o’clock.’

  ‘And this …’ she glances down, ‘Michael Hughes. Does he work at Greensleeves Garden Centre too?’

  ‘No. He’s got a delivery company. But I think he does some of their deliveries.’

  ‘You know him then?’

  ‘I …’

  I can’t tell her the truth. I told the duty sergeant that my name was Lou Smith, not Lou Wandsworth. I don’t want to talk about what happened between me and Mike. I just want the police to stop it from happening again.

  ‘Lou? Are you okay?’ DS Hope sits forward in her seat, her eyes scanning my face.

  ‘I’m just a bit hot.’ I grab a tissue from the box on the table and wipe it over my forehead. Mike kissing that girl is all my fault. If I’d testified against him, he might have been given a longer sentence. He might still be in jail. I’ve spent the last eighteen years telling myself that what happened was a one-off, that it was because of me. I wouldn’t – couldn’t – let myself believe he’d do that to anyone else.

  ‘What is it you’re not telling me, Lou?’ DS Hope asks. ‘What’s your relationship with this man?’

  ‘I haven’t got a relationship with him. I came here to report what looked like grooming. That’s all. I thought it was the right thing to do.’

  ‘How do you know his name then, and what he does for a living?’

  ‘Because I’ve used his company for removals before.’ The lies are coming thick and fast now. Why did I think this was a good idea? I didn’t think it through properly. I never should have stepped foot in here.

  ‘And you recognised him, when you saw him in the summer house?’

  ‘Yes. Why are you asking me all these questions?’

  ‘I’m just trying to establish what happened.’ Her gaze doesn’t waver. She doesn’t say anything for several seconds. She’s trying to get me to talk but I’ve said too much already. ‘The thing is, Lou, we need evidence to arrest someone and if there’s something you’re not telling me you’re going to make my job more difficult.’

  ‘He’s a paedophile. He’s served time for abducting …’ I pause. My heart’s beating so quickly I feel like I’m on the verge of a panic attack, ‘… another girl.’

  DS Hope raises her eyebrows as she scribbles in her notepad. ‘When was this? Do you know?’

  ‘A long time ago. Look, I’ve told you everything I know. I was just trying to do the right thing, coming here and telling you what I saw.’

  She gives me a lingering look then stands up.

  ‘All right, Lou. I’ve got enough to go on for now. I’ll be in touch.’

  Chapter 7

  Wendy

  Tuesday 24th April 2007

  Wendy stiffens as two young men glance her way as they walk into the café. Her preferred table, a single-seater in the window, was occupied when she came in and she had no choice but to take a four-seater in the corner. It’s a quarter past one and the café is filling up. Sooner or later someone’s going to ask if they can share her table. What if Louise Wandsworth herself took one of the seats opposite her? Wendy’s stomach clenches with a mixture of fear and excitement.

  But there’s no sign of her. When Lou came into the café yesterday just after one, she went straight up to the counter and ordered a black coffee, a chicken roll and a tub of fruit salad. Wendy watched discreetly from behind her paperwork as Lou frowned over her mobile phone and picked at her food.

  It was the first time she’d seen Lou up close and she was dumbstruck. It reminded her of the evening she’d been having drinks in the Royal Malvern hotel with Angela when Michael Ball had walked in. Wendy had raised a hand, waved and flashed him a smile. Michael Ball didn’t even acknowledge her. Instead his gaze swivelled across the room, to a large, raucous group of lovies by the bar. Wendy was mortified. Angela told her that she wasn’t the first person to mistake a celebrity for a friend but Wendy insisted they leave immediately. It had been the same when she’d first seen Lou – the surprise and the hollowing in her stomach – only that time she’d managed to grip the table rather than thrusting her arm into the air.

  When she’d read on Facebook that Lou was going to start a new job at Consol eLearning, she’d immediately checked out the company online. According to the website, they developed eLearning solutions for the public and private sector, whatever that meant. Lou’s friends seemed to be as surprised as Wendy by her proposed move from London to Malvern. There were lots of ridiculously effusive comments begging her not to go and several ‘we’ll miss you soooooo much.’ When asked by one friend why she was making the move, Lou had replied, ‘I’ll DM you.’ That had frustrated Wendy almost as much as her initial attempt to add Lou as a friend. Wendy didn’t comment. She never did. Instead she lurked, reading and analysing everything she found.

  She hadn’t planned to sit in the café directly opposite Consol eLearning on Lou’s first day but she’d woken up at 5.30 a.m. and hadn’t been able to get back to sleep. With her car in the garage, Monty walked, and no meetings until that afternoon, she had found herself at a bit of a loose end.

  I probably won’t see her, she told herself as she settled herself into the single window seat at 8.15 a.m. with a pot of tea. And if I don’t, that’s fine. I have work I can catch up on before I meet up with Judith.

  But Wendy’s briefcase of paperwork sat untouched by her feet for an hour. She couldn’t tear her gaze away from the window and the people walking past. And then she saw her, Lou, walking down the street. She’d watched, her heart pounding in her chest as Lou had pulled at the door to Consol eLearning, then slumped back in her seat, exhausted and spent, as the door closed behind her and she disappeared from view. Wendy made a snap decision. She would stay in the café until lunchtime to see where Lou went. No one could have been more surprised than her when she actually came in.

  Now, she looks at her watch – 1.32 p.m. Lou’s late. Yesterday she came in at 1.05 p.m. But there’s no way Wendy can hold on for another second. She really must use the toilet. She grabs her handbag, snatches up her coat and speeds across the café.

  When she walks back out again, Lou Wandsworth is standing less than five metres away from her. Shock almost propels Wendy straight back into the ladies’. Across the room, her table has already been snapped up by a family of three and there are no free seats available. She has two choices – leave without paying the bill or join the queue behind Lou?

  She moves closer. She has never run off without paying a bill in her life and she’s not about to do so now.

  Lou doesn’t so much as glance round as Wendy silently slips behind her and rests a quivering hand on the top of the glass cake display. Up close, Wendy is able to measure herself against the other woman. Louise Wandsworth is tall, at least five inches taller than her, and her hips – swimming in a too large skirt
– are narrower than Wendy’s waist. There is mud on the heels of Lou’s shoes and the ends of her hair are split and tangled. The compulsion to reach into her bag and pull out a comb is almost more than Wendy can bear. She never leaves the house without checking that her shoes are clean and her hair is neat.

  ‘Order to go, please,’ Lou says as the café owner, a smiley woman about Wendy’s age in a blue and white striped apron, gives her a nod. ‘Black coffee, chicken roll and a fruit salad pot.’

  ‘Not stopping today?’

  ‘No, I need to prepare for a client meeting at three. Well, it’s more of a pitch for new business.’

  ‘Sounds important.’

  ‘It is. The boss wants me to bring in more money.’

  ‘Well, fingers crossed it goes well.’

  Wendy stands very still, her eyes fixed to the floor as the café owner bustles about, putting the order together, and Lou stands silently beside her, waiting. After an interminable five or six minutes, she hears the clink of money changing hands, the dry rustle of a paper bag being handed over and a soft, breathy ‘thank you’.

  ‘Yes?’ the café owner says. ‘Hello, yes. How can I help you?’

  Wendy tears her eyes away from the thin figure sprinting across the road and fixes the other woman with a big smile. She’s just had the most wonderful idea.