by Sue Watson
And now, I’m sitting in a local coffee bar with Ben, who called me up to say he wanted to talk to me, and I can’t help but compare him to Matt. I gaze at my sophisticated ex in his designer suit, with a sprinkle of cultivated stubble and those eyes that mean business, and I know I’m already in trouble. I watch his fingers toying with a small packet of sugar. He glances up at me every so often, and each time our eyes meet, I feel a flash of heat in my chest.
I look down at the pushchair with my child (our child?) asleep inside. I had to bring Mia along because there was no one to look after her, as Matt’s at work, and I’m now wearing my Mother Teresa face, hoping Ben will see the wife-and-mother potential rather than just the bedroom potential. I wonder about the slut from accounts, but don’t feel it appropriate at this stage to ask anything personal.
I wondered if I’d feel anything, and I’m slightly unsettled to realise I find him as beautiful and charismatic as ever. I see other women sipping their coffee and glancing over at him, and I reach out, touching his arm proprietorially. I couch this as a way of emphasising my words, but it’s a ‘hands off’ gesture to anyone watching who fancies their chances.
‘So it was your best friend all the time?’ he asks.
‘What?’ I panic, think he’s talking about my affair with Matt. My guilty conscience strikes again.
‘The stalker?’
‘Oh yes, I’m devastated. I went through hell, and never imagined in my wildest dreams it was the person closest to me…’ I touch my eye with my napkin. The tears aren’t flowing quite enough today; trouble is I’m too damned elated at being with him. All I can think about is the last time we did it – against an exposed brick wall behind JoJo’s.
‘It must have been dreadful, but I wanted to see you because… Well, I thought it would make a good interview.’
My heart tips a little. Ah, so this is why he’s meeting me for coffee, having changed his number and ignored me for months. Work. ‘Oh… I don’t know...’
Then again, if I have something he wants, he might try a little harder.
‘Always the journalist.’ I smile. ‘Chasing a story…’ When he isn’t chasing women, I think, a residue of bitterness still sitting in my chest.
He looks at me beaming, his eyes moving slowly down to my décolletage. He always loved my breasts. I move slightly so he can get a better look. I might as well remind him what he’s missing, and I like the way this gives me some control. I know I can have him if I want him, and I do – but I’ve learned my lesson, and this time I won’t make it quite so easy for him.
‘It’s an amazing story… It has all the ingredients. It’ll really resound with our viewers. I was thinking a short interview in the studio on the live news programme. If that goes well, who knows? We could give it to the documentary department, see if they fancy doing an hour-long?’
‘I’m not sure,’ I say, calm, considered, wanting to say ‘where do I sign?’ but wanting him to work for it. ‘It would be very traumatic.’ I bat my eyelashes and put my coffee stirrer to my lips. Okay, I know a wooden coffee stirrer isn’t exactly the most seductive prop, but I have to work with what I’ve got, and I’ve always been resourceful. This is a very interesting conversation. I was so close to it I hadn’t even considered mine and Lucy’s story might be of interest. But seeing the glint in Ben’s eye, the answer to everything could be right under my nose – so I pick this up and run with it like a true professional. I may be a weather girl, but I’ve worked in newsrooms all my life and I know how it works. This could be my ticket to a new life, a great story, lots of sympathy, plenty of exposure, leading to big headlines, and dare I even hope for the offer of presenting roles? And with Ben’s support, we might be able to pick up professionally (and personally?) where we left off years ago, when Michael died and my career turned to shit. When he asked for this chat, I knew I had something Ben wanted. Well it seems I do, and in spite of me wanting this too, I’m not just handing it to him on a plate. After the way he treated me I won’t just roll over - he’s damn well going to beg for it.
‘I’ve had a few calls… from the tabloids,’ I lie. ‘Oh, and Piers Morgan wants to do something with me,’ I add vaguely. ‘But I don’t know, I’ve been through such a lot… Do I really want to join that circus, Ben?’ I give him big eyes, pouting lips and even manage a little tremble of the chin, which seems to have the desired effect.
He sits forward and I see it again, the glimmer of excitement, the glint in his eye – sex and a good story, that’s all Ben has ever needed.
‘Obviously it’s up to you who you choose to go with,’ he says, trying not to sound desperate, too pushy, ‘and if indeed you do decide to tell your story at all.’ And then he gives me that look, that secret smile that says so much, and my knees go weak. ‘But I can assure you, Amber, that if you go with us then I will be there to support you 24/7.’
I take a few seconds to regroup, then come back at him. ‘24/7 you say? Funny… Piers said the same,’ I lie. God, I’m enjoying this!
‘Yes, but I mean it. We’re good together, you and me, don’t try and deny it. Let’s do this, Amber – who knows where it could lead? I can see the headline: “TV weather girl in stalking storm”. We can do a big, exclusive interview, I could talk to a few papers, see if we can get the tabloids to play, give us plenty of press, build those audience figures. You could make a lot of money – and you know they’d lap it up.’ Then he pulls back slightly, not wanting to scare me off I suppose, but he had me at ‘we’re good together’ and I am so up for it. But I continue to play it cool.
I raise my eyebrows. ‘I might,’ I say, concealing my excitement and deep joy. ‘Perhaps we’ll need another meeting to discuss this in more depth,’ I suggest. After all, I’m in the driving seat now. Funny how the tables have turned.
I go home from the meeting with Ben, my head full of sparkles, only to be greeted by Matt wanting to know why I’m so late.
‘For fuck’s sake Matt, I told you, I had a business meeting,’ I say, irritated, trying to microwave some food for Mia and check my phone for messages from Ben at the same time.
I look over at him sitting at the kitchen table, poring over some hopeless ‘screenplay’ that will never see light of day, and want to scream. Apparently he’s writing his autobiography and I wonder who would be interested in the life of a drama teacher in the Manchester suburbs. Thank God I have Mia. She’s the only spark of light in this darkness and I adore her. She’s almost a year old now, and nearly walking; she took a few faltering steps this morning, and I clapped as she tumbled to the floor, giggling. It made me laugh, and seeing me laugh made her laugh and we were both rolling around the floor laughing at each other. She’s a happy little girl, and that’s all I wanted for my daughter – happiness – but sometimes I wonder if I’m good enough for her.
I often wonder if Mia remembers Lucy, or at least has some vague recollection of another mother figure in her life who’s now absent. Lucy was, I have to admit, brilliant with Mia. She was good at all the practical stuff, like bathing and feeding and changing, but she also engaged her. Even at a few months old, Lucy was giving her cloth books and bright toys that made noises when you pushed buttons, talking to her all the time, and soon Mia was making baby noises back to her. I remember Lucy saying, ‘She’s such a chatterbox.’
‘She takes after you.’ I’d laughed. And sometimes, when my little girl’s playing or sleeping, I stop and think what it would be like to never see her again. And I feel so sorry for Lucy, because in spite of everything, she loved Mia like her own.
Now, without Lucy’s guidance, I doubt myself even more as a mother. I worry I’m not worthy of this brown-eyed angel with soft curls and a perfect rosebud mouth.
I find it hard to believe now, but I never wanted children, and thought the nearest I would ever get would be an eccentric aunt to a child of a friend. I would have been someone who’d sweep into their lives, bringing gifts and fun and irreverence, before sweeping out again. But this
mothering thing is for the long haul and sometimes, when I think about the mountain I have to climb to make sure this little girl is safe, educated, confident, happy, financially solvent, I’m overwhelmed. That may sound selfish and I adore Mia so much, but I just can’t help feeling that with my genes, and my mother as a role model, I won’t be able to give Mia what she needs.
Matt isn’t as much help as I’d hoped he’d be. He soon got bored of looking after Mia in the evenings while I worked (or went for ‘meetings’ with Ben) and said he needed to be at rehearsals for the new production at the amateur dramatics group. He stopped for a while to spend time with me, but it seems he’d rather spend his evenings with a bunch of wannabes than looking after my daughter, who, as I pointed out, he says he loves as much as his own, even if she isn’t.
The other night, I was on my way out, all dressed up, and he said, ‘Where are you going?’
‘I have a meeting about work,’ I lied. I was meeting Ben for dinner to discuss the live interview, among other things.
‘You can’t go out tonight,’ he said.
‘Er, yes I can,’ I responded, walking to the front door to leave.
‘And leave Mia on her own?’
‘What?’ I walked back down the hall. ‘This is what we agreed, that while I’m at work you’ll look after her. It’s not like I’m out socialising.’
‘Who knows what you’re doing, and who with? I don’t. And I’m going out myself, I have rehearsals.’ With that, he picked up his jacket, pushed past me in the hall and slammed the front door. That woke Mia up and she started screaming.
I was incandescent. How could he do that? Having been stuck in all day, I would now be stuck in all night – and I was beginning to realise maybe that’s exactly what Matt wanted. He wanted me locked away like a battery hen. Unable to leave, to live my life, do anything on my own. He’d felt the chill and was scared of losing me, but he wasn’t going to keep me on lockdown. I wasn’t going to be tied down by him or any other man.
I called Ben and said I had to cancel our dinner. He seemed as disappointed as me, but I told myself that being unavailable that night would make him want me more, in every way. Then I remembered Stella of the beige sofa. Stella had two little ones of her own and was also starting a business from home as a childminder – perfect. So the following day I contacted her and invited myself and Mia round there for a play date to see if Mia liked her and the other children. Mia’s walking now and ‘chatting’, and within minutes was playing happily – she took to Stella and her children straight away. But I think Mia’s favourite resident at Stella’s is the cat, Molly, who she tries to ride like a horse.
I stayed at Stella’s for a quick coffee and was surprised when she chatted quite openly about Lucy. Apparently, Kirsty is back in touch with Lucy, and she told Stella that Lucy’s still saying she didn’t make any calls or send any texts, that it was her phone with a different SIM card so her number didn’t come up on my phone.
‘I hardly think that’s a defence,’ I said. ‘She was the one who changed the SIM. I can’t believe she’s still in denial after being convicted of the crime and given a suspended sentence,’ I said. But Stella just shrugged, happy, sitting on her safe little fence. Whatever. As long as she’s available to look after Mia whenever I need it, I don’t really care what she thinks or who she believes.
Thank God I had the foresight to organise reliable childcare because I’ve certainly needed it since Ben started the ‘my best friend the stalker’ ball rolling. Our meetings have been regular and intense: long talks, discussions about my future – and an unspoken knowledge that we both still have feelings for one another. I’ve agreed to everything as far as the exclusive interview and the promise of presenting work that he dangled in front of me. But I didn’t give in to his rather obvious propositions involving the two of us sleeping together again and resuming where we’d left off. ‘Not while you’re living with someone else,’ I said, referring to the slut from accounts. I want him, desperately, but this time I won’t share him, and realise that I’ll have to play the long game to get what I want. If I keep him waiting, he will want me more and when we finally do get together it will be for good. But in the meantime, there are a few other things to consider, not least of which is Matt, who is turning into a rather large obstacle to my future happiness. It isn’t like I’m in the same position I was with Michael. Matt isn’t the type to do anything stupid, but I have to be careful because I don’t want him running to the bloody papers and branding me an adulteress and an unfeeling bitch, just as my star is about to rise again. And to date, things on the career front are definitely looking promising – the exclusive interview I did for Ben’s news programme really struck a chord. During the programme it began trending on Twitter as #StalkerStorm and within days everything started to change for me, for the better.
Weather Woman in Stalking Storm – Transcript of TV Interview with Amber Young, interviewed by Maddie Watkins
MADDIE: Welcome, Amber, it’s good to have you on this side of the studio for a change, but under rather unfortunate circumstances. Some months ago you were involved in a court case where someone who stalked you for many months was on trial. But this wasn’t just a stalker, was it, Amber? It was someone you knew.
AMBER: Yes, Maddie, it was… The stalker turned out to be someone I loved and trusted… My best friend.
VOICE-OVER; TV FOOTAGE OF AMBER: She was the glittering celebrity who’d captured Lucy Metcalf’s heart and mind when she read the weather late at night. Lucy was single and lonely and it would be many years before the two women met, but when the glamorous weather woman came into her orbit as a neighbour, it didn’t take long for Lucy to become obsessed. As Amber explains: ‘When we were first friends she went to my beauty therapist and had all the same treatments as me, then she went to my hairdressers and had her hair coloured exactly the same. I think she wanted to be me.’ But soon Lucy’s obsession became dangerous and it all came to a head when Amber discovered that Lucy was the stalker behind a series of threatening and violent actions that left Amber terrified for the safety of herself and her newborn baby.
MADDIE: Scary stuff, Amber.
AMBER: Absolutely. She seemed like the loveliest person… you know? Very caring, very sweet – and when I was frightened, after the heavy-breathing calls and obscene texts, the vile gifts left on my doorstep, she invited me to stay with her and her husband. She was a good neighbour.
MADDIE: Not only was she your neighbour, Lucy Metcalf was a respected teacher, your best friend. She was there for you when you were scared and desperate – or so it seemed.
AMBER: Absolutely, Maddie. Lucy was the one person I would always go to if ever I needed a friend… and she was wonderful – well, at the time. I realise now it was all part of her act.
MADDIE: Is it true that she was never actually present when you received these calls and texts?
AMBER: No, she wasn’t, but of course I didn’t realise that until after she was caught. She even walked me home one morning and screamed when she opened what I thought was a gift left on my doorstep. It was a dead bird.
MADDIE: A ‘gift’ she must have left?
AMBER: Yes, and that’s what scares me the most, Maddie, that she could be there and cry with me, be scared with me – she was even the one to call the police – and yet all the time—
MADDIE: It was her, she was your tormentor. And the knife… Tell me about the knife she stole from your kitchen that was found hidden in her wardrobe with her prints on.
AMBER: Yes. It was a really sharp kitchen knife – it could easily… hurt someone badly, and to think all the time I lived there she was keeping it in her room. No one knows why. She also stole my pregnancy test…
MADDIE: Your what? I’m sorry, could you just repeat that?
AMBER: I know, I know – we still don’t understand why she did that. She went into my bedroom when I wasn’t there, went through all my drawers, smashed a photo frame, tore my silk dressing gown off its ha
nger, then wrote something… vile in my lipstick on the mirror. [Dabs her eyes with a tissue] I was forced to take out a restraining order as soon as I discovered it was her, Maddie. She must have been hiding so much rage. If she could do such… such damage to my things, what else could she do? I had my daughter to consider.
MADDIE: Of course, little Mia… Here’s a photo of lovely Mia, Amber’s daughter, who’s now twelve months old.
STILL SHOT OF MIA.
MADDIE: She’s gorgeous, Amber…
AMBER: Thank you, she’s everything to me.
MADDIE: So you were a new mum at the time it all unravelled; it must have been dreadful for you. Do you think Lucy Metcalf’s obsession with you extended to your little daughter Mia?
AMBER: I do, Maddie. It was all very sad; on the surface, she seemed happy. She was married, a teacher, had a lovely home…
MADDIE: But it turns out she wasn’t as perfect as she seemed.
AMBER: No, Maddie. Unfortunately, Lucy hadn’t been able to conceive a ‘longed for’ baby, which was a source of great pain. Also, her marriage was on the rocks. She was very unhappy… It was very sad, tragic really. I think the problem was that she hated herself, Maddie, and she wanted to be me.
MADDIE: Really?
AMBER: Oh, yes. She once passed herself off as Mia’s mother at the local hospital – she actually signed my name on an official document. I just shudder to think what might… have happened if she’d not been caught… [Sniffles] Can I… can I have a tissue please?
MADDIE: Do you feel like you can go on, Amber? I know this is very distressing for you.
AMBER: Yes… yes it is, but I’m fine. I have to do this to help others. I don’t want any other woman to have to go through what I did.
MADDIE: This is so brave of you, Amber. I realise it’s very difficult for you but you’re doing the right thing. The court case was stressful too, wasn’t it? This was your best friend. How did it feel to face her and realise what she’d done?
AMBER: It was devastating. In court, I had to steel myself and tell everyone things that she’d told me in strict confidence. It was agony. I was betraying my best friend – but I had no choice. When we first started to be friends, we’d have lovely ‘girls’ nights in’ when we’d dress up in cute onesies, put on face masks and share our deepest secrets… like girlfriends do.
