I paused. There was something else I had to have with me. It was a poem, written by Anne Sexton and called ‘Her
Kind’. It was about a crazy woman, but she’s powerful in her craziness because she’s indifferent to convention. I liked that poem and I’d kept it tucked inside the cover of a book of modern women poetry. I retrieved it, sat down and read it over and over until I felt at one with the character. Anya and Anne Sexton’s poem; they were my sources of female inspiration.
Then I left. I caught the bus and got off at Hackney Downs. No one looked at me. Wearing black is almost a uniform in certain parts of London so I easily merged into the shadows of the night. I was about to become an unknown force, unsettling, unpredictable, malign, otherworldly.
As I walked towards JF’s flat I recited some lines of the poem to myself. ‘I have gone out, a possessed witch, haunting the black air, braver at night, dreaming evil, I have done my hitch, a woman like that is not a woman, quite.’ I felt crazy, but as I got nearer his flat another thought came to me which was so funny, so bizarre, I laughed out loud. The poem, I realised, was my version of a ‘Hakka,’ the war cry of the Maoris, a ritual chant designed to instil fear and trembling in the enemy. I was ‘going equipped’ as the police say, not with the tools of ‘breaking and entering’ but with a poem. It was like a ‘Hakka’; and symbolic of the power of women who defy convention in seeking revenge.
I crossed over Hackney Downs. There were few people about. It’s not so smart to walk over the Downs at night, but I felt invincible. I arrived at JF’s street and walked slowly along, casually looking into the flats. Most of them had the curtains drawn or the blinds pulled down. Hackney isn’t the type of area where you advertise your possessions to passersby, but JF seemed not to know that. His blinds were up. An invitation.
I positioned myself on the other side of the road. It was almost eight and the end of the day for him. I watched as a young woman came up the steps from her session. She was crying and in a rush to get away, half-running and half-walking, but this wasn’t the time to offer help. I had an intervention to complete.
I waited for ten minutes and then I closed in on him. I could see JF sitting at his desk under the window. His hand was on the touchpad of his computer and he was looking intently at the screen. I had to be fast. I stood on the pavement in the shadows, pulled on my mask, then keeping to the wall, slithered down the steps. I reached basement level. I stood watching him. He was oblivious to my presence and to the security light which snapped on.
I tapped lightly on the window. He glanced up. I pressed my contorted rubber face against the glass, dragging my hands down it, as if I were clawing my way in. I stayed like that, a visible nightmare, long enough to have maximum impact. I was silhouetted from behind by the security light. I must have looked demented, but that was my intention.
I’ll never forget the terror in his eyes. I didn’t know if he’d heard ‘Every Breath You Take’, but it didn’t matter. He stood up, saw me through the window and backed away. He almost fell over his chair. I would have laughed but the rigidity of the mask prevented that. He stood staring. I saw his hand move towards his mobile. Time to go. As I left, I sprayed his door with Coco Mademoiselle, my symbol of universal femininity, then I ran back up the steps, crossed the street over to the Downs, tore off my mask, pulled off my beret and slowed down to a steady walk.
A success, a massive success. I was so high on adrenaline I felt capable of anything. I looked round, over my shoulder, to make sure I wasn’t being followed. A cyclist was coming slowly towards me, heading in my direction. I stepped sideways off the path to let him pass and avoiding eye contact, continued walking.
‘Anya.’
I knew that voice. I stopped. Looked round. Ifan was standing astride his bike. He looked serious. I don’t know why I wasn’t surprised.
He said, ‘What are you playing at?’
‘Getting my own back, what else would I be doing? What are you doing cycling round in the dark?’
We stood looking at each other. It was over a year since we’d seen each other. Gareth had said to sort it out. I was in the mood and high with my success. Anything was possible. Now was the time.
‘I’ve been watching you.’ When he said that, I laughed.
‘What’s funny?’
‘Watching me, watching him. “Every breath you take, every move you make, I’ll be watching you”.’ He didn’t answer. ‘I was at the farmhouse last weekend. I saw Gareth and Philomena, and I went to the estuary.’ He hadn’t said a word. ‘You know your den? It’s grown over now. I went to the river as well.’
I took a step nearer to him and looked at him straight.
‘But is it true? Or is it somebody else?’
‘What are you talking about? Somebody else? You’re weird. Echo.’
I ignored that. ‘Your heart. Is it “sad and lonely”? I know it’s you. So don’t deny it.’
‘If that’s what the song said.’
‘Yes, but is that what you say?’ He still didn’t answer, so
I said, ‘You seem to be struck dumb.’
‘I’m trying to get my head round what I just saw.’
‘How much did you see?’
‘Enough. You were wearing a mask. What’s got into you?’
‘Anger, revenge. I want to frighten him.’
‘You’re frightening me.’
‘I don’t think so. You know me too well.’
‘Not as well as I thought I did, but well enough.’ He was still standing astride his bike. He put his bike on the ground and moved towards me. He took hold of my hand but I pulled it away. We stood silently looking at each other. He said, ‘Anya, I’ve missed you. I’m sorry for what I said.’
I looked at the ground, my head full of the images of the
night we quarrelled. ‘You said some cruel things to me, Ifan. You hurt me.’
He was silent, then he said, ‘I know. I’m truly sorry. Can we forget it? I’ve thought about it often. I still have strong feelings for you. Will you let me make it up to you?’
‘How?’
‘Well, for a start, a coffee – or a drink.’
‘Right now? You still want to, after what you’ve just seen?’
He paused, then he said, ‘I like you.’
I glanced at him shyly, thinking only like? But I said, ‘Well, I’ve got nothing to lose, I suppose.’
He grinned. ‘Good. A lift?’ He gestured with his head towards his bike.
I wasn’t sure what he meant so I said, ‘Do you mean on your bike?’
‘Yeah, on my bike.’
He picked up his bike, sat back on the saddle and patted the crossbar. ‘Come on, Ms Anya, aka Echo, get on, like you used to.’
I laughed, ‘Okay. On your cross bar? You won’t let me fall off?’
‘No way. Be my guest. Sideways, you have to sit sideways and hold on to the handlebars, like you used to and I won’t let you go.’
I got on, sat sideways, but I held on to him, not the handlebars, and we wobbled across the Downs until I fell off laughing.
We picked up as if we’d never quarrelled. I told him why I was stalking and about the rape. Not everything but enough. He was so shocked he didn’t speak. I asked him what he was thinking, but he just shook his head. He wouldn’t or couldn’t say. He asked why I didn’t go to the police and I explained to him if I had, I’d have been called a fantasist and JF would have wheedled himself out of it. That’s why I was stalking him, to get my own back.
‘Is there anything I can do?’ he asked.
What he’d just said, about making up, was an opportunity not to be missed. ‘Were you thinking about something in particular?’ I asked.
He wasn’t, but his offer made me think. I’d already decided to increase the pressure on JF and Ifan’s willingness to help had given me another idea. It w
as risky and it required someone with technical skills. Like him.
‘Ifan… I can think of something. I want to break into his Wigmore Street office. It’ll be hard. It’ll have to be at night and I need someone who can disable the security light and pick locks.’
‘Why do you want to do that? It’s illegal.’
‘I know it’s illegal, but I have to up the ante. Shake him up. Make him think he isn’t safe anywhere. Break into his mind, like he did with my body.’
He looked at me thoughtfully, ‘But when’s it going to stop?’
‘No idea. I shall have to assess that later. Right now, I need your techie know-how.’
He wasn’t too willing. ‘Picking locks wasn’t part of the curriculum.’
My answer was fast. ‘And neither was hacking into my computer, but you did that.’
He laughed. ‘It’s a way of getting your attention, and I knew you’d know it was me. You liked “At Last”, didn’t you? Remember?’ He looked me straight in the eye.
‘As if, of course I remember.’ I was giving nothing away.
‘So, will you help?’
He paused, shook his head as if he didn’t agree, then he said, ‘Okay, but there’s a condition. It has to stop and soon, because the police are gonna catch up with you.’
I knew he was right. ‘Thanks,’ I said, ‘for agreeing to help.’
‘Promise?’
‘Yes. I’ve said.’
‘I’ve got to go now. Here’s my landline and mobile number.’
I didn’t ask why or where he had to go, but as he cycled off, he said over his shoulder, ‘Ti yw fy nghariad ers erioed ac mi fyddi’n gariad i mi am byth.’
I shouted after him, ‘You still speak Welsh then. What’s it mean?’
He stopped, blew me a kiss and said, ‘I’ll tell you one day.’
I couldn’t sleep that night. Terrorising JF was a major buzz, but meeting Ifan was even better. I was well and truly smitten. It was spooky the way he’d hacked into my computer, but it amused me. I thought more about what Gareth had said, that I needed to sort out what was going on, because it was like we couldn’t get it together but neither could we separate.
The following week I rang him. A female voice answered.
‘Hellooo.’ She sounded ultra friendly. That put me off and for a moment I floundered. ‘Oh, I must have the wrong number,’ I said.
‘Who is it you want?’
‘Ifan Baranov.’
‘He’s here. Just a moment. I’ll call him.’ I could hear her calling him and then she came back to the phone. ‘He’s in the shower. Who is it? He’ll call you back.’
‘Anya Morgan.’
It was clear she knew who I was. ‘Hi, Anya, yeah, he’ll be another fifteen minutes. He’ll ring you.’
Oh, will he? I thought, no he won’t. My response was immediate. The thought he was now living with the woman I saw in the waiting room really screwed me up. I got angry, and it put me in a bad mood all day. I tortured myself imagining him talking to her, dancing with her, making love to her, so I blocked him. I switched off my personal mobile and made sure I wasn’t accessible by using my work phone. I didn’t want to talk to him, ever. End of story. But predictably none of it worked. I just couldn’t get him out of my head.
Eventually I told Maddy. We arranged to meet and within five minutes of speaking I was in floods of tears.
‘Anya,’ she said, ‘how do you know she’s his girlfriend? She might be a flatmate.’
I stared at her in disbelief. ‘I never thought of that.’ Maddy smiled. ‘Well, I’m telling you. You need to check out stuff before going into distraught mode, and giving up on him.’
‘God, you’re so Mrs Sensible, I don’t know how you do it.’ I looked at her, wondering whether to tell her about my stalking because she still didn’t know, but I decided not to; she wouldn’t approve and it would put her in an awkward position.
I got home, and as usual looked at my computer first thing. There was a new piece of music and it wasn’t an Etta number but Chopin’s ‘Nocturne’. I sat listening to it over and over. It was unbearably sad and it made me think about when we’d first met and how we’d played together and how after the incident on the river he’d disappeared. Our friendship seemed never to have recovered from that. Life was too complicated and I wasn’t up to it. By the morning I was totally exhausted but I’d reached a kind of resolution. If Ifan was living with someone else, then so be it, but he had offered to help and I needed him, if only for that.
I dragged myself to work. Fortunately it was a day when I didn’t have to be at my best so I spent it looking at fabric designs from Sweden and became so absorbed for several hours I forgot about Ifan. Eventually, I opened my phone. There was a long list of texts and missed calls from him asking me to contact him. I rang him.
‘I like the Chopin.’
‘Where have you been?’
‘Busy. Work.’
‘Too busy to contact me?’
‘Sorry. Thought you might be otherwise engaged.’
‘When shall we meet?’
I wanted to see him there and then but I couldn’t say that. ‘Tomorrow evening?’
‘Fine, the pub down Holloway. At eight?’
‘Look forward to it.’ Then I said, ‘Have you moved?’
‘Yeah, nearer to Clissold Park now. Why you asking?’
‘Just wondered.’ I didn’t want to ask who the woman was, the one who’d picked up the phone. He didn’t answer, which raised my suspicions but I thought I’d wait until I saw him and see the lie of the land.
We sat in the same place, everything was the same, like before. He watched me walk towards me and handed me a glass of wine. This time I sat next to him. I looked at him. I was thinking, I really, really fancy you, Ifan Baranov. Especially when you smile.
‘Same again?’ He smiled and looked directly in my eyes. How did he know?
‘Thanks.’ There was a silence until I broke it. ‘Here we are again.’
‘Yep, here we are again. You want help?’
‘How are you?’
‘Fine, that’s not why you’re here though, to ask about my health. You don’t want me, you want something of me.’
‘That’s fighting talk.’ I glowered at him. Within a minute, we were in fight mode.
‘What’s with you, Anya? I’m picking up bad vibes. What’s going on?’
‘Nothing. At the moment. Who’s the woman who answered the phone, when I called you?’
‘Aaah. Now I know. So. You do care.’ He leant back, putting his arms behind his head, smiling like a Cheshire cat.
‘Don’t look so smug.’
‘Why not, I’m pleased.’
‘Don’t be. You’re neither here nor there to me.’
He grinned. ‘Okay, we’ll play it your way. So why tell you? Since you don’t care, what’s it to you?’
‘I don’t play games.’
‘Nor me. How can I help?’
‘Another of your conquests?’
‘How can I help? Disabling security lights? Breaking and entering? For you, Anya, anything. I’m your man.’ He was smirking. ‘I have some uses, it seems, not the one I want, but there you go, c’est la vie.’
I stood up, ‘Want another?’ I gestured towards his empty glass with my head. ‘Same again?’
He nodded. He had a look on his face, one I couldn’t make out. When I came back, he was on his mobile. He put it down immediately. ‘Okay, let’s get down to business. I haven’t been wasting my time. I can do it. Fix the lights and get in. And then what?’
‘I haven’t decided.’
‘Well, you need to. You need to know exactly what you want to do once you’re in. After all, I’m putting myself on the line for you, I might get caught and bang. The end of my career.’
‘We can go together. I know the building.’ He had a look that said, no. ‘Don’t you want me with you?’
‘I think not. No.’
I stared at him. I hadn’t really expected him to agree. I distracted myself by gazing round the room. The pub was filling up with local characters. The old men from the nearby estate there for the cheap booze were staring morosely into their pint; lines of casually dressed young men with loud voices blocked access to the bar; clusters of young women dressed in tight jeans and high heels screamed with laughter; and at the side, a couple of women. They were talking intently, their heads nodding in agreement with each other.
‘Is this your local?’
‘Yes, but you need to tell me soonish what you want, because I have to go.’
I couldn’t help it. I blurted out, ‘To see her, I suppose.’
‘Who?’
‘The one who answered your phone, when I rang your flat.’ I stood up. ‘I’m going.’
‘Sit down. You’re jealous, aren’t you?’ He gave me a look.
‘You’re pissed off with me. The girl you spoke to is a flatmate. End of story, but I still have to go.’
‘A female?’
‘Get off my back, Anya. You’ve been telling me you don’t care. Do you or don’t you? It might make a difference.’
‘What about breaking into his office? Having a look round, seeing what we can find?’
He did a double take. ‘Ah, we’ve changed the subject. His office? Which one?’
‘The Wigmore Street one.’
‘I’ll think about it, and I’ll let you know.’ He stood up.
‘Have to go, in a rush.’
‘You haven’t finished your drink.’
‘True, I haven’t, but I will.’ He picked up his drink and downed it in one. ‘See you soon,’ he said and walked out.
My Name Is Echo Page 24
