by M K Farrar
Robert Swain doesn’t know that about you, does he? And what about the doll?
Those were personal things only someone close to her would know. Someone like Gary. She and Gary hadn’t been getting on recently, but would he try to screw with her head? She remembered how her contraceptive pill had gone missing. She hadn’t given him what he wanted, but was that a good enough reason to make her feel like she was going mad? He’d even tried to convince her that she had dreamed the first of those strange phone calls. She might have upset Timothy by not being into his advances—was that enough for him to want her harm? And that was before she’d even got started on Robert Swain and all the reasons he had for wanting something bad to happen to her.
Someone was messing with her. The phone calls. The strange delivery. Things missing. The feeling that she was being watched or followed. She was sure it wasn’t just coincidence, or her overthinking things. There was more to it than that.
But who would do that?
At what point should she start to worry that this was more than someone just trying to upset her, and that whoever was responsible actually meant her harm?
She remembered the card Detective Norton had given her earlier that day.
Pulling herself together, she checked her pockets for where she might have put the card. What had she done with it? No, she’d slipped it into her handbag.
Should she dial the number? She could tell him she’d been getting pesky phone calls, without alluding to the possibility that she knew who was making them. If Gary had nothing to do with it, he’d think she was a complete psychopath for getting the police to turn up while he was staying at a friend’s place. Besides, he’d been here when they’d happened before, so it couldn’t be him.
Each time, her thoughts returned to Robert Swain. He’d threatened her, hadn’t he? Maybe a quick visit from the police would be enough to get him to back off.
She picked up the phone from where she’d thrown in. The plastic part that fitted into the wall was cracked, the wire frayed. She could tell just by looking that it wouldn’t even fit back into the socket.
“Shit.”
There was a phone box at the end of her street. It was normally covered in graffiti and smelled faintly of urine, but it would be working.
She glanced towards the window. It was dark outside now. Anyone could be lurking around out there. For all she knew, the call could have originated at the phone box at the end of her road, and she’d be walking right into a trap.
Amy sank onto the kitchen chair and wrapped her arms around herself. She’d never been the type of woman who wouldn’t go outside when it was dark. Had never worried about walking London’s streets at night. But here she was, afraid to step out of her door and onto her own street.
What was becoming of her?
Chapter Nineteen
Amy woke with a start, her heart racing, already on high alert. It had taken her forever to get to sleep that night, unable to switch off and relax, though that was hardly surprising, considering the circumstances. But now she was awake once more, her pulse thudding in her ears.
What had roused her? Had it been a bad dream? But she didn’t think she’d been dreaming anything that would have given her reason to wake herself up.
Holding the bedcovers close to her chest, she sat up. Her ears strained. It might easily have been a noise from the street that had disturbed her sleep. This was London, after all. It was rarely quiet. There was always a distant hum of traffic, or sirens or car alarms going off at all times of night. Rowdy groups of people coming back from the pub often sang and laughed their way down the street.
Or maybe it had been the neighbours in the flat downstairs. They were a quiet, middle-aged couple with no children who kept themselves to themselves, but they might have been having an argument and the shouts had stirred her.
Amy listened intently, trying to hear over the sound of her thumping heartbeat. Once more, she found herself wishing for Gary’s presence, wishing she could nudge him in the side and tell him she’d heard something, and he needed to wake up and go and check it out. She knew she was seeing things with rose-coloured glasses, though. Even when he’d been here, he’d probably have just told her she was imagining things and she needed to go lie back down.
Knowing she’d never be able to get back to sleep unless she assured herself that everything was just as she’d left it, she climbed out of bed. She normally slept in only a vest and her knickers, but feeling vulnerable and exposed, she’d gone to bed that night wearing a pair of jogging bottoms as well. Amy reached the bedroom door. It was open a crack, and she paused, her head cocked to one side, listening for any sound that might be coming from the rest of the flat.
Everything was in silence.
Amy eased out of the bedroom door. She wished she had thought to take a weapon of some kind to bed with her—a knife, or the old cricket bat she was sure Gary still had in the hallway cupboard—but it hadn’t occurred to her. She wouldn’t make that same mistake twice.
Creeping down the hallway, she paused outside the bathroom. The door stood open, so she was able to see inside, though the room was in darkness. Did she dare switch the light on? If there was an intruder, it would alert them to her presence. But she needed to check properly in case someone was hiding in there, and she couldn’t do that in the dark.
In her head, she counted herself down. One, two, three... And she flicked on the light. A warm, yellow glow filled the bathroom. Amy stepped forward, looked behind the door, and then whipped back the shower curtain.
The place was empty.
She repeated the process with each of the rooms, searching the kitchen and the lounge, opening cupboards and looking behind curtains. There was no one else in the flat with her. Whatever the noise was she’d heard, it must have come from outside. She was so wired up at the moment from the horrible phone calls and everything else, it was no wonder her half-asleep brain had conjured an external noise into something more threatening.
Even so, she decided to take Gary’s old cricket bat to bed with her this time. She thought she was far more likely to take a swing at someone with it, than she was likely to stab someone, if she should find an intruder. She wasn’t sure she would have the stomach to actually plunge a blade into another human being’s body, and that hesitation might be enough to get herself killed.
She went to the store cupboard beside the front door and opened it. Inside, she rifled through a myriad of old coats, a vacuum cleaner, and several bags, and boxes that contained god only knew what, before she put her hands on solid wood. She pulled it out, liking the weight of the bat in her hand, and shut the door again.
Amy turned to head back to bed, but then paused and frowned. Something was different.
She suddenly realised what it was. She hadn’t put the security chain on the front door before she’d gone to bed. That was strange. She always put the chain on when she locked up for the night.
Gripping the bat in one hand, she reached out to the door handle with the other. Wrapping her fingers around the handle, and she turned it.
The front door was unlocked.
Amy paused, her mind racing. Hadn’t she locked the door before she’d gone to bed that night? She pictured herself doing it, but perhaps she’d forgotten. Even though she’d been paranoid about security recently, there had been a lot on her mind.
Forgetting was better than the other explanation, which was that she’d put the chain on, and someone had unlocked it from the inside.
In a sudden flurry of panic, she grabbed the keys from the side and locked the door properly this time. She fumbled with the chain but managed to slide it into place.
Spinning around, Amy faced the inside of her home. No one else was here. She’d already searched the place, but once again, that same sensation of being watched swept over her.
“Just leave me alone!” she cried, not even caring if the downstairs neighbour heard her shouting out in the middle of the night. “Why can’t you leave
me alone?”
But no answer came back, the silent emptiness of the flat feeling like a threat.
SHE’D LAIN AWAKE MOST of the night, the cricket bat in the bed beside her where her boyfriend used to lie, wishing she had someone to turn to. A part of her even imagined calling Gary and begging him to come home, telling him she’d changed her mind and that she’d marry him and have his baby, just so long as he didn’t leave her alone in the flat again.
But she wasn’t that kind of woman—the one who settled for a man and became the little housewife just for the security it offered.
When the sky finally started to lighten behind her bedroom curtains, however, she was relieved to be able to get up and pretend everything was normal. She had patients who needed her. She knew who she was when she was at work, and she could focus on others rather than herself.
By the time Amy arrived into work, she was experiencing the slightly out-of-body sensation of the truly exhausted, barely making it there on time.
Someone was already sitting in the waiting area.
“Edward,” she said in surprise. “I wasn’t expecting to see you today.”
He pressed his lips together and nodded, his hands clenched in one large fist between his knees. “I know, but you said I could come, whenever.”
“Yes, I did, and I meant that. Do you want to come through to my office?” She still had half an hour before her first patient arrived.
He nodded and got to his feet and followed her in. She gestured for him to take a seat on the sofa and then dropped down into her chair.
She stifled a yawn behind her hand. “I’m sorry. I didn’t get much sleep last night.”
His features tightened. “Because of what my dad said to you?”
She didn’t want him to feel responsible. “Oh, no, not that. I broke up with my boyfriend. It wasn’t working out, but it’s still weird being in the flat on my own.”
Why was she telling him this?
“Anyway, you’re here to talk about how you’re feeling? How are things at home?”
He shrugged. “Okay, I guess.”
“Your dad seemed pretty angry yesterday.”
“Yeah, he gets like that.”
“Does he ever get so angry he can’t control himself?”
Edward shrugged.
“You know there are people who can help you, Edward. Just say the word, and we can get you out of there.”
Edward scuffed his foot back and forth across the floor. “Yeah, and then what? I end up in a kids’ home.”
“There are some really wonderful foster parents available,” she encouraged. “Loving, nurturing people who would be happy to take care of you.”
But he shook his head. “No one is going to want someone like me. I’m thirteen next month. I’ve been expelled from school. I get angry like my dad sometimes, too. People like that want cute little kids they can take care of, not someone like me.
“I can leave home at sixteen. That’s only a little over three years away. I can handle my dad until then.”
“But you don’t have to. That’s what I’m trying to tell you.”
Edward got to his feet. “Thanks for looking out for me.”
“What are you doing? You don’t have to go.”
“Yeah, I do. But thanks for listening.”
She offered him a tired smile. “It’s good to talk about things. Means we don’t have everything all pent-up inside us. That can help with the anger issues, too.”
Edward snorted. “Maybe it should be my dad who’s coming to these sessions.”
She nodded. “You’re spot on. That’s why I prefer to have family sessions.”
“Maybe I’m more like my dad than I want to believe. I guess we deserve each other.”
“No one deserves to be frightened in their own home,” she replied, while thinking about how terrified she’d been in her flat last night. However, Edward’s fear was very real, whereas she was a little worried much of hers might be all in her head.
Chapter Twenty
She needed coffee. Her usual tea wasn’t going to cut it today.
The clinic had a small, shared staffroom which contained a kettle and an under-the-counter fridge for any lunches brought in from home. Money went into a kitty each month to keep the staffroom supplied with teas, coffees, and biscuits—all of which Linda was responsible for keeping stocked.
Amy dumped a couple of teaspoons of instant coffee into a mug and then added some sugar. She needed all the help she could get.
The door opened, and her heart dropped as Timothy entered.
“Amy, good morning.”
She forced a smile. “Morning.”
He pointed back towards the door. “That was the Swain boy I just saw leaving, wasn’t it?”
“Yes, it was.”
“What did he want?”
She shrugged one shoulder. “Nothing. Just to talk. That’s what we’re here for, after all.”
“Very true.” He peered over at her cup. “Oh, is that a coffee you’re making. I could do with one of those myself.”
Instead of giving her the chance for her to offer to make him one, he stepped closer, pressing her into the counter with his body. He reached out to pick up a mug, and the back of his hand slid across the front of her breast.
Exhausted and already tightly wound, Amy snapped. “Please, Timothy, you really need to stop doing that.”
He jerked his head towards her, a frown crumpling his brow. “I’m sorry? Doing what?”
The truth rushed out of her in a stream. “All the accidental brushes against my body and squeezing my thigh or my arm. It makes me feel really uncomfortable.”
“I’m sorry, Amy, but I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
She threw her hands in the air. “Oh, come off it! All the thigh squeezing and the ‘accidental’”—she used her fingers in the air to place the word in quotes— “brushing of my breast. I’m not stupid or oblivious.”
“Well, I’m afraid I must be then, because all of this is news to me. We work in a close-knit office, Amy. Sometimes we brush past each other, or maybe I’ve tried to be too encouraging, but I certainly never meant it that way.”
She felt herself shrinking, wanting to crumple into a tiny ball and vanish altogether. He was so convincing. Had she really overthought it all and blown everything up in her mind? She’d been under a lot of stress lately.
“Okay, fine. Just please be more careful of it in future.”
Humiliated and close to tears, she left her mug of half-made coffee where it was and ran from the staffroom.
Had she really been overthinking it? She didn’t think so, but he’d been convincing enough to make her doubt herself.
She needed someone else’s opinion.
Amy remembered how the other woman had told her that ‘us girls needed to stick together’. Maybe that had been Patricia’s way of trying to bring her into the fold. She needed to trust someone—needed to talk to someone—or she was sure she’d go mad.
Before she could change her mind, she went to the other therapist’s office and knocked on the door.
“I’m sorry, Patricia, have you got a moment?”
“Yes, of course. Come in.” Patricia frowned at her in concern. “Are you all right. You look terrible.”
“No, I’m not. Not really.”
“Tell me all about it.”
“This is going to sound bad...” she warned.
“Please, you can tell me,” she said, her voice smooth and calm. Soothing. Despite her hard outer appearance, Amy suddenly understood why Patricia was a therapist.
“I’ve been having some trouble with Timothy.”
Patricia’s eyebrows lifted. “Trouble?”
“Yes.” Her cheeks heated. “He keeps touching me—like nothing terrible, really. Just what are made to look like accidental brushes, or a hand on my thigh, or squeezing my arm. It makes me really uncomfortable.”
“Oh. Have you said anything to him?”
“Yes, I have. I told him to stop, and he made out like he had no idea what I was talking about. He acted as though I was exaggerating or had made the whole thing up, but I know I haven’t. I really love this job and I don’t want to lose it just because of this. All I want is for him to be professional.”
“I see. I’m not completely sure how I’m supposed to help, to be honest. Do you want me to have a word with him?”
“I guess I was wondering if you’d experienced anything similar with Timothy? I wanted to reassure myself that it isn’t just me overreacting.”
“I’m sorry, but no, I haven’t. But then look at you, a pretty young thing, with that perfect figure and that long, silky dark hair. I can understand why Timothy would want to get a bit more up close and personal with you. I’m certainly not the type who’d attract that kind of attention.”
Was it Amy’s imagination, or did she detect a frisson of jealousy in Patricia’s tone? No, she was being paranoid again. Someone like Patricia didn’t need the attention of a man to boost her self-esteem. She was an accomplished, intelligent woman.
“Oh, I’m sure that’s not true.” Amy said, feeling awkward.
“Would you like me to speak to him?” she offered.
Amy waved a hand. “No, no. Please don’t. Let’s just keep this to ourselves. I’ll see how things go now I’ve spoken to him. Hopefully, he just hadn’t been aware of it, and now he is.”
“Of course. Whatever you think is best.” Patricia smiled warmly, and the worry Amy had experienced only moments before faded.
“And how’s it been going with that other thing you came to talk to me about?” Patricia asked.
Amy grimaced and sank down into the chair. “Not so great either, to be honest.”
“No?”
“I went to speak to the detective who was on the case when the mother went missing.”
She frowned. “You did? I thought you were concerned about violence in the home?”
