by K. L. Slater
She knew that only a narrow stretch of unused land lay beyond the back hedge. There were no street lights, but tonight, her bedroom and the entire garden were bathed in moonlight. It should have been beautiful… if she’d been able to ignore the sick feeling already squirming in the pit of her stomach.
She padded over to the window and gently peeled back the edge of the curtain.
From this angle, she could only see the far end of the garden, the shrubs and hedges a dark, dense mass against the wooden fence.
She pressed up against the wall and tweaked the curtain again, pulling it a little further away this time so she could see immediately beneath her bedroom window, closer to the back door.
The breath caught in her throat as a long, thin shadow flitted across the yard, melting into nothing.
On a reflex, she yanked the curtains completely open and pressed her face to the glass, her eyes flashing around the garden to search out the trespasser – if that was what it was.
But there was no more movement. No fleeting shadows.
A puff of breath evaporated on the freezing window and obscured her view, so she unhooked the window and eased it open. Cold air funnelled onto her clammy face as she squinted down into the gloom. Her face grew watchful, fearful, as she waited on the slightest flicker of movement.
There! There it was again. The curious scraping noise that had visited her in her dream.
It emanated from the right-hand side of the yard, near the kitchen door. A small area that sat in complete shadow, untouched by the moonlight. The vague outline of old patio furniture and discarded building materials was only just discernible in the meagre light.
Holly made a sharp hissing noise, in the hope that any cat hiding there would show itself, but although the scraping stopped, there was no further movement.
It would probably turn out to be something quite harmless, she reasoned silently to herself. It could be a cat, or even a fox, crouching beneath the old patio table. Watching and waiting until she closed the window again.
She’d always had an overactive imagination. It had been responsible for her visualising an amazing future when she’d first moved to Manchester.
Now it was telling her that someone had caught up with her. That someone was watching her furtively from down in the shadows.
Yet nobody from her old life knew where she was, so that couldn’t be the case, surely. But… the person at the shop window, a part of her whispered. The phone call.
Maybe it had been a debt collection company that had somehow managed to trace her. Was it feasible that Kellington’s had registered her on some kind of system as an employee, some database that other companies had access to?
She shook her head in frustration.
It was time to knock her volatile imagination on the head. There really was no need to give herself a hard time like this. She should foster a common-sense approach.
She closed the window with a dull thud, praying it wouldn’t disturb Cora. The last thing she wanted, at two in the morning, was a cup of tea and another raft of forty-year-old anecdotes to listen to.
She must learn to keep her fears in check and not panic at the first sign of something out of the ordinary.
If she’d reacted differently, a harmless noise in the yard could have been swiftly forgotten. With a pair of ear plugs and a pillow on her head, she could have drifted back to sleep, but instead she’d allowed herself to snap fully awake in an instant and conjure up a convincing batch of sinister explanations.
She’d basically written the beginnings of a pretty grim horror story in her head. And now she’d have to pay the price. She’d probably lie awake for hours, running over it all in her mind.
She’d arrive at work looking and acting like a zombie, and that was dangerous because she knew she needed to keep her wits about her. If Emily was lurking around, she needed to remain logical and watchful, and that wasn’t easily done with sleep deprivation.
Maybe listening to some gentle music in her earphones might do the trick.
As she grabbed hold of the curtains to pull them closed again, a cry escaped her lips and her hands flew up to her mouth.
There was a figure at the bottom of the garden.
Square-shouldered. Just standing there, motionless.
She hadn’t imagined it after all.
Someone was watching her. Someone knew she lived here.
She swallowed down the taste of sick in her mouth and looked over her shoulder at the bedroom door. Should she cry out for Cora to come… to witness that what Holly was seeing was real?
Clutching her pyjama top closed at her neck, she looked back at the garden, trying to decide the best action to take.
But the figure had disappeared. There was no trace of anyone having been there at all.
Chapter Fifty-Six
Holly
At the shrill, unwelcome call of the alarm, Holly struggled to open her encrusted eyelids and pressed blindly at the snooze button until the dreadful noise finally stopped.
She tried to rub the sleep from her left eye but only succeeded in irritating her eyeball. She blinked a few times to dissipate the soreness but it still felt full of sand.
She’d lain awake for hours and then dropped into a restless light sleep in which she’d dreamed about what had happened to her back then. As could often happen with dreams, some things were mixed up, nonsensical, but unfortunately it had awakened the real, still vivid memory.
* * *
The day of the elaborately planned meal, Geraldine had continued to insist that Holly join her and her husband for dinner, despite Holly’s polite protests.
She’d gone back to her bedroom for a rare half an hour’s peace while Geraldine took a shower and got changed. Before she’d gone to her own room, her boss had told Holly what to wear and how to style her hair.
Sometimes Geraldine acted so weirdly, Holly had scowled to herself. What other woman would want a young girl hanging around like a spare part when she had the chance of a rare romantic night in with her husband? It didn’t make much sense.
Holly had showered quickly, washed her hair and wrapped herself in a soft, fleecy robe. She’d dried her hair and then pulled the dressing table stool over to the window, where she’d sat, her elbows on the windowsill, staring longingly out at the greenery beyond, luxuriating in the few minutes she had alone,
Over the last week, she’d spotted a new gardener once or twice. A guy around her own age with crew-cut hair and muscled arms. In fact, he looked rather like a younger Brendan.
‘What’s the new gardener’s name?’ she’d asked Geraldine one day, keeping her tone level. Her boss didn’t generally like Holly taking an interest in anything or anyone that didn’t directly benefit Geraldine herself.
‘What? I didn’t even know we had a new gardener.’ Geraldine had shrugged, uninterested. ‘Brendan sorts all that sort of thing out.’
Holly had spotted him again yesterday morning. He had such a nice face, kind and trustworthy, she’d thought. It would be so nice to have someone else to chat to here.
But she hadn’t seen him around today.
Movement caught her eye then and she saw a glint amongst the leaves as the metal gates swung back behind the trees. It looked like Brendan was home early.
That would no doubt panic Geraldine, Holly thought glumly. She’d already said she wanted to look perfect for when her husband arrived home.
The sleek black Ferrari glided up the driveway and parked outside the front entrance. Holly tracked it until it drew too close to the house for her to see.
Flicking the switch on the curling tongs, she began to style her hair the way Geraldine had suggested. She’d quickly learned that her boss’s suggestions were actually clear instructions and were not generally up for debate.
It was always easiest to do exactly as Geraldine bade her.
She applied a bit of make-up, fluffed up her curls and sprayed them, then slipped on the silky kimono-style dress that she’d w
orn only once before but that Geraldine had deemed was a look that suited her.
Fifteen minutes later, she had headed downstairs.
‘Wow, lucky me,’ Brendan had grinned when she appeared at the lounge door. ‘Two beautiful women to entertain me at dinner tonight.’
‘Hi, Brendan.’ Holly had smiled, but inside, she’d silently raged. Entertain him indeed! She’d much rather be watching tonight’s episode of Big Brother in the peace of her own room than witness the two of them simpering at each other for hours down here.
‘So, how’re things going with my two favourite ladies?’ Brendan had poured himself a generous whisky and Holly watched as he knocked it straight back before pouring another.
‘Everything’s good, thanks.’ She’d nodded, sensing an opportunity. ‘Brendan, I wondered if you’d had a chance to get a copy of my contract from Myra yet?’
‘I am such a klutz!’ He’d clapped his hand to his forehead. ‘I’ll get her to print it off on Monday when she’s back in the office. Pinky promise.’
Holly was well past nodding and thanking him by now. It was the same old story time after time, and she didn’t grace it with a response.
‘Wit-woo!’ Brendan had given a low whistle as Geraldine appeared. ‘I’m the luckiest man on earth.’
Holly had to agree. Geraldine looked simply stunning, in a full-length powder-blue gown that set her glossy chestnut hair off perfectly. A simple diamond collar hugged the base of her throat and more jewels glistened on her fingers and wrist.
Her eye make-up was dark and sultry and her lips pouted in a shimmery pale apricot gloss. In contrast, Holly felt like a little kid dressed as a woman.
‘You look really beautiful, Geraldine,’ she’d said dutifully.
‘Thank you, darling.’ She’d gracefully accepted the glass of champagne that Brendan handed her. He’d picked up another glass and offered it to Holly.
‘Thanks, but I was just going to have juice tonight,’ she’d said.
‘Ahem… nobody will be drinking orange juice on my watch.’ Brendan had grinned, holding his own glass aloft. ‘Cheers!’
They’d toasted and Holly took a sip of the fizz. She had to admit it did taste delicious.
After the food, which Holly had noticed they both barely touched, Brendan put on a George Michael album and the three of them retired to the big soft leather couches.
‘I’ll have another drink with you and then I’ll take myself up to bed,’ Holly had said. ‘It’s been a really lovely evening.’
‘Nonsense,’ Geraldine had replied. ‘We hardly ever get the chance to chat together, the three of us. I don’t want you to go up yet, Holly.’
Holly had forced a smile and wondered how many more of Brendan’s business stories she could endure without falling asleep. They all ran along the same lines: an amazing business opportunity presented itself, somebody mucked the deal up, everyone thought all was lost, and then clever, resourceful Brendan saved the day. Yawn.
The worst part had been that he addressed everything he said directly to Holly, forcing her to pay attention and make all the right noises in all the right places.
Geraldine’s initial brighter mood had seemed to desert her after dinner, and she’d sat staring into space as Brendan rattled through his stories, obviously bored out of her brains from hearing them all before.
Holly had thought the end of the evening was drawing near, that soon she’d be tucked up in bed savouring a little time alone before sleep. Precious moments when she could be herself again.
She couldn’t have known that within the hour, she would lose ‘Holly’ altogether. That even years later, she would still be fighting to find herself.
Chapter Fifty-Seven
David
My eyes snap wide open.
For a second or two I don’t know where I am, until I turn my head and see the reassuring square of the floral curtains filtering the early light at the window.
My heartbeat slows a touch but I still do the talking bit to soothe myself.
I’m at home, in my bed. I’m safe. Everything is fine.
It’s the same voice that reassured the young lad in the playground when he had nobody to play with at break time and lunch. It’s the same voice that calmed him down on the daunting walk home, wondering if Johnny Camps and his mates would be waiting for him round the next corner yet again.
It’s all in the past now. I’m looking ahead to the future.
I do the breathing, in and out. Long, slow breaths that carry away the tightness in my face. I wiggle my jaw and get the satisfying crack that will release yet more tension.
In a rush, I remember that I forgot to take my tablets again yesterday. I’ll need to remove them from the foil packets, flush them down the loo before Mother sees.
I kick off the covers, exposing my hot limbs to the cool air.
The dream… It was so real.
I was back there, on that very street. Della was screaming so loudly, but I couldn’t stop myself… I couldn’t stop punching and kicking, even when my knuckles were skinned. And then, when she collapsed on the floor, I still couldn’t stop.
I did the only thing I could do in the dream… I ran. And when the police sirens came, I ran faster still.
That day, when they picked me up, I was still running.
Later, all the police wanted to know was why I’d tried to escape, and of course, I had no answer for that. I could hardly say I was so far gone in the red mist of rage that if I hadn’t managed to get myself away, they’d be investigating a murder now.
I was sorry, I said. I was so sorry for Della and sorry, now, for what I’d done.
I shake my head to dispel the thoughts. This line of thinking is not remotely helpful.
Things are different now.
I have a good job and I have Holly’s friendship.
I’m not a dangerous man. Despite everything that happened, things getting out of hand.
Everybody loses it at some point in their life; it’s just that it had disastrous consequences for Della.
One day, I might even tell Holly about it, but not now. Probably not for a very long time.
The last thing I want to do is scare her off.
Chapter Fifty-Eight
Holly
Holly sat up in bed and swung her legs out from under the covers until her feet touched the scratchy threadbare carpet.
She stared at the window, the spot where she’d stood in the early hours.
As predicted, she’d lain awake for ages after hearing the noises outside and then spotting the staring figure at the end of the garden.
Finally forcing herself back to bed, she’d had to fight the urge to keep getting up to peer out of the window, terrified that the figure had returned. A paralysing fear had kept her motionless and cowering under the duvet.
Hour after hour, the glowing red digits had marched relentlessly onwards, and ironically, the more she fretted over getting up for work, the more sleep completely evaded her.
As she’d watched from the window, clouds had drifted across the moon like a cliché, and the figure had seemed to disappear before her very eyes. Yes, she’d looked away, but only for a second or two.
Now, in the cold light of day, she knew she’d managed to get herself in such a state, she really couldn’t be certain that she hadn’t imagined the whole thing.
Maybe nobody had ever been out there watching… except in her head.
Logic told Holly that it was very early days for someone to have found out where she worked, where she lived. It wasn’t as if Manchester was on the doorstep; it was over eighty miles further north.
At work, she’d been careful to study every customer’s face as they’d entered the shop, and no one had ever looked remotely familiar to her, apart from some of the regulars she was now getting to know.
Why did this have to happen? Things at work were going better than she could ever have imagined. Since Emily had left, Holly had been undisputed top dog in terms o
f sales.
Emily.
Holly shuddered at the thought of her previous threat, and then it hit her… She’d assumed the figure watching her last night had been a man, but what if it wasn’t? What if it had been Emily, come to seek revenge for having resigned from Kellington’s – something she’d made clear she considered Holly’s fault.
Thanks to Martyn spilling the beans yesterday, Holly knew that Emily was quite capable of scheming someone else’s demise. She’d certainly had no trouble getting rid of poor Lynette.
Holly had been telling herself that the woman she’d seen walking away from the shop window yesterday and the mystery phone call to the house both had perfectly logical explanations.
But what if her instincts had been spot on, and it was in fact Emily Beech who’d been watching her as she worked? She could have obtained Holly’s address from Kellington’s records and traced Cora’s landline from that.
Likewise, the figure could easily have been Geraldine. Or someone sent by her. Geraldine had more than enough financial clout to pay some violent numbskull to track Holly down.
But if that was the case, why hadn’t something awful already happened to her? Perhaps Geraldine was just waiting for the right moment.
Holly didn’t know how long she could cope living constantly on her nerves, waiting for something to happen.
Last night she’d had a few glasses of wine again to help her sleep. She knew that if she didn’t watch it, she could find herself with a drink problem like before. But it seemed at the moment that booze was the only thing that could keep her frayed nerves at bay.
On the surface, most of the people around her seemed supportive and kind. But Holly knew only too well that under their benign everyday masks, people could turn out to be truly monstrous.
