by Diane Ezzard
I KNOW
YOUR EVERY MOVE
Diane Ezzard
www.dezzardwriter.com
email:[email protected]
NEWSLETTER SIGN UP
I hope you enjoy reading my novel as much as I enjoyed writing it. I am looking to build a relationship up with my readers, so occasionally I will be sending out newsletters. These will include otherwise untold information about the characters, things about myself, special offers and other bits of news.
I would love you to join us and in return for giving me your email which will never be passed on to third parties, you will receive a free copy of AS SICK AS OUR SECRETS, the sequel to this book.
You can find the sign-up page on my website www.dezzardwriter.com or through the link:-http://dezzardwriter.com/mc4wp-form-preview
Chapter One
YESTERDAY
Something soft and feathery brushed past the end of my nose. I sneezed and opened my eyes.
“Oh Max,” I said.
The vision of loveliness that met me made me smile. What an adorable furry sight to wake up to in the morning. Sat on top of the silver satin duvet cover lay Max, the new addition to my family. At twelve-weeks-old, Max was a cute, mischievous bundle of joy. With big doleful eyes looking up at me, my heart melted. I stroked his velvety golden coat and tickled him under his chin.
“Want your breakfast, Max?”
I ignored the sound of him purring as I pressed my phone and looked at the time. 6.42. I groaned. I didn’t need to get up early today. It was Saturday so no work and I’d had a fitful night’s sleep.
I’d had that dream again. The same one I’d been having over the last few months. I was running away from something or someone. I didn’t know what, but I always woke up full of tension and fear. Thankfully, I never got caught. One minute I was jogging by the river, on my usual route, the next I’d been transported to a house. The combination of the red poppy wallpaper and mint green leather sofa was a scene I knew well from my childhood. Mum stood by the mirror in the hall, carefully putting on her lipstick. She wore the last outfit I’d seen her in, a tan polo neck ribbed jumper and fawn herringbone tweed skirt. I pulled at her arm.
“Please come, Mum.” She didn’t acknowledge me.
“Mum, come on, we need to go.” No response.
“Hurry up Mum.” Still, she ignored me.
I wasn’t happy. Whether it was the bright shade of her crimson lip colour I didn’t like or the fact she didn’t respond to me, I didn’t know.
In the dream, I began to panic as I sensed trouble brewing. I kept looking around. I had to act now. I tried one last time, shaking her.
“Mum, Mum, we’ve got to leave.” She continued to face the mirror.
“Come on Mum, we’ve got to go.”
I shouted out but Mum still didn’t acknowledge me. I began to cry. Fear enveloped me. I knew we were in danger. I watched her as she slowly applied another coat of lipstick and massaged her lips against each other. She didn’t respond to me so I turned away from her and ran.
That was when I woke up. Slowly, I re-entered the land of the living with a big stretch. Max jumped off the bed. My palms were sweating and my pulse was racing. The anxiety rose in my chest. I had left Mum again and even though I knew it was only a dream, I didn’t feel good. My stomach ached as I thought of the memories of her.
Might as well get up now I’m awake, I thought and walked over to open the curtains. I squinted as I looked outside. It wasn’t the brightness of the day that greeted me. The clouds looked grey and forlorn. I begrudgingly put my dressing gown on and pottered into the kitchen.
I had Max now to look after, and I enjoyed spoiling him. My first job in a morning was to get him a saucer of milk and his food.
“Come on Max, here’s your breakfast,” I said. He didn’t even give me the chance to get the food out of the can. He had his nose busy poking inside, trying to get at the fishy delights.
There weren’t many places for a kitten to wander around and explore, especially with a flat as small as mine. When he got bigger, I knew I would have to let him out to discover the big wide world, and that scared me.
After feeding Max, I reached up into the cupboard to get the breakfast cereal. I sat for a few minutes, crunching a mouthful of fruit and fibre, contemplating the day ahead. Saturday usually meant doing chores which I detested, followed by a trip down to the shops to get my groceries for the weekend.
Shopping list done, I began milling around the place, starting with tidying up the kitchen. After walking into the hall to get the mop out of the cupboard, I checked myself out in the mirror.
My hair looked tangled, so I picked up the hairbrush and brushed it. It had a sheen and style that many women envied. I loved the comments I got about my beautiful long red locks.
The flat never seemed lonely on a Saturday, thanks to James Martin. Saturday Morning Kitchen was a favourite TV programme of mine. It formed part of my weekend ritual that included eating a bacon butty for lunch and a curry later that night. I didn’t think of myself as a creature of habit, but there were certain behaviours that ran so deep, they were a regular part of my life now.
I had a passion for food, which spanned from cooking to watching cookery programmes on TV. I owned a vast range of recipe books and of course, I loved eating. Thankfully, I enjoyed running, as my frame would have been a lot larger had I not.
I wasn’t one to try new recipes, I usually kept to classics like chilli and fish pie. I often dreamed of being the head chef of a Michelin-starred restaurant. Sadly the culinary skills I possessed fell a long way short of that. Sometimes, I’d be in the shower, merrily singing away and realise that the sound accompanying me wasn’t violins but the smoke detector going off in the other room. I would then remember that I’d put a couple of rashers of bacon under the grill.
I was concentrating on watching Rick Stein making a fish stew before getting up to tackle the ironing. Wrestling to put the ironing board up wasn’t easy in the small confines of the kitchen. There was very little room to manoeuvre. I sighed heavily and frowned. I didn’t like housework, least of all the ironing.
Suddenly the house phone rang. The old fashioned cream coloured telephone sat a few feet from where I stood. I’d bought it to tone in with my muted decor. The penetrating sound of the intermittent bell ringing made me jump, and with jerked shoulders, I listened intently to the shrill tone. It was unusual to hear the house phone these days. Most people phoned me on my mobile. In fact, I only used the landline for the internet so I couldn’t imagine who it could be. Only Dad rang me on the landline and we had a set time every Sunday night to speak. He never detracted from that, so I knew it couldn’t be him. I decided not to answer. It was probably one of those PPI compensation calls or the ones that ask if you’ve been involved in an accident.
The phone got louder with every ring. The noise had distracted me from the ironing, and lacking concentration, I hadn’t realised that I’d misjudged the iron plate. The hot iron toppled over and I instinctively put my hand out to catch it.
Damn, I swore under my breath. The heat of the iron burnt through to my fingers and I screamed out. I was annoyed with myself for being so stupid. I quickly managed to shimmy past the ironing board to get to the sink. I put my hand under the cold water tap. Ow, did that hurt. I kept my fingers under the icy blast of water and I heard the phone still ringing.
That didn’t sound like a friendly bell, more like the harsh warning sound of a siren. The loud noise blocked out the pleasant familiar tones of the omelette competition on TV. I urged the phone to stop. My heart pounded and my fingers throbbed with pain. Why didn’t it stop? I became irritated. The constant sound of the phone began to take on a macabre ton
e, and I became afraid to remove my hand from under the cold flow of water. Should I answer? No, I’ve left it this long.
My mind started playing tricks on me. Memories flooded back of a time when I had been trapped in the clutches of someone else’s obsessions. A shudder came over me. What if it’s him? No, I knew I was being silly now.
What if it’s important? Pull yourself together, girl. If it’s urgent, they’ll leave a message, I told myself. I turned the tap off at the same time the phone stopped ringing. I picked up the remote control and turned off the TV.
The silence was eerie and I could feel the thudding of my pulse. A knot churned over in my stomach and nausea crept up from my guts into my throat. My palms started to sweat, and the perspiration dripped from my forehead. My mouth was dry. A tightness developed in my chest and I bit my lip. Why was I getting so nervous about a phone ringing?
I walked over to the table, tentatively picking up the receiver with my good hand. My nerves erupted when I heard the tone that indicated there had been a message left. Stop getting so worked up, girl.
This was stupid. Breathing rapidly, I took the phone to my ear. A wave of cold air came over me as I listened intently. And I listened, and I listened. Nothing. I breathed a sigh of relief. Probably one of those nuisance companies, I thought.
I shook my throbbing hand and decided to leave the ironing until another time. I went into the bathroom to get a shower. I stood under the hot water for longer than normal and I chastised myself for getting so worked up over the phone. The water poured down, covering my body. The heat of it felt good. My fingers were still smarting. The shower door normally gave adequate sound proofing but, even with soap in my ears, I heard the ring tone of the house phone again.
I’ll leave it, I thought to myself. It’s probably the same annoying company that rung earlier. The ringing had stopped by the time I got out but, when I reached for the towel, it started up again. I was becoming irritated now.
Briskly drying myself down, I put on my dressing gown then went back into the kitchen to make myself a drink. I put the water in the kettle. The phone started ringing again. Whoever was phoning certainly wasn’t taking no for an answer so I decided to check the phone for messages in case an emergency had come up.
I knew I shouldn’t be agitated over this but I’d had such bad experiences in the past with menacing calls. I now had an unfounded fear around phones. Blind panic overwhelmed me as I listened and heard the distorted robot-like voice of a text call coming through the receiver.
“DON’T THINK YOU CAN GET AWAY WITH THIS.”
What on earth did that mean? Get away with what? It was a strange message, and I didn’t understand. Then I realised there was another message to listen to, so I pressed the button and waited.
In the same spooky, tinny voice of technology I heard, “SLUTS END UP GETTING WHAT THEY DESERVE.” I started shaking.
I wondered if I could have misheard the messages so played them again. No, there was no mistaking the words. I pressed in the digits to find out the number the calls had been sent from but the voice came back, ‘Caller number withheld.’
I walked over to the sofa and sat down, my shoulders hunched, slowly taking in what had just happened. I wrapped my arms around my body and rocked from side to side, thinking. Was this a wrong number and all a mistake or could this be something more sinister?
Chapter Two
THREE WEEKS AGO
“But I don’t want to go to your mum’s,” I heard the boy say. I held the door open as a young boy with short gelled brown hair breezed past me.
“Come on, it’ll only be for an hour,” a pretty girl with blonde highlights said as she hurried out after him. No suggestion of a thank you, I thought as I stood to one side to let them pass. With their exit drifted the strong bitter aroma of the ground Columbian coffee beans mixed with a hint of caramel. I loved that smell. I breathed in deeply. It didn’t take much to lure me into the coffee shop. My senses were already enjoying the anticipation of the percolating experience.
Still holding onto the door to Costa, I scanned the scene. I saw the dark red painted walls adorned with black and white pictures. The chestnut brown tables brimmed with used crockery and the busy shoppers were enjoying their small talk. As I walked inside, the noise started up as a gentle murmur, turning into a deafening cacophony of varying pitches of voices.
I looked at the queue and sighed. It was long. I counted nine people. Not sure why I counted them, but I did. It wasn’t like in the supermarket where I would try to gauge the smallest queue. It was a skill, estimating both numbers in line and basket items, then judge from that which queue to get in.
Today I knew that everywhere would be busy in the centre of Bury. It was Saturday afternoon. If I wanted coffee, I was going to have to wait wherever I went. I made up my mind to stay and listen to the churning, steaming sounds of the coffee machine. Dawdling along the aisles of Marks and Spencers could wait. It was time for a much needed break and what better than with a latte fix.
Licking my lips, I lingered over the confectionery delights displayed in front of me. They weren’t going to tempt me today. I stood patiently waiting for my skinny latte, watching with interest as the overworked but unflustered baristas made a range of drinks.
The man in front of me held up a chocolate lolly. He looked in his forties. He was sporting a long and floppy Gallagher-style haircut.
As he approached the front of the queue with just his lolly in his hand, he said, “There was a time when Saturday afternoons meant going down the pub with the lads for a few pints,” he chuckled to himself, “Then on to Gigg Lane to watch the football.” He held the lolly up high for all to see. “Now look at me,” he said. The lolly had a smiley face painted on in white chocolate. Shaking his head, he continued, “What has my life become?”
The young man behind the counter kept his eyes on the till as he tapped in the sale. With a deadpan expression, he replied, “Rock and roll, man, rock and roll.” It made me grin. I’ve always loved the natural humour of Northerners.
My drink finally arrived, and I made my way to a table, finding an empty chair at the back of the room. I moved the dirty cups and plates that greeted me, carefully placing the mug onto the table. I felt a sense of achievement, having balanced it all the way from the serving area without spilling any. I sat down and sipped a mouthful of coffee.
With not much else on my mind, I’d been thinking about the night ahead. My only plans that evening were to sprawl out on the sofa with the crossword, idly watching nothing in particular on TV, alone. At twenty-seven, I was firmly embedded on the singles shelf and I thought it was time for a change. I didn’t drink anymore, so I hardly went out socially, certainly not to pubs or clubs.
I had my laptop in my shopping bag. Perhaps I should make use of it. I reached down to retrieve it from amongst the new tights and deodorant I’d purchased. Putting it on the table, I pressed the start up button.
My friend Becky had met someone through internet dating and they’d been together now for over two years. Maybe I ought to give it a try. What’s the harm in having a look, I pondered to myself? I shook the computer’s mouse and, after a short search on Google had pulled up the login page for a dating site for professionals. Without giving it much thought, I’d rattled out my details and started scanning through the photographs. I’d been on there for several minutes, concentrating on the screen, oblivious to my surroundings.
Taking a breather, I yawned and stretched out my arms. My feet throbbed after spending two hours shopping. They could do with a good soak when I get in, I thought.
Suddenly, I glanced over towards the counter and my heart missed a beat when I saw who had walked through the door. I twisted the silver ring I wore on my middle finger, turning it round and round, constantly. I held my breath as I scanned around the cafe. I noticed some of the women were looking in his direction. I took a visibly deep sigh and slumped in my chair so that I could only just be seen over the top of the l
aptop. I peered at him, undetected. He looked as immaculately dressed as always. His snugly fitted navy-coloured Moncler jacket with a red cashmere scarf wrapped around his neck set off his piercing blue eyes. His cheeks looked rosy from the cold air and I watched him run his fingers through his straight dark hair, combing it back into place. I tried to look back at my screen but couldn’t concentrate.
My mouth went dry, and I struggled to swallow. The butterflies were doing somersaults in my stomach. Glancing back up, I saw that he was now walking down the aisle towards me. Embarrassed by the page I had open online, I quickly closed the laptop and put it back in my bag.
Another moment and he was towering over my seat. Our eyes met.
“Hi, Sophie, fancy seeing you here!”
Simon’s face was beaming. I’d always loved that dimple he had on his chin. I rose to give him a hug and forced a nervous smile.
“How are you, Simon?”
“I’m great and you’re looking well, Sophie.” He placed one hand on my shoulder, and, holding me at arm’s length, he looked me up and down.
“You’re looking good yourself, Simon.”
“I’m not bad.”
Then his eyes transferred to the door and back at me. He stepped away from me.
“How’ve you been?” He stood there with his drink in his hand, moving from leg to leg in a restless motion. I sat back down. I motioned him to join me. He ignored my gesture.
“Oh, you know how it is.” The smile had disappeared and his eyes looked sad. He was still glancing over at the door.
“Are you meeting someone here?” I asked.
“Yes, yes, Linda’s just gone off on her own to buy me a birthday present. She wants it to be a surprise so we’re meeting up here when she’s finished.” He took a sip of his drink, still standing nervously.
“Oh yes, it’s your birthday. I’d completely forgotten,” I said, lying.
