‘Okay,’ I reply. ‘Thank you.’ As he moves away, I think about what he’s just said – that the police will arrive, and probably an ambulance. In fact, I can hear the sirens now, drawing closer. What will I say to them? That someone pushed me? But how can I even be sure that’s what happened? Could it have been an accident? Someone nudging me as they ran past? I don’t know. It didn’t feel that way. It felt deliberate. And… I thought I saw Emma running away, dodging and weaving through the crowd. But that’s crazy. My sister may not like me any more, but does she hate me enough to push me into oncoming traffic? The thought makes me nauseous. I swallow down bile.
I can’t stay here with all these people watching; even though they’re pretending not to, I can see them still milling around, sneaking sideways glances through their phones – a socially acceptable way to excuse a lack of decency.
I need to get home. It’s so hot out here I can hardly breathe. I put a hand to the side of my face, my fingertips running over the grit that’s embedded in my skin, in my hair. My knees and arms are scratched up, too, the heels of my palms red raw. But the pain feels distant from myself. I stand shakily, steadying myself on the table. The waiter asks if I’m okay, if I need anything, but I give him some non-committal answer, thanking him for the water, which I haven’t touched.
‘You should stay where you are. An ambulance is on its way,’ he says.
‘I’m fine,’ I say, picking up my bags. I don’t think about where I am or which direction I need to go in, I just start walking. Needing to get away from the curious stares. To escape from the drama of the situation. I need to be somewhere cool and quiet.
I shamble down the street as though in a dream, weaving through the crowd, attracting curious stares. I glance down to see that my green dress is covered in black marks, torn in places. Goodness only knows what state my face is in. The skin on my cheek and forehead is beginning to burn. I probably should have waited for the paramedics to clean me up. I’ll do it later. I feel irresponsible that they were called out for nothing. Should I go back? I stop walking for a moment. My mind skitters all over the place. I really do think I must be in shock.
‘There she is!’ A cry from behind. The sound of footsteps coming closer. I cover my head and sink down onto the pavement. Is it them? Are they going to push me into the road again?
‘Hey, it’s okay. Are you okay?’
I peek out from my cowering position on the ground. It’s the man who almost ran me over. I find that I can’t speak, can’t move.
‘Sorry if I scared you,’ he says. ‘I was worried when I saw you’d gone. The ambulance is on its way. Come on.’ He takes my hand and helps me to my feet. I keep my head down, staring at the dusty pavement, too nervous to look up and see if people are staring. I feel like a freak.
We walk back the way I’ve just come and stop outside the café where I was sitting moments ago. I see that an ambulance is pulling up outside. A man and a woman wearing green uniforms get out and start speaking to me, but their words just sound like a buzzing in my ears. They turn their attention to the guy I’m with. I hear the words ‘shock’ and ‘she can walk okay’ before they lead me into the interior of the vehicle.
I sit down on a fold-out chair while they get to work cleaning me up, checking me over for anything serious. Turns out I bit the tip of my tongue, which is why I can still taste blood. The rest is just scrapes and bruises.
‘How are you feeling, love?’ the female paramedic asks. ‘You can talk to me here, if you like. Or we can take you somewhere where you’ll get some proper support.’
‘Support?’
‘The man who brought you here, he said you might have stepped out in front of his car.’
The implication jolts me out of my stupor. ‘I didn’t try to harm myself, if that’s what you think! I’m not… I’m not suicidal or anything.’ I wince as she cleans the dirt and grit out of my hairline.
‘Sorry, love, I know this stuff stings. The gentleman was quite concerned about you.’
‘Well, it’s nice of him to be worried, but I didn’t do it on purpose. I think someone tried to push me.’
‘Push you?’ She frowns. ‘Are you sure? Whatever happened out there, we can sort it out, okay? Look, here’s the police now. They’ll be wanting a chat. Best thing is to tell them the truth. No point keeping any problems to yourself. We’re all here to help you, love. Do you feel up to talking to them yet? Or shall I tell them to hold fire?’
‘I’m okay. I’ll talk to them.’ Part of me is touched at her concern, but the other part is annoyed that she actually believes I tried to kill myself. Do they really believe that? Is she going to try to section me? I spy a couple of uniformed officers through a gap in the ambulance doors. Exhaustion hits me at the thought of having to explain what happened. I wish my local officers were here instead. Knowing my recent history, Llewellyn and Ryan would be more likely to take me seriously. Now I’m going to have to tell these guys everything that’s been going on. I close my eyes and try to gather my strength.
One of the officers climbs up into the back of the ambulance. He’s dark-haired with a few flecks of grey at his temples; his face is kind. ‘You okay?’ he asks, his eyes flicking to the paramedics.
‘A bit shaky, that’s all,’ I reply.
‘You up to telling me what happened?’
I nod.
He whips out a notebook and pen.
‘I’d been shopping,’ I begin, ‘and I was heading back to my car, waiting for a break in the traffic so I could cross the road. And then…’ I break off, remembering the feel of those hands on my back.
The officer waits patiently while I get myself together.
‘… and then someone shoved me into the road.’
‘Shoved you?’ he asks.
I nod.
‘Shoved you how?’
‘I felt hands on my back pushing me hard.’
‘You think it was deliberate?’
‘Yes.’
‘Could you have been mistaken?’
I pause, and think. As the seconds go by, my memory shifts and becomes less set. Like a solid cloud dispersing into wisps. ‘I felt them push me,’ I say.
The officer looks up at the female paramedic once more.
‘We’d like to take her in,’ she says. ‘Just in case.’
The officer nods.
‘Take me in!’ I cry. ‘Where?’
No one replies.
‘You still think I tried to hurt myself?’ I get to my feet, shaky, hot, a little dizzy.
‘Please, love, just sit down,’ the paramedic says. ‘Let me finish cleaning you up.’
‘Listen,’ I say to the officer. ‘You don’t know what’s been going on. This isn’t an isolated thing. I’m being harassed. Threatened.’
The officer holds out his hand to try to calm me down. ‘Can you tell me what’s been happening?’
‘Speak to Sergeant Llewellyn, in Malmesbury. They’ve got a log of everything. Someone’s stalking me. I’m not mad. I’m not suicidal. You can check. Here…’ I reach down and root about in my purse until I find Llewellyn’s card. ‘She gave me her contact details. The case number’s on the back. Quote it. You’ll see.’
The officer nods and takes the card. ‘Wait here, okay?’ he says, before stepping out of the ambulance.
The female paramedic continues cleaning my injuries while we wait for the officer to return.
‘You had any alcohol today, love?’ she asks.
‘No,’ I reply, stiffening.
‘Any other substances I should know about?’
‘No! I’m not on anything, and I’m not suicidal. You’ll see in a minute, when that police officer’s checked it out.’
‘I wouldn’t be doing my job properly if I didn’t ask,’ she says kindly. ‘I need to make sure you’re okay.’
I sigh. ‘Thank you. I know. But I also know what just happened to me out there.’
Despite the oppressive heat, I start to shiver as the tru
th of it hits me. I’m worrying about what this paramedic thinks of me, when I should be worrying about something far scarier.
Someone followed me here today.
Someone pushed me into oncoming traffic.
Someone just tried to kill me.
Twenty-Three
Finally, after a couple of false starts, we find the residential road where I parked. The officer pulls up behind my car. He asks again if there’s anyone who can come and drive me home. I suppose I could have called Joe, but he’s working, and I’d have had to wait over an hour for him to get here. All I want now is to be home. ‘I’ll be fine,’ I say, feeling anything but.
Back at the ambulance, the police officer managed to get through to Malmesbury Police Station, who were able to verify my story. So the paramedic reluctantly let me leave her care. I could tell she still wasn’t entirely convinced by my story. Before I left, she gave my hand a squeeze and passed me a leaflet with a load of helpline numbers on it.
I realise the officer is talking to me and I attempt to concentrate on what he’s saying. ‘We’ll pass the full details of today’s incident, and your statement, on to your local station,’ he says. ‘So if they need any more information from you about today, I’m sure they’ll contact you.’
‘That’s great. Thanks so much.’ At least I won’t have to repeat the whole thing to Sergeant Llewellyn. As I leave the air-conditioned interior of the police car and step out onto the pavement, a wave of dizziness hits me. But I fight my way through it. Last thing I need is for the police to stop me from driving home. Can they even do that? Not sure if they would, but I don’t want to chance it. I give a little wave at them through the window and try to walk as steadily as I can towards my red Polo. I’m amazed that I was able to show such a calm exterior when my insides are like jelly.
I open the car door and slip inside, put my bags on the passenger seat. Thankfully I parked under a tree, so the interior isn’t too hot. I don’t have the luxury of air con, so I’ll have to drive home with the windows open. But first, I’ll sit for a while, calm down before I have to navigate the one-way system and the motorway. The police car drives off and I exhale.
I pull down the sun visor to check my face in the mirror. There’s a plaster stuck down at an angle above my right eye, and the area around it is puffy, scraped and red, shiny with antiseptic cream. I can’t bear to look any more, so I shove the visor back up.
Rather than calming down, I’m becoming more anxious. All I can think about are the hands at my back, the way they felt when they shoved me. Two firm hands pushing me into danger. I can still feel them, like they’re branded onto my skin. I think I’m going into shock. I have to resist it. I wind down the window, turn the key and start the engine. I can do this. I just need to keep it together for another hour or so. Until I get home.
* * *
I jerk awake on the sofa as the front door slams.
‘Lizzy?’
Joe. He must be back from work. I didn’t mean to fall asleep. My mouth tastes disgusting. I sit up and stretch, wincing at the pain flashing through my bruised body. ‘In here,’ I croak.
His face appears round the door. His smile drops and he rushes over.
‘Bloody hell, Lizzy, what happened to you?’
‘It looks worse than it is.’ After my nightmarish drive home from Bristol, I had meant to come in, have a shower, get changed and have something to eat. But instead, I collapsed onto the sofa, closed my eyes and fell asleep. I realise I must now look like hell.
‘Your face!’ Joe’s eyes travel down my body, taking in the bruises and scratches. ‘Your dress! What happened? Have you been attacked?’ He rushes to my side.
‘I’m okay. I’ll be fine. I fell asleep. Bit groggy.’
‘But what happened to you? I thought you were going to see that private investigator guy. It wasn’t him who did this, was it?’ He jumps to his feet again.
‘No! Calm down, Joe.’ I take his hand – black with oil from the garage – and pull him back down next to me. I tell him about my trip to Bristol, about being pushed into the oncoming traffic. How the car stopped just centimetres away.
‘Pushed?’ he says, his eyes wide.
‘I’m pretty sure I was, yeah.’
‘No way. Who was it? Did you see them?’
‘It was so busy. There were all these students on the pavement. I heard these running footsteps, then felt these hands at my back.’ I give a shudder.
‘Could it have been an accident? Someone bumping into you or something?’
‘It could have been. But I’m pretty sure it was deliberate. I definitely felt two hands push me.’
‘Have you told the police?’
‘It was all a bit full on. Someone called an ambulance and the police, so I’ve been checked over. I’m fine.’
‘What did they say when you told them you’d been pushed?’
‘They said they’d go door to door round the local shops and cafés, see if anyone saw what happened. But it was so busy, I doubt anyone saw. Surely they would’ve come forward at the time.’
‘CCTV?’
‘None on that part of the road.’
‘Shit. I knew I should have gone to Bristol with you. I’m such an idiot. What a crap boyfriend…’
‘Don’t be silly. ’Course you’re not. It’s not like you knew someone was going to push me in front of a car.’
‘But what with all this other stuff going on, I should’ve realised you might be in danger. You could’ve been killed!’
I blow out a breath. ‘I’m fine.’ I may be fine physically, but inside everything is going haywire. My heart is racing, my mind spinning. ‘There’s something else…’
‘What is it?’
‘I think I might have seen Emma running away.’
‘What do you mean, Emma? As in, your sister Emma?’
‘Yeah. I’m wondering… I’m wondering if it was her. If Emma pushed me.’
‘No.’ Joe shakes his head. ‘I can’t believe she’d do anything like that.’
‘Well, it looked like her.’
‘You saw her face?’
‘Not exactly. Just the back of her, running away. But I know her. I’d recognise her anywhere. Like, if you glimpsed me in a crowd, you’d know it was me.’
‘Did you tell the police?’
‘About Emma? No.’
‘Jesus, Lizzy. Why didn’t you call me after it happened? I would’ve come to get you.’
‘To be honest, I wasn’t thinking straight. I was a bit all over the place.’
‘Did you tell them? The police, that you think it might have been your sister?’
‘No. I’m not a hundred per cent sure it was her, and if I accuse her of something like this, it’ll break Mum and Dad.’
‘You don’t think it’s her doing all the other stuff, do you? The letters and everything?’
‘I honestly don’t know. It’s not her writing on the letters, but I suppose whoever’s doing it would disguise their own writing anyway.’
‘But why would Emma do it? What would be her reason? I mean, you hardly see one another, you lead separate lives.’
I shrug. ‘Maybe she still likes you.’
‘What! No.’ Joe screws up his face. ‘That was years ago. Water under the bridge. Anyway, she’s marrying what’s-his-face, Mr Personality.’
‘I dunno. I can’t think any more.’ I drop my head back onto the sofa and close my eyes for a moment.’
‘You okay?’ he asks. ‘Should I call the doctor?’
My head is spinning. ‘Can you get me a glass of water, Joe? I feel a bit weird.’
‘’Course. ’Course I can. Hang on.’ Seconds later, he returns with my water. ‘Here you go. Do you want anything else?’
I gulp down the cool liquid. ‘That’s a bit better. Thanks. I’m bloody starving, actually. Haven’t had anything since breakfast. Probably why I feel so spaced out.’
‘Toast?’ he offers.
‘With jam?�
� I add.
‘No problem.’
‘Let me just have a quick shower and get changed.’ I gingerly rise to my feet. ‘On second thoughts, I might just have to wash with a flannel. Too many cuts and scrapes to have a shower.’
‘Poor baby.’ Joe gives me a gentle hug and I wince as his stubble scrapes my cheek. ‘How did it go with the private investigator?’ he asks.
‘That’s another story. The guy can’t do anything.’
‘Why not?’ Joe frowns.
‘He told me the police are the best people to help. But he did give me some good advice.’ I step out into the hall and retrieve my recent purchase.
Joe follows me. ‘What’s that you’ve got?’
‘A spy camera.’ I perk up as I tell him about Nas’s suggestion. ‘He said to hide it in a plant pot out the front. That way we can catch whoever’s posting the letters.’
‘Brilliant.’
‘I hope it’s all right,’ I say, peering into the bag. ‘I dropped it when I was knocked over.’
‘You go and get washed and changed,’ Joe says, taking the bag from me. ‘I’ll make you some tea and toast. And then we can set this up.’
I nod, feeling a little better now that we might have a real chance of catching whoever’s doing this.
I only hope it’s not my sister.
Twenty-Four
Joe didn’t want me to go to work today. He thought I should take the day off. But it’s not so easy to call in sick when you’re the manager, especially while George is away. I can’t expect Pippa to manage on her own, and besides, if she is stealing, this would give her the perfect opportunity to help herself to more stock. Besides, George is still waiting for me to speak to her. I sit at my dressing table painstakingly applying make-up to my swollen, scratched-up face. There’s not much I can do to disguise the damage. And despite my best efforts, I’ll probably still end up frightening the customers away.
Frank winds himself round my ankles as I dab foundation on the worst of the scratches. He starts miaowing in an attempt to get me to hurry up and give him his breakfast.
The Silent Sister_An gripping psychological thriller with a nail-biting twist Page 13
