‘Come on then, Frank. Let’s get you something to eat.’ I give up on my face, deciding that I’ll spend most of the day hiding away in the stockroom. Pippa can always call me into the shop if it gets really busy. I make my way down the stairs, trying to avoid the trip hazard that is my cat. I’ve already decided I’m not going to speak to Pippa about the thefts today. Before I have that talk with her, I’ll need to line someone up to take her place. I might call Maggie in the Cirencester branch, see if she can recommend anyone. I’ll use my accident as an excuse for George, in case he asks why I still haven’t spoken to her.
The sound of Frank’s purring fills the kitchen as I begin spooning his breakfast into a bowl. Switching on the kettle, my thoughts turn to the police. I’d have thought Llewellyn might have called last night to see how I was. But maybe the Bristol coppers haven’t sent over the information yet. If I haven’t heard anything from her by lunchtime, I’ll give her a call to see what she makes of yesterday’s ‘accident’.
Joe enjoyed setting up the camera for me yesterday. We decided he would do it surreptitiously, after dark. Even though Reuben from the camera shop had shown me how to set it up myself, I was too shaken and exhausted to even try. Joe hid the camera beneath some foliage in one of the terracotta flowerpots in the back garden. Once he was happy that it was suitably camouflaged, he brought the pot around to the front porch and spent ages testing out the angles. Eventually, he was satisfied that he’d set it up in the best position to capture anyone stepping onto our pathway.
After a quick breakfast of coffee and toast, I leave the house, get in my car and set off for work. It’s even hotter today, if that’s possible, probably because yesterday’s promised thunderstorm never materialised. A dull throb has started up in my temples; I should have taken some painkillers before leaving the house. Never mind, I’ll pick some up on the way to work.
My glance lands on a yellow air freshener dangling from my rear-view mirror. It’s in the shape of a VW Beetle and it smells of bananas, of all things. I hate bananas. Who would even want their car to smell like that? Joe must have put it up yesterday, but it’s going straight in the bin because the smell is vile. Typical Joe; he must have put it up as a joke. I smile to myself. I’ll text him to say his sense of humour is getting worse.
As I turn out of our road, the air freshener swings around and I notice there’s writing on the back in thick black marker pen. Suddenly I get a tight feeling in my chest. A car horn blares, making me swerve and gasp. In a split second, I’ve veered onto the other side of the road. I turn the wheel sharply to get back onto my side as a male driver in a silver Nissan zooms past, hurling all kinds of abuse out of his window. Can’t say I blame him. I nearly caused a head-on collision. I pull over onto the grass verge, my heart hammering.
With shaking fingers, I take a tissue out of my handbag and use it to spin the air freshener around so I don’t get my prints on it. I’m dreading seeing what’s written on the back, praying it’s something innocuous, but knowing it won’t be.
Shame that car missed you yesterday
The words seem to grow bigger on the card. It’s written in the same rounded, swirly hand as the letters. I hear the tone of the words in my head – bitter, hateful. The words of someone who wants to hurt me. Kill me, even. I let go of the card, mindful that the police won’t want my prints on it.
This proves that I was pushed. This is definitely no secret admirer. This is someone deranged. Someone who has been watching me. Following me. Stalking me. They’ve been inside my house. And it hits me that they’ve also been inside my car! How did they get inside here? I turn to look at all the windows, but they’re all rolled up. I get out, unsteady on my feet and begin to check all the doors. At the side of the road, the dry grass tickles my ankles as I walk around the vehicle, careful not to slip down into the ditch.
Both my back doors are locked. I try the passenger door handle next, and to my dismay it opens. It’s unlocked! Did I leave it that way? I wouldn’t have been so careless, surely? I never sit on that side, anyway. My car is old, it doesn’t have central locking or an alarm. Does this person have a copy of my car key? Or did I accidentally leave the passenger door unlocked? How would I even know?
I slam the door closed and remain standing on the grass verge, staring into space, my brain going into overdrive. Whoever wrote the message on the air freshener must have got into my car sometime last night or early this morning. Which means they were in my road, outside the cottage. For a brief second I have the hopeful thought that my new spy cam will have captured whoever it is. But then I remember that I didn’t park right outside my house yesterday as there were no spaces; I parked a few doors down – out of the range of the camera. Even so, I’ll be able to check to see whether anyone walked past the house to get to the car. The footage might be clear enough to reveal who is doing this. But what will I do if I spot my sister on the video? I know she hates me now. But to try to kill me…
Emma and I used to be so close. Sure, we were different – she’s always been studious, serious, beautiful. Everything has always come naturally to her. She never had to work hard at school, but consistently got ‘A’s in her exams. Boys were always intimidated but fascinated by her at the same time. Whereas I was more of a regular girl – I had to work hard to get any decent exam results. I always struggled with my weight. Don’t get me wrong, I was pretty enough and had my fair share of the boys’ attention. Plus I was probably more popular than Emma, with more friends.
So, is that the reason? Was she somehow jealous of me for my popularity? She never showed any signs. She never said or did anything overtly nasty until the incident with Joe. Maybe she kept it all bottled up? Kept it quiet for years, and now it’s all coming out in the shape of these awful letters. And worse.
Or is my imagination making connections where they don’t exist? As I was falling into the path of the traffic yesterday, I thought I saw Emma running away. But did I? Or was it my mind playing tricks on me in a terrifying situation? Maybe, in some twisted way, it was Emma I wanted to see. But it’s more likely it was simply someone with the same hair colour disappearing into the crowd. Someone who might actually be nothing to do with me. They could have been a random person in a crowd who I latched on to. I do feel guilty for suspecting my sister. For thinking her capable of something so evil. And yet she’s betrayed me before…
I walk round to the road again and get back into the car, anxious, but also eager to head home and check the camera footage. I’ll check the spy cam, then give Sergeant Llewellyn a call. Waiting until the road is clear of traffic, I execute a clumsy five-point turn, almost reversing into the ditch. But eventually I’m facing the right way and I head back home. A couple of minutes later, I park in a newly free space outside my house, nervously wondering if the person trying to hurt me might be watching me now. What if it isn’t Emma who’s been harassing me, but it is in fact Ian from next door? I got very odd vibes off him when we were round there for dinner. Hopefully I’ll discover who it is soon enough. But part of me is terrified to find out.
I sit in the car for a few moments, hands gripping the steering wheel, paranoia gripping my mind. I can’t let them know about the spy cam, so my plan is to walk up the front path, pretend to drop my keys, and then while I’m picking them up, I’ll block the plant pot with my body and detach the camera. The road is quiet. No one around at this time on a Tuesday morning. Well, no one that I can see. They’re all either at work, or inside wishing for air con.
With a hammering heart I exit the car, lock it and walk up the baking path. I let my keys slip out of my hand and then crouch down to retrieve them, legs like jelly. I keep thinking someone is going to run up and attack me from behind. Much as I want to keep throwing glances over my shoulder, I don’t.
I slide my hand beneath the foliage in the flowerpot, trying to stealthily detach the camera from its hiding place. But my fingers find only soil and leaves. Where is the bloody thing? I drop the pretence of picking
up my keys, and instead begin frantically searching the plant pot, digging my fingers beneath the dry earth and pulling back the stems of whatever half-dead plant this is. There’s nothing here. I shift the pot to the other side of the porch, scanning the ground in case the spy cam has become detached somehow, and fallen onto the flagstones.
But it’s gone. The camera has disappeared.
Someone must have taken it.
Twenty-Five
I fumble my way back inside the house, hot blood racing through my veins. Someone must have seen Joe setting up the camera last night. Are they out there now? Watching me? Laughing? I stand in the narrow hallway, take my phone out of my bag and call Joe. He answers straight away.
‘Hey.’ He sounds out of breath.
‘Joe, did you take the camera out of the plant pot?’
‘Take the camera out? No. Why?’
‘It’s not there. It’s gone.’ With my fingertips, I press at the scratches by my hairline. They’re beginning to itch as they tighten and scab over.
‘What do you mean gone?’ Joe cries. ‘I set it up last night. It’s there, hidden under the leaves.’
‘Not any more. Did you check on it this morning?’
‘No, I was half asleep. You know what I’m like first thing – Zombie, Dawn of the Dead.’
‘That means it could have been stolen any time. Either last night or early this morning.’
Joe growls down the phone. ‘I thought I was being careful, but someone must have seen me setting it up. Do you think it was kids?’
‘No. It has to be the person sending the letters.’
There’s silence at the end of the line.
‘Joe? You there?’ I sit on one of the lower steps of the staircase, stare at the grubby paintwork on the wall.
‘You’re probably right,’ he says. ‘But I didn’t want to mention them. Didn’t want to freak you out. Do you really think they were watching?’
‘I don’t know. Seems likely.’ I pause. ‘They left me another message.’
‘WHAT? Why didn’t you say anything?’
‘I’m telling you now.’
‘Are you okay, Lizzy? What did the message say?’
I open my mouth to tell him, but the thought of saying the words aloud makes my stomach churn. Tears well up behind my eyes.
‘Lizzy? You all right?’
‘Not really. What am I going to do, Joe?’
‘Did they threaten you?’
‘The…’ I take a breath. ‘The message admitted that they pushed me into the traffic yesterday.’
‘Shit! That’s…’ Joe exhales. ‘That’s not good, Lizzy. That’s not good at all.’
‘I know.’ My voice wobbles, but I manage to keep it together.
‘I’m coming home.’
‘No, Joe. It’s fine. Don’t.’ I can’t deal with Joe’s macho overprotectiveness at the moment. I love that he cares about me so much, but when he’s too concerned it makes me emotional.
‘Go and sit down with Frank,’ he says. ‘I’m calling the police.’
‘I can call them, it’s okay.’
‘Just let me call them for you. I’ll tell them they need to get there ASAP.’
‘Okay, Joe, thank you.’
‘And I’m coming home, too.’
‘No, honestly. I’ll be fine. There’s no need for you to come home.’ I want to be strong when the police get here so that I can speak to them rationally about what’s happening. I don’t want to be a blubbering mess. And I don’t want Joe throwing his weight around either, demanding results from Llewellyn and Ryan. That’s only going to piss them off. ‘Look, I’ll ring you after they’ve been.’
‘I want to be with you, Lizzy. I can hear how upset you are.’
‘Honestly, please don’t worry. I’m okay,’ I lie. ‘I’ll call you after I’ve spoken to them.’
‘I’m not happy about you being there on your own. I mean, someone tried to…’ His voice trails off, but I know what he was going to say – that someone tried to kill me.
Finally, I persuade Joe to stay at work. But we agree that he will ring the police for me. They know who I am and what’s been happening, so at least he won’t have to go into the whole backstory of the past few days.
I get up and gaze around the hallway, not really seeing anything. As I wait for the police to arrive, it feels like I’m hiding, cowering in this place that is starting to feel unfamiliar. My cosy cottage isn’t a safe space any more. My stalker has admitted they’ve tried to hurt me once, so surely it’s only a matter of time before they do it again.
My teeth are chattering and my right leg has begun to twitch involuntarily like it has a life of its own. I don’t know what to do. Should I go into the lounge? Into the kitchen? Upstairs? I end up doing none of those things, instead sinking down onto the hall floor and leaning back against the wall. Frank struts out of the lounge and sits by my side like a guard dog while I stroke his head absent-mindedly.
When the doorbell rings, I have to shake myself out of my stupor. I heave myself off the floor and pick Frank up so he doesn’t run out through the front door when I open it. I’m pretty sure it must be the police at the door, but I’m not taking any chances. I pop into the lounge and peer through the window to double-check, relaxing my shoulders when I spy the familiar figures of Llewellyn and Ryan standing on the doorstep. I see more of them than of Joe these days.
‘Hello, Lizzy,’ Llewellyn says as I open the door. ‘So sorry to hear about what happened to you yesterday.’
Ryan is staring at my swollen cheek. He gives an embarrassed smile when I catch his eye.
‘Come in,’ I say.
‘Such a cute cat,’ Llewellyn says, scratching behind one of Frank’s ears. Once she’s closed the front door behind her, I set Frank down on the floor and he trots off into the kitchen, obviously not in a sociable mood this morning.
The officers follow me through to the lounge, where I gesture to them to sit down on the sofa. I perch on the arm of one of the chairs, not sure where to start with my story. But Llewellyn speaks first.
‘We got all the info from Bristol. I wanted to come round and see you yesterday, but we were kept busy last night with various other things, unfortunately.’
‘That’s okay,’ I reply. ‘I’m not badly hurt, just a bit shaken up. Actually, a lot shaken up.’ My voice cracks.
‘’Course you are,’ she says. ‘Must have been scary.’
‘And you think you were pushed?’ Ryan asks.
‘Actually, I know I was.’
‘The information we received said you weren’t sure,’ Ryan says, looking down at his notebook. ‘The report says it may have been deliberate or someone may have accidentally knocked into you.’
‘That’s what I thought before today.’
‘You mean the latest letter?’ Ryan asks.
I nod. ‘Not a letter, though. More like a message.’ I stand up. ‘Come outside and I’ll show you.’
I take the officers out to my car and point through the window to the air freshener still hanging from the rear-view mirror. ‘Someone broke into my car and they put that there.’
‘What does the message say?’ she asks, peering through the glass.
‘I’ll show you.’ I go to open the door but Llewellyn puts a hand out to stop me.
‘If you could just tell me what it says. I don’t want to go messing up a potential crime scene.’
I swallow, and just about manage to force out the words. ‘It says: Shame that car missed you yesterday.’
‘Nice,’ Ryan says. ‘Sounds like we’re dealing with a right charmer.’
‘Okay,’ Llewellyn says, pulling a mobile phone out of one of her pockets, ‘I’m going to get CSI down here to do a thorough check of the vehicle.’ Her phone call connects and she walks a little way up the street to have her conversation. A minute later, she’s back. ‘Shall we go inside to wait for them to arrive?’
I nod. ‘Okay. Actually, there’s something else
I need to tell you anyway.’
Back in the lounge, I explain how I went into Bristol to buy a security camera. I leave out the part about meeting Nas, as it feels kind of rude to tell them I was trying to hire a PI when the police are already working on my case. My mobile phone buzzes out in the hall, but I ignore it. It’s probably Joe texting to see how I am.
‘My boyfriend set up the camera last night,’ I say.
‘Have you looked at the footage this morning?’ Ryan asks.
‘That’s just it,’ I reply. ‘After finding the message in my car earlier, I came straight home to get the camera in case it recorded anything. But it was gone. Someone’s taken it.’
‘Where did you place the camera?’ Llewellyn asks.
I lead the officers back outside and show them the plant pot. ‘Joe hid it under the leaves.’
‘Okay,’ Llewellyn says. ‘We’ll ask CSI to take a look at this area while they’re here.’
Back inside, my phone is vibrating angrily on the hall table.
‘Do you want to get that?’ Llewellyn asks.
‘Maybe I’d better, in case it’s important.’ As soon as I reach to pick it up, it stops buzzing. I gesture to the officers to go back into the lounge while I quickly check my messages.
Shit. I have six missed calls from Pippa, along with a bunch of texts. I check the time and realise I’m almost an hour late for work. Pippa has no keys, so she’s been waiting outside the shop for me. Her latest voicemail says she hopes I’m okay, and that she’s gone into Clare’s Coffee Shop to wait.
I tap out a quick text to say I should be there within the next half hour. But I realise that’s probably optimistic. I feel terrible for leaving the shop closed, but I reason that I’ll explain everything to George when he gets back. Hopefully he’ll understand. If he wants, he can dock any loss of earnings from my salary.
Can today get any worse?
Twenty-Six
I keep hold of my phone and return to the lounge where Llewellyn and Ryan are talking in hushed tones. They fall silent when I walk in and give me encouraging smiles.
The Silent Sister_An gripping psychological thriller with a nail-biting twist Page 14
