Stalked

by Chris Smith

  Deep down Libby was genuinely fearful that Phillip Hopkins was attempting to orchestrate what they did without any kind of consultation. Was he just a little insecure in this new relationship? Or was there something more sinister behind his behaviour?

  Libby needed her friends around her again. Her helter-skelter time with Phillip was making her feel a little suffocated. She threw a small dinner party. Sarah came along, as did Libby’s sister Anna, who had a family of her own and didn’t get together with the girls too often. Good food and good wine were the order of the night—with a dash of good humour. In fact, as the night rolled on, they became a cackling and raucous trio, making fun of anyone they could think of, including Libby’s new boy.

  ‘You should see him eat!’ said Libby.

  ‘Yeah anyone who’s been cavorting in the bedroom as much as you reckon he has must have a huge appetite,’ said Sarah.

  The girls laughed loudly.

  ‘No, I mean you should really see him eat; he has gross manners, atrocious manners!’

  At that, Anna almost lost her entire mouthful of red, spluttering it across the dining room table.

  ‘He’s a bit of a boy then, is he?’ asked Sarah.

  ‘A bit of a boy? You’re kidding. He looks like a Neanderthal when he’s in full swing—just awful!’ she said.

  ‘No!’ said Anna shocked. ‘You can’t have that … I thought he went to a private school and came from a respected family. What do you mean?’

  ‘He’s just a pig really. I have a go at him, but he forgets and goes back to his lazy ways, chewing with his mouth open. It’s appalling,’ said Libby.

  The women laughed until their sides ached. Libby was just playing, but it was true that Phillip did indeed have terrible manners.

  The following afternoon, Phillip enticed Libby to take a long drive out of the city. ‘When was the last time you had sex in a car?’ Phillip asked as they drove. This was a little more familiar territory for Libby, who had spent plenty of evenings as a teenager in her boyfriend’s snazzy new car.

  A long time ago, probably thriteen years ago,’ she said. ‘A wham-bam-thank you ma’am, really. He was so nervous; it was over in fifteen seconds.’

  Libby found the recollection funny. Phillip was stony-faced. ‘I didn’t ask for the details, just when,’ he said abruptly. ‘By the way, do you really detest my table manners?’

  Libby froze. How could he have known what she’d said, unless he heard her conversation with the girls the other night?

  ‘How do you know that?’ Libby asked.

  ‘Oh, I just know it. I hate being humiliated … when it’s not true either.’

  ‘You’ve picked up on some conversation somewhere, have you?’

  ‘Might have … might not have. What conversation are you talking about?’

  ‘Oh stop it. You heard us girls having fun the other night. Just playing we were. But you heard that. How? Were you snooping outside the house?’

  ‘Not snooping. I came over the other night. I thought I’d left my wallet there and before I could knock, I heard you embarrassing me. How horrible is it to eat with someone who has such bad manners, hey?’

  ‘It was a joke. And anyway, you know you lapse sometimes, Phillip.’

  ‘It was bloody awful of you to say that. Why would you hurt me like that? I didn’t knock. Of course I didn’t knock. I listened and left … and found my wallet the next day.’

  ‘Bullshit, you must have been listening from the back window. We were in the kitchen, around the dining room table. You couldn’t have heard us from that far away. Why lie?’

  ‘You were yelling, obviously after having too much grog,’ Phillip said aggressively. ‘I could hear you clearly from the front door. Don’t make it out to be anything else. This is your stuff-up, not mine.’

  Libby didn’t bite back, partly because she wasn’t sure how loud the three of them had actually been. But she was starting to become somewhat curious at Phillip’s strange predilection for lurking in the shadows of her home.

  They made no contact with each other for almost a week. This was a stand-off and neither was prepared to break the ice. In fact in the first few days, Libby considered the relationship to be over, but as the days passed, she inexplicably began missing the side of Phillip she liked most.

  For now, there was no way she was about to provide her friends with a commentary on her tawdry relationship. She so wanted to tell someone what was going on, but her life was in a state of confusion. They were very lonely days and her old warm feelings for Phillip kept resurfacing. The more she replayed recent events, the more her mind played tricks on her, the more she began blaming herself.

  Maybe this was her problem. Yes, Phillip’s obsessions were a little perverse but, as her anger subsided, she reminded herself of his kindness and ability to be soft and loving. She couldn’t understand why he became distracted so often. She was prepared to accept that she did really want the old Phillip back but wasn’t sure whether he was capable of relinquishing some of his obsessive behaviour. She had to confide in someone. Her soul was bursting. Eventually she broke. ‘Maybe he had a bad childhood,’ she told Sarah. ‘He told me once that his previous girlfriends simply accepted all that hyped-up sexual stuff and loved it. What do I do?’

  ‘You’ve got to talk to him, Libby,’ Sarah instructed during lunch. ‘Get him on neutral ground and tell him exactly what you’ll accept and what you won’t. That’s, of course, if you want him back.’

  ‘I think I do. It’s weird, I’m almost prepared to walk away, but I feel as if I should give him another chance.’

  That afternoon, following lunch with Sarah, an envelope sat in her pigeonhole at work. She took it back to her desk to read it, hoping it was from Phillip:

  Libby,

  Please accept my apology. I’ve stuffed up. You’ve seen my faults first hand and you hate me, I can feel it.

  I’ve done a lot of thinking in the past week though. I apologise for every knee-jerk pathetic reaction … it’s happening too much, I know. My heart is with you though, and you only. You know that don’t you? In your heart of hearts.

  I keep pushing too hard, trying to push you into things that are not you. I’m still scared that one day it’s going to be too good! But I look forward to it.

  I desperately want you back. You can initiate anything from here. I’ll do what you want. You take the lead, as you said you wanted to.

  I miss you so much. I miss your wonderful body too … Please call me.

  I LOVE YOU …

  Phillip

  xoxoxox

  His words almost brought Libby to tears. He was so honest and open about his own frailties. And his desire to be with her and her alone was palpable. How did we get to this point, she thought to herself? This stuff he’s ‘into’ is not kinky, it’s just a little daring and voyeuristic. She still knew that his ideas might not be for her, but she recognised then that she needed to ‘get over it’.

  She called him later that afternoon and they met that night. There were very few words, very little ironing out of the problems that stood between them. After being so close, then so apart, their lust for each other overcame all. They made love like they used to, over and over again; all their anxieties and frustrations were channelled into physical affection. Phillip was less aggressive now, and her fragility made her melt in his arms again.

  The following day Libby and Phillip met for lunch at a quaint sandstone cottage restaurant. It was a special day, filled with all the laughter and magic of old. They joked about being sacked for returning to work late and held hands across the table, barely aware that the restaurant staff were waiting for them to leave. Phillip escorted her all the way back to her office, kissing her passionately in front of Libby’s colleagues in the foyer. Her female workmates were green with envy, her male colleagues wide-eyed. They’d never seen this side of Libby Masters before.

  In the week that followed, things were to change dramatically. On one particular night
, Phillip turned up two hours late for a home-cooked dinner at Libby’s house. It was not to be the only time he missed a scheduled rendezvous. His calls were infrequent and he was decidedly quiet. He didn’t stay over as he had previously, opting to spend the night at his own apartment instead. Phillip explained that he had embarked on a fitness campaign that meant rising at five in the morning and either swimming or riding a bike until eight-thirty. He was exhausted and apologised for being forgetful and late.

  His erratic behaviour was surfacing more than ever too. On one occasion, as the couple travelled over the Harbour Bridge, fuelled by alcohol he threw a two dollar coin directly at the toll collector’s face. He laughed like a maniac and made racist remarks about the Asian toll collector as he drove away. Libby didn’t know what was happening to him—and she could smell a rat about his time away from her.

  ‘What do I do, Sarah?’ she asked over lunch one day. ‘I confront him and he seems to have an excuse. But I know something’s wrong. He’s even avoiding staying and having sex with me.’

  ‘What?’ Sarah said, surprised, considering the wild stories she’d been told previously.

  ‘Maybe there’s someone else,’ Libby said, finding it hard to look up from the table. ‘There could be. You know the signs. They don’t care much, they’re always late and sex virtually evaporates.’

  ‘Test him out,’ Sarah said.

  She could make him jealous by avoiding him, blaming her busy schedule. They hatched a plot for him to spot her at the Oaks and she would, if necessary, clearly flirt with someone else. Phillip would probably be curious enough to turn up and check out what they were up to. He wore his jealousy on his sleeve. They agreed that Phillip needed a jolt to test his commitment.

  The plan was carried out to the letter. Libby told Phillip she couldn’t see him the following Friday night because she was going out to the Oaks with Sarah. He asked why, but didn’t persist when Libby explained that she’d planned it for a while and felt bad about ignoring her best friend for so long. She went out and the girls caught up with some old friends, schoolmates too, who she hadn’t seen for quite a while. Dancing late that night, Libby’s male friends guided her around the dance-floor arm in arm, bouncing hips playfully. Through the crowd of heads and shoulders she occasionally glanced around to see if she could spot Phillip watching from beyond the dance floor. But neither of the girls saw him anywhere that night.

  It was Sunday before Libby heard from Phillip again. Around mid-afternoon she heard an aggressive knock at the door and went up the corridor to answer it. ‘Who is it?’ she asked.

  ‘Me,’ came Phillip’s stern reply.

  As soon as she unlocked the door, it burst open, throwing her back against the wall. Phillip stormed in without any thought for what damage the flying door may have done. His face was red with rage, his stride long as he made his way down the corridor and into the lounge room.

  ‘What the bloody hell do you think you’re doing, Libby?’ Phillip screamed. ‘A night out with the girls, huh? Getting touched up by horny pisspots and acting like a tart. You’ve embarrassed me again, made me look like a dickhead. Why hurt me like that?’

  ‘What are you talking about? Did you turn up at the Oaks?’ Libby replied softly.

  ‘A minute was all I needed, yes,’ he said.

  Then Phillip went berserk, throwing his car keys across the room, going to hit the television set. He kicked a terracotta plant pot and it rolled over, spilling the plant across the mat and crashing against the fireplace. He pushed the lounge out of its position. He then strode up to within a few centimetres of Libby and began a verbal tirade that would have been heard next door.

  ‘What have I done to you of late that made you do this?’ he said, screwing his face up with anger. ‘I’ve dropped all the stuff that you hate. I buy you dinner when I can, work out to keep myself fit, tell all my friends what a wonderful chick you are—and you do that to me. You chuck it back in my face.’

  Libby was trembling, not knowing how to explain what she’d set out to do, not daring to reveal that it was a plan to win him back.

  ‘I just—’ she paused.

  ‘You just bloody what? What?’

  ‘I thought you were seeing someone else,’ Libby mumbled.

  ‘What?’ he screamed. ‘Seeing who? Why would I do that? That’s the most idiotic thing I’ve heard. Can’t you understand that I’m flat out at work and trying to do a hundred things at once? Maybe I’d better get to it so you can go on with this crazy crap with someone else.’

  ‘No, I don’t want that.’

  Phillip was still yelling, his hands still flying. Then as he launched into another tirade, his right hand clipped Libby’s chin, knocking her almost off her feet.

  ‘Oh! I’m sorry,’ Phillip said, leaning over her to see what he’d done. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it, I promise. I just go crazy when it all stuffs up on me again.’

  He had broken the skin and the sight made him fret. Phillip ran into the bathroom and returned with a wet hand towel, attempting to stop the blood.

  ‘I’m sorry too, Phillip, I was stupid,’ she said.

  Libby reached up to hug him. They held each other tight. She felt a great sense of relief, not because they’d come to any resolution, but because the rage was over. If the situation required pretence, Libby was up to it; anything to prevent a repeat of what she’d just witnessed.

  Something else bothered her too. Libby could smell a familiar perfume on Phillip, a recognisable aroma. In fact, she believed it was the same fragrance he’d given to her. Her suspicions about Phillip’s extracurricular activities were now as good as proven. Perhaps he even bought different women the same perfume to prevent suspicion. The pieces were starting to fall into place. Phillip Hopkins was a fraud; a dangerous fraud.

  As Phillip switched off the lounge room light, gesturing towards the bedroom, she closed her eyes. She felt like crying as he led her there. In bed, engulfed by repulsion for the man treating himself to her body, Libby could only console herself with one fact: this would be the last time, the very last. After that, it was time to find somewhere to hide.

  6

  IGNITING EVIL

  ‘Are you sure he’s that screwed up?’ asked Sarah, as Libby took a nervous sip of her coffee.

  The pair had met at Libby’s insistence during their morning tea break and Sarah sensed she’d been summoned to a crisis meeting.

  ‘You just heard it all.’ Libby said forcefully. ‘I can’t take it anymore, not for another second. We’re arguing all the time now. You don’t know him. He’s a real little bastard, a spoilt little child. If he doesn’t get his way, he gets so rude, so cruel.’

  If Sarah was honest, she’d known worse. She’d been through the dirty magazine and porno movie trip with more than one of her own boyfriends. She’d also met men who were totally unrealistic in their expectations.

  ‘I hope you know what you’re doing,’ Sarah warned.

  ‘You don’t have to cope with his childish obsessions, his ego and his demands that everything goes his way,’ Libby insisted, as she stood to leave.

  She wasn’t as certain as she sounded. She could still feel his touch, hear his kind voice and see his smiling face. Nothing made sense.

  ‘You’ve got to end it, if that’s what your heart says,’ Libby’s mother concluded, after hearing the censored version of her daughter’s plight.

  Libby was convinced, even if she hadn’t worked out the best approach. There was an added complexity in that his birthday fell the following day. Still, this had to be the end.

  ‘Phillip’s on line three, Libby,’ Carla told her through the speakerphone.

  ‘He’s done it again!’ Libby exclaimed. Phillip had cornered her in another moment of uncertainty. It was as if he could sense the storm clouds between them and had to get in and fix things before they broke.

  ‘Hi,’ Libby said cautiously.

  ‘Hi. I’ve missed you,’ Phillip replied. ‘A lot.’
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  ‘Listen, Phillip, we need to talk,’ she interrupted.

  ‘Talk? What do you mean “talk”? That sounds ominous.’

  ‘Can we meet, maybe tomorrow night?’

  ‘Nice of you to remember my birthday. I’ll pick you up at eight. I know a good place.’

  ‘Okay, it doesn’t matter where, I’ll see you then,’ Libby interrupted again, before hanging up.

  This was not going to be easy. It was risky to end it in her home; there was no telling how he’d take it. Would he explode again? Or could he see the writing on the wall and be resigned to the news? Even if he knew it had to end, he would probably sob like a baby, one of his usual attention-seeking methods. She was not certain he’d remain calm even in public.

  Libby parked her car in the driveway of her home after returning from some late afternoon shopping and walked the path to her front door. It was just on sunset, dark enough for the streetlight to be on: it shone a dim beam on her front yard. As she approached the door, she began scrambling for her keys; they were tangled at the bottom of her bag. She fiddled for the key ring, trying repeatedly to untangle the keys.

  As she did so, a hand appeared in front of her and thrust a set of keys in her face. She jumped in fright. The hand, dangling the keys arrogantly on the forefinger, belonged to Phillip.

  ‘Use mine,’ he said smiling, hand outstretched.

  ‘You scared me, you bastard!’ Libby shouted. ‘Are they keys to my front door?’

  ‘Well, yeah,’ he admitted.

  ‘How did you get them?’

  ‘That’s a secret,’ he replied smugly. ‘Aren’t you going to wish me happy birthday?’

  Libby was now in no mood to interrogate him further. Having keys cut was brazen and invasive, but she had a greater priority on her mind. After dropping her shopping bags on the lounge, she freshened up in the bathroom and herded him out the door again. There was little point in drawing the night out.