How to Play Dead

by Jacqueline Ward

  I can’t tell her I am concerned because I don’t know the details. I don’t want to worry her. She shakes her head. ‘I don’t know. She seems bothered.’

  ‘I’ll ask her. Don’t worry, Vi. She’ll meet someone. This might not be him, but she will. She’s a lovely woman.’

  We say goodbye to Vi and Danny Snr and Vi reminds me to ‘ask him’.

  As soon as we get home, my phone rings. I jump out of my skin, but it’s a foreign number and I know it’s Danny.

  ‘Ria. Go outside, where the kids can’t hear.’

  He sounds serious and my stomach turns. What could have happened? What does he know? I let Jennifer and Simon in and they hurry to the TV – Sunday is TV day. I go back.

  ‘OK. I’m on the front steps.’

  He tuts. ‘I just had a call from Mum. What are you supposed to ask me?’

  I shake my head. Shit. This is Danny’s arguing voice.

  ‘You already know. That’s why you’re so pissed off and I haven’t asked you.’

  I look around. Our street is a row of rental flats, green with trees and today it’s sunny. It’s cheerful but rough, and even at a glance I see a discarded painkiller popper pack and a used condom. God only knows what is hiding in the long grass on the spare ground across the road. I saw a needle on the edge of the grass once and donned surgical gloves to pick it up, only to see many more near the beautiful willow trees.

  I’ve watched as people walk through the rough paths that lead to a forested area in the middle of this urban decay. Jennifer and Simon gaze at it, innocent as yet to the dangers it could hold should they go there alone. We need to get away from here before they become teenagers and I can’t stop them.

  ‘I’m not taking it. I’m doing this alone or not at all.’ I’m suddenly stung.

  ‘But you’re not alone. What about me?’

  He is silent.

  ‘You don’t even want this, Ria,’ he says eventually. ‘You’re not even bothered. You’d stay there. Which is fine, but I don’t want to.’

  Tears threaten yet again and I swallow them back.

  ‘I do want it. And you know I’d follow you anywhere.’

  He finally softens. ‘Yeah, I know. I’m just tired and this job. But not long left now. And this guy … I’m worried, Ria.’

  I freeze.

  ‘What guy?’

  ‘Donelle’s fella. Pissing me off. And you. I’m worried about you. I always am with your job and those fucking nutters you’re constantly fending off. It’s worse now I’m not there. You can’t blame me.’

  He’s right. I can’t blame him. I think quickly. My stalker is just another one of them, someone who is warped and needs putting straight. But there’s only one way to do it: through the law. And I’ve been down that road. I can’t do anything until it escalates. I hear him and make him a promise, one that helps us both.

  ‘Look. This is normal. You’re away from your family and you’re bound to be worried, love. If it all gets on top and I need you, I will text you. I’ll text you a specific word and you’ll know to come straight away. Or I’ll phone you and say it and you’ll know.’

  It’s a device we use both in practice and to make people feel safer, to make them realise that someone is there for them.

  He laughs. ‘Live a reverse Fifty Shades?’

  I giggle. ‘Yeah. Our own version. What word? What do you think? Something vague. Not “help” or anything. Something that could be used in a normal sentence.’

  The line is silent and he’s thinking.

  ‘Superwoman.’

  I roll my eyes.

  ‘Hardly normal.’

  He laughs.

  ‘Seems to be being bandied about a lot these days. And you are.’

  ‘I’m not. And if I were it would be because you support me. Don’t do yourself down, Dan. Don’t.’

  He is serious again.

  ‘I worry about you being hurt. That hurts me, Ri. That I can’t do anything.’

  Oh my God. I never covered this angle. Male pride. It hadn’t occurred to me. Of course he means everyday danger, which is enough really, but I want to tell him everything. Tell him about this fucking creep. A full 100 per cent on the bastardometer. He’s nothing. I’ve reported him. He is nothing.

  ‘I can handle myself, Dan, don’t worry.’

  He changes the subject.

  ‘Look, I have to go. I want to come back, Ri; I miss you and the kids. But I want the money. I don’t want any more debt collectors knocking at our door. And I can’t take it off my mum. If I’d known I was going to meet you and have them two, I would have gone to uni, used that cash then. But I need to contribute. And that money’s in the bank for Si and Jen. It doesn’t feel right to take it.’

  I laugh. ‘Yeah, well, we’d all like the benefit of hindsight. Go. I’ll be fine. I’ll call you if anything happens. With Donelle. With me. Anything. And if you get the Superwoman call get here straight away. OK? But it won’t.’

  He sighs. ‘Bye, love. Bye.’

  He’s gone. I look up and down the street and then I go inside and bolt all the doors and windows. Just in case.

  Tanya

  Diary Entry: Sunday

  We went out for a walk yesterday. After the party Al was hungover and he suggested going for a stroll on the moors. We drove out past Huddersfield and over to the little cafe that we used to go to when we first met. All the while I was thinking about what Jenny had said and what he must be doing during the day. As if I needed to ask.

  It had never ended. It was all falling into place. That’s why he was doing this to me. Keeping me in the house, making sure I was too scared to even look at anyone let alone speak. He wanted to keep us separate, like he had before. He wanted me in one place playing the little wife, and her in another as the mistress.

  I watched the heathered hillsides roll by then turn to stone houses. We parked outside the cafe and I watched him as he went through his stupid routine of slicking back his hair, like he was still young. But he isn’t. He’s old now. Older than me. He drinks too much. He’s got a paunch. This is how I convince myself that one day everything will be all right.

  Right at that moment I hated him. My feelings changed so rapidly from fear to desperation to hatred on a minute-by-minute basis that I was just waiting for the next wave. But it didn’t come. And it wasn’t just him I hated. It was everyone who sat and watched me day after day and said nothing. I knew I had to do something about it.

  Walking away was out of the question — I wasn’t stupid enough to do it on the spur of the moment anyway — but somehow I mustered strength from the bottom of my soul and smiled.

  ‘I love this place.’ I looked at the cafe wistfully. ‘It reminds me of when we met.’

  He looked at me from the corner of his eye. It was a cross between boredom and disgust.

  ‘That’s why we’re here. You really are stupid, aren’t you?’

  I turned away and looked through the window. It’s the anniversary of the day we met. How could I have forgotten? But stupid? Am I? Am I stupid? Let’s see. I felt the thrill of risk flood me, cancelling out the fear for a second. I’ve felt it before and nearly done something. Nearly. But getting caught would mean lasting consequences.

  We went inside the cafe, a neat little place where Last of the Summer Wine was filmed. It has a shop on the side that sells plants and little ornaments and pictures of the actors. He ordered us a cream tea and we sat down. My heart was thumping but I smiled sweetly when the woman on the next table asked to borrow the salt. I passed it to her and he barely looked up. I waited until he looked calm. Engrossed in a newspaper.

  ‘Al, can I go and look in the shop please?’

  He waved me away, throwing a ten-pound note on the table and munching his scone. I got that awful feeling of being nothing, having nothing, and hoping no one would see, and it nearly stopped me.

  But I knew what I was doing. I knew this shop well. Where everything was. I browsed for a while, through the
themed pencils and coasters. I picked up a few trinkets and looked at them. There were plenty of people about. I made sure he was still looking at his paper, only checking now and again, never suspicious.

  The card rack was facing him and I stood in front of it, back turned. Quick as anything, I took a diary page out of my pocket and slipped it inside a greetings-card envelope. I took the envelope and slipped it inside my cardigan, under my arm. I took a birthday card and paid for it. It was his birthday soon. He would inevitably look in the bag, but good. Good.

  I sat back down and drank my tea and ate my scone. Al stretched, his arms long with no regard for anyone else’s space.

  ‘Right then. Shall we have a walk round?’

  He announced it as if he was doing me a favour. I caught his eye and pointed at the Ladies. He sighed an exaggerated sigh and flopped back down.

  ‘Hurry up then.’ Like I was a child.

  I walked slowly to the toilet, and once inside pulled a pen from my shoe. I almost didn’t do it because if he ever found out he would probably kill me. Not probably. Definitely. I addressed the envelope to Oldham Police Station. I didn’t have a stamp and the odds were that it wouldn’t get there, but at least I had done something.

  Once outside, I clutched the letter in my pocket. I slowed down just before the post box in the wall and bent down to tie my trainer. He looked down at me and carried on walking. My heart skipped a beat as I jumped up and popped the letter in the slot. He didn’t see. He was almost at the end of the street and I ran to catch him up.

  I felt completely exhilarated. I wasn’t useless after all. I smiled to myself. Let’s see how stupid I am now. Let’s see how he likes this. And let’s see how she likes it, too.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Day 16

  Monday morning hits me like a brick. I haven’t heard anything since Friday night and I almost believe that, as predicted, he’d give up when I resisted. But the pictures on the cheap phone are a lingering warning that he is still in the background of my life.

  I drop off the kids, ducking into the headmistress’s office just to confirm that she got my email and no one except family can collect them. All sorted, I arrive at work super-early because it’s perpetrator counselling again. Janice is setting the chairs out when I arrive. She sees me pass the doorway.

  ‘Hey, you. Come on. Spill.’

  She follows me into the office. I pull up the dusty window blind slightly. Some of the men are already outside, carefully avoiding each other. Malc is imposing in his security uniform, arms folded, back against the door, and I turn back to Janice. I know she will never break my confidence, but I am still careful, the truth catching in my gut.

  ‘That guy. He sent me a dick pic and flowers and some texts. He cut my hair. On the bus. Carole said it wasn’t enough so I’m waiting to see what he does next.’ I take a deep breath. ‘And he was in the pub on Friday night. He sent a picture.’

  Her face flushes and she reaches for the phone.

  ‘I’m calling Carole.’

  I stop her. I place the receiver gently back on the cradle.

  ‘And say what? Some random guy’s sending pictures?’

  Her hands are trembling.

  ‘Stalker. He’s stalking you. Why didn’t you mention this the other night? I knew something was wrong.’

  I shrug.

  ‘Because you would have called the police. Loads of trouble and we still wouldn’t know who it was. And Danny would find out and come home.’

  She stares at me.

  ‘Maybe he should.’

  ‘No. We need the money. You know how skint we are. I’m getting letters from debt collectors, Jan. I have to get through the next two weeks. I have to. Besides, what would he do? We’ve no real idea who this is?’

  ‘A perp? It has to be.’

  ‘Yeah. Maybe. Carole said to go through the correct channels. But he’s not approached me. Yet. Yeah, he was on the bus but I didn’t see… anyway. They won’t do anything until they know who he is.’

  ‘That’s assault. Cutting your hair. It’s assault. And the phone? Can’t they—’

  ‘No. She said he’d have bought it for cash, probably two at once. Pay-as-you-go.’

  I pull the phone out of my bag and show her the dick pic, then the picture message from the pub. She stares at the table.

  ‘Fucking hell. Fucking. Hell.’

  I smile.

  ‘Quite.’

  ‘But honestly, Ria. You’re a fucking angel and this happens.’

  ‘I know. No clues. I’ve scoured the messages and videos. Carole says ignore it, unless he approaches, which she doesn’t think he will. The bus thing. I’d have to prove it was him.’

  ‘Right. Well, he’d better not come here. But you’ve done the right thing – telling as many people as possible. Which you know, of course, because it’s your job. Sorry.’

  I laugh. She’s right.

  ‘It’s OK. It will pass, like everything.’ I change the subject. ‘Anyway, I need to tell you about Dawn.’

  I explain about my mother’s new-found independence and she laughs loudly when I tell her about our coffee date. Eventually it is nearly perpetrator time, and we open the blinds a little. No Frank, but Jim is there, smoking a roll-up and having a staring match with Malc. Sally and the children are at the Community Centre seeing the social worker with the other women, and, apart from me, Janice and Malc, the place is empty. We finish our coffee. I get up, but Janice catches my arm.

  ‘Whatever this is, love, don’t let it go too far. You know the score. And so do I. And I know the fact you haven’t closed it down means there’s more to it.’

  I move the yellow arrow on the bastardometer, which is actually just a scale of one to one hundred written on a whiteboard with a permanent marker. I push the magnetic arrow past the 100 per cent mark. She meets my eyes and she knows.

  ‘I’m here. Whenever you need me.’

  She leaves to open the door for the perpetrator counselling. Malc is at the ready and the men file towards the door until a black limousine pulls up and they all turn to look. It’s sleek and shiny, just like its occupant. Frank James. He’s not driving, of course, but he gets out smoothly as two burly younger men get out of the front and rear on the other side. They open the spacious boot and remove two large boxes.

  Frank, dressed in pale golf slacks and a pink Fred Perry lightweight cotton sweater over a brilliant white shirt, practises his golf strokes. They carry the boxes in and then return for more. I rush through to the main hall to see what they are. Janice already has the first one open.

  ‘Xboxes. Brand new.’

  She shakes her head. We should be pleased. It’s a donation and the kids will love them. But we know what this is. It’s a show of power, an attempt to buy us. The perpetrators file past them, eyebrows raised, and sit down. Eventually, Frank graces us with his presence. He stands at the front of the gathering. His minders wait at the door but he signals them to leave.

  ‘Ladies.’ He smiles at us, a thin-lipped smile that would be entirely charming if we didn’t know what he had done to Sheila. ‘Gents.’ He turns to the perpetrators. ‘No one knows how hard these girls work. Keeping us on the straight and narrow. Sorting our girls out while we sort ourselves out.’ He turns back to us. ‘I just want to say thank-you, girls; thank-you.’

  He does a bow, hands pressed together. Janice steps forwards.

  ‘Women. We’re women. Not girls. Grown women, Frank.’

  He doesn’t flinch. Or move. But his eyes grow icy cold.

  ‘Same thing, love. Anyway …’

  She moves closer to him.

  ‘Please could you sit down, Frank, so we can start the meeting?’

  He stares at her. Then he looks away and around the room.

  ‘I could completely refurb this place. All you have to do is humour Frankie. Come on, girls, Frankie’s a teddy bear once he’s comfy.’

  Some of the men look confused, but those who know Frank James and
his reputation as local councillor cum businessmen cum thug look plain scared. I intervene.

  ‘Right, Frank, let’s chat this out later on; we need to start now. I’ll make sure the kids get these. They’ll love them.’

  I make a point not to say thank you. He looks satisfied and walks slowly to the back of the room where he sits looking at his phone for the whole session. When we are finished and we have heard the stories, excuses and even some heart-felt regret, Malc guides everyone towards the door and unlocks it. Jim watches him intently and I make a note to make sure all the alarms are on. Frank remains. He stands at the very back of the room, throwing more golf strokes. He is checking his gold cufflinks, a little tic I have noticed he does when he is really fucking annoyed.

  ‘Frank.’

  He looks at me as if I have only just arrived and the last two hours have not happened. I see the black limo pull up outside the gated entrance. The two burly guys get out and speak to Malc, and he relaxes and kicks back as they offer him a cigarette. I turn and walk slowly into my office.

  Under the desk in every office at every workstation, and also at regular points in the main rooms, are panic alarms. The white switches turn on a recording device in the room, should we need it. A second position transmits the feed to the main room to alert other workers without panicking anyone in the room. The big red buttons activate a deafening alarm that sounds through the building and is connected to the local police station. This is not going well. Frank is quietly aggressive and I guess that this is his style. Cold and calculated, without being overtly obvious. Until the moment he strikes, or he gets someone else to. I activate the white switch to position one with my knee and smile tightly.

  ‘So.’

  He sits down facing me, drawing his chair closer.

  ‘Right, love. Is she all right?’

  I screen him for any sign of genuine concern: a furrowed brow, caring eyes. But there is none. I nod.

  ‘As well as can be expected under the circumstances. With a broken arm.’