by Maggie James
I struck lucky. I found a company that owned six properties in a block close to Millennium Square. I scanned through the photos. The flats looked impressive, justifying their steep rates, and I relished the chance to spend some time alone, as well as fool Liam Tate. Within twenty minutes, I’d booked and paid for my first fortnight, and received key codes to the block and apartment. My intention was to extend my tenancy week by week as required. I’d move my things shortly before I invited Liam there and buy food, flowers, candles, etc., to make the place appear lived in. The hook had been baited.
Excitement buzzed through me on Sunday afternoon while I waited outside Bristol’s main museum, which also housed a small art gallery. The current exhibition was ‘West Country Landscapes in Watercolour’, and even if I hadn’t been meeting Scott I’d have wanted to see it. We’d chatted on the phone most days and his soft voice always sent delight throbbing through me. We discussed paintings, styles, techniques, and I told him about the challenges of running an art gallery. Thank God I didn’t have to bend the truth there, although it tore at my heart I couldn’t reveal Spain was the location, not Bristol. Every time we spoke it pained me more and more that we’d begun with a lie, or several of them.
This time my outfit was chosen not to flaunt my money but to look nice for Scott. I’d opted for a dress in a soft shade of blue, halter-necked and flowing to my knees, matched with strappy sandals - perfect for a hot summer’s day. My make-up was minimal and I wore my hair loose but clipped back on one side. A long look in the mirror before I left home reassured me I’d done well, even if I thought so myself.
‘Wow. You scrub up great,’ Amelia told me as I descended the stairs.
I laughed. ‘Angling for a reduction on your rent?’ I remembered the serviced apartment at the Harbourside, prompting another lie. ‘By the way, I’ll be out of your way soon. I’m going to stay with Mum for a while.’
She believed me. Why wouldn’t she? Guilt stabbed me but I told myself it was a white lie, nothing serious.
Inside the museum entrance hall I sucked in a deep breath. Was it the heat making my palms sweat, or was I nervous? I glanced at the time on my phone. One minute to two o’clock. At the exact second the numbers changed to 14.00 the doors opened and Scott Champion walked through them. A huge grin lit up his face when he saw me.
‘Hello, Lynnie,’ he said, and damn me if that voice didn’t send tingles shooting up my spine, despite the weirdness of being called Lynnie instead of Lyddie. His eyes roamed over my dress, my hair, my face. ‘You look lovely.’
Heat rose into my cheeks. My mouth was dry, but I was glad I could even speak. ‘Thank you.’
‘It’s the truth.’ The words were accompanied by a shy smile, and I was a goner.
I sucked in another deep breath and managed to find my voice. ‘The exhibition’s this way.’
We walked in silence towards the swing doors. Once inside, I stared around the room in awe. Paintings covered the walls - a mass of colour depicting the local countryside. Art and a gorgeous man - could the afternoon get any better?
It took an hour to view every painting, an animated discussion running between us all the while based on composition and technique. ‘I must try landscapes someday,’ Scott declared after we exited the hall. ‘I need a change of direction, something other than cranking out pictures of fruit. Or weird abstracts.’
I laughed. ‘I’d love to see your work.’
He grimaced. ‘I’m not sure it’s worthy of inspection. Listen, would you like to grab a coffee?’
As if I could say no. ‘I’d love to. There’s a good place not far from here.’
We walked outside, heading towards the Triangle. The sun had retreated behind a swathe of clouds, rendering the afternoon cooler than before. On the way we passed an amusement arcade, all flashing lights and loud music, and Scott paused. His gaze was fixed on one of those skill-crane machines, its glass case filled with soft toys and kids’ baubles. He reached into his wallet, extracted a pound coin and pressed it in the slot.
‘Let me win something for you,’ he said, that endearing smile back on his face. All I could do was nod.
Scott manipulated the grabber with ease, and within a minute its claws had fastened on a child’s bracelet, hauling it to the release chute. He pulled the circle of plastic beads – small gold spheres strung on elastic - free from its packaging and bounced them on his palm.
‘Hold out your wrist,’ he instructed. As he fastened the cheap trinket around my arm, his fingers brushed my skin, causing a shiver of desire to barrel through my body. Scott glanced at me, his expression concerned. ‘You’re cold. Let’s go get that coffee, shall we?’
Once inside, we both ordered cappuccinos. After we got seated, I sensed a change of mood steal over Scott. He looked sad, and I had no idea why. I searched his face for clues, but then he spoke. ‘My sister would love to see those paintings.’
He’d mentioned his family circumstances when we’d spoken on the phone. Both his parents had died in a car crash five years ago. Scott had a younger sister called Darcy, aged twenty-seven, to whom he was close, doubly so after the pile-up that left them orphaned. He’d seemed reluctant to discuss her, which puzzled me. Scott appeared to care for Darcy the way I did for Ellie, so why the reticence?
‘Perhaps you should have invited her along,’ I said, keeping my tone light. ‘I wouldn’t have minded.’ I cursed myself the minute the words sailed out of my mouth. Would he decide I was too pushy, hinting at meeting his family on our second date?
He smiled but his eyes stayed sad. ‘Thank you for that. You’re a good person, Lynnie.’
Shame at the lies I’d told, my false name an unwelcome reminder, stole over me. Before I could torture myself further, he continued, ‘She’s not well, you see.’ Tension tightened his lips and I ached at the pain in his blue eyes. My hand reached out to cover his. ‘Tell me about her,’ I said.
He shook his head. ‘It’s hard to talk about.’
I kept quiet, figuring he needed space. The café’s customers milled around us, their voices loud, grating on my nerves. Once again I wished everyone else gone so only Scott and I remained. I suppressed the urge to stroke my fingers over the skin of his hand. Too much, too soon.
Instead, I touched the bracelet around my wrist. Cheap and gaudy the trinket might be, but he’d staked his claim on me with its plastic beads. For a second, the loss of Dad’s gift stabbed through me, the memory of the flowers etched onto its gold ever poignant.
‘She’s sick,’ Scott said. ‘Really sick.’
I paused a second, reluctant to probe deeper. ‘That’s tough.’
‘Like I told you, Darcy’s the only family I have left.’
‘You obviously love her very much.’
He nodded. ‘Are you close to your sister? Her name’s Emma, right?
‘Yes.’ Another fib returning to poke me in the eye. ‘She’s also been ill, although she’s getting better now. At least I hope so.’
‘Then you’ll understand how I feel. I can’t lose her, Lynnie.’
‘I get that.’
‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to shove my problems onto you.’ His eyes wouldn’t meet mine.
‘It’s fine.’ I vowed I would get the rest of the story about Darcy before long.
I sensed our time together was at an end, at least for then. I stood up, reaching for my handbag. ‘Shall we go?’
His expression relaxed into a smile. ‘Can I walk you home? You’re down at the Harbourside, right?’
Damn the lies I’d told. My rented Audi was in Trenchard Street car park, a few hundred metres away, but I couldn’t risk him knowing that. Nobody would drive the short distance from Millennium Square to the museum unless they had mobility issues. I thought through my options.
‘That would be lovely, but I want to browse the shops on the Triangle before they close,’ I said.
Uncertainty stole across his handsome features. ‘Would you like to go for a walk someti
me? With me, I mean?’ He shook his head. ‘I’m such an idiot. Who else would I be referring to?’
That endearing modesty again. ‘I’d love to.’
We made arrangements for the following Tuesday, the evening after I next planned to see Liam Tate. Scott suggested a stroll around the Harbourside if the weather stayed fine, to which I readily agreed. Outside the museum, he leaned in, his lips grazing my cheek, this time closer to my mouth. Desire pulsed through me.
‘I’ll call you,’ he said. ‘Soon.’
I watched until he disappeared into the Trenchard Street car park, my eyes nailed to his back. Our third date couldn’t come quickly enough.
After I got home, the first thing I did was call Caroline.
‘Hey, stranger,’ she answered. ‘Long time no see. You planning to honour me with a visit soon?’
‘Yeah, now you mention it, I am.’ I needed to talk to her about Scott. ‘Are you free this evening? There’s something I want to run past you.’
‘Tonight’s fine. Are you okay, lovey? Is this about Ellie?’
‘No.’ I drew in a breath, knowing how Caroline would react. My friend was well aware of how deeply I craved a steady relationship. ‘I’ve met someone.’
Her squeal of delight was loud enough to reach Australia. ‘I’m so pleased for you.’ Her voice rose high with excitement. ‘I can’t wait to hear all about him. Bring wine, and I’ll cook for us.’
I laughed. I hadn’t realised how much I missed Caroline. ‘See you later, you daft bat.’
After we ended the call, I sat back, glad we’d talked. I’d tell her about Scott, about the lies I’d told, and she’d know what to do. She always did.
On the coffee table, my mobile pinged. A text, no doubt from Caroline, even though we’d spoken seconds before. With a grin on my face, I grabbed my phone. My smile faded the second I realised who’d messaged me.
You don’t want to piss me off, friend. There are ways to track down mobile phone users.
Oh, God. Dear God. I’d made that first drunken text from my regular phone, meaning my real name and address were registered to that number. Might this man be a hacker, skilled enough to access my details? Amelia could be at risk if this prick got my Kingswood address and targeted it on the assumption she was me. My lodger was often away for work, but I couldn’t afford to be complacent about her safety.
I fired off a reply, yet another lie. I’m one step ahead of you, fucker. This is a crappy old pay-as-you-go mobile I stole from my sister, who’s forgotten she ever owned it. You think I’d be stupid enough to use my own phone? Except I had been, of course.
Another ping from my mobile. You’re cleverer than I thought. I’m enjoying our little game, friend. Let’s talk again soon.
I didn’t reply, my earlier happiness having soured. The unwelcome texts from Rick-The-Dick Montgomery reminded me I’d not logged onto Love Rats Exposed for a while. I grabbed my laptop, navigating to the website and scanning the recent threads. Broken and Betrayed had posted some more, convincing me further she and Sophie had fallen prey to the same swindler as Ellie. A guy who sounded a lot like Liam Tate.
So far I’d only browsed the forum. Time to change that. Chances were I could glean useful details from these women.
I began a thread called ‘Sad Sister Seeks Information’ and recounted Ellie’s story. I told of my distress at her attempted suicide, my fear she’d fallen victim to a serial con artist. I tagged both Broken and Betrayed and Anna, saying that from what I had read of their posts I suspected the same guy was responsible.
‘This man is ruining women’s lives,’ I ended. ‘And I’m going to ensure he gets his comeuppance.’ Satisfied, I closed my laptop.
I fixed myself a whisky while I mulled over the messages on my phone. One thing continued to reassure me. If Liam Tate, Rick Montgomery and Steven Simmons were the same guy, he could have no idea I was behind the texts. To Liam, I was a potential mark, nothing else. For the purposes of dating him I was using the pay-as-you-go Samsung, not my main phone, meaning he’d never connect Lynnie Connor with his anonymous texter.
I drained my glass, satisfied I was safe.
An hour or two later, I checked back with Love Rats Exposed, gratified to see several responses to my post.
Sophiesmum: ‘I understand what you’re going through, Sad Sister. My daughter’s lost all her confidence, says she’ll never trust a man again, rarely leaves her flat. She’s still refusing to go to the police, despite me telling her I’ll support her all the way. What did you mean about giving this guy his comeuppance?’
BrokenAndBetrayed: ‘I think you’re right, SS. This Steven Simmons sounds like the jerk who called himself Rick Montgomery.’
Hurtingbad: ‘Such a tragic story. How’s your sister doing these days? She should sign up here, then she’d realise she’s not alone.’
HeartbrokenHelen: ‘So sorry to read your post. Men are bastards, aren’t they?’
Hurtingbad: ‘You’re not wrong there, Helen. What are you going to do, SS?’
I clicked on ‘reply to thread.’ ‘Ellie won’t go to the police. So I intend to. First I have to get evidence though.’ I waited, refreshing the screen every few seconds. Within a minute Anna had posted.
Sophiesmum: ‘Good luck with that. If it’s the same guy, he always asks for cash. He takes care not to leave a paper trail.’
While I considered my reply, more responses appeared.
HeartbrokenHelen: ‘Hey, SS! Yeah, you should totally do that. Stick it to him, I say.’
BrokenAndBetrayed: ‘But how will the police find him? After he fleeced me, he disappeared. Do you have an address for him?’
I began to type.
‘I don’t have his address, but I’m pretty sure I’ve tracked him down. Found the bastard through Premier Love Matches. I’ve already been on a date with him. He doesn’t know who I am, of course. You ask what I’m planning? To play him at his own game.’
Within a minute, I got a reply from Broken and Betrayed. ‘You’ve found him? What name is he using these days?’
‘I don’t want to say until I’m sure it’s him,’ I replied. ‘I’ll post again when I’m certain. He’ll ask me for money soon, and when he does, I’ll be ready. Just not in the way he’s expecting.’
‘Good on you, girl,’ Heartbroken Helen posted. ‘You’ve got guts, I’ll give you that.’
‘There’s an upside to all this,’ I typed. ‘I met an amazing guy while I was searching for the bastard who conned Ellie. We’ve had two dates already. With another planned.’ I paused before clicking the ‘post’ button, worried they might resent my happiness.
I was wrong, it seemed. ‘So pleased for you!’ Heartbroken Helen replied. ‘I hope it turns out better than it did for your sister. You going to tell us the name of this one?’
‘Scott,’ I typed. ‘We’ve arranged to go for a walk on Tuesday.’
The thread went quiet for a while. I was beginning to think I’d pissed the rest of them off with my good news. Then Sophie’s mum Anna replied. ‘I’m delighted for you, Sad Sister. Keep us posted, won’t you?’
I would. Of that I was sure.
That evening I tried to park close to Caroline’s house but failed to find anywhere. In the end I squeezed into a space two streets away, cursing as I wrestled with the steering wheel. As I locked the car, a bottle of wine in one hand, I glanced towards the end of the street. A man stood on the pavement, hands in pockets, his face masked by a hoodie. His gaze appeared to be directed my way.
Just some guy hanging around, I decided. After I’d walked halfway towards Caroline’s, I looked back to where he’d been. The man was strolling behind me at a distance of about a hundred metres. As my eyes fixed on him, he stopped, extracting a mobile from one pocket. Turning his back on me, he pressed the phone to his ear, apparently having a conversation.
Weird, I thought. Well, if some nutter was following me, for whatever reason, he’d picked the wrong time and place. The evening was
still light, and I was a minute’s walk from my destination, in a well-populated area. With a shrug, I carried on. Once I arrived at Caroline’s, I took a quick look over my shoulder. The man had stopped on a street corner, his phone clamped to his ear, his identity still concealed by his hoodie. A second after he caught me staring at him, he turned down a side road and disappeared from view.
Dismissing him from my mind, I rang Caroline’s doorbell. I pictured her face when I told her about Scott. If her squeal of delight earlier was an indicator, she’d be ecstatic.
The door opened, and Caroline pulled me into a fierce hug. ‘Hey, you,’ she said. ‘Great to see you, so it is. Come on in.’
I followed her into the hallway, the smell of garlic growing ever stronger in my nostrils as we approached the kitchen. Pans and utensils lay strewn over every surface.
‘Take a seat. I’ve done us a pasta bake. Here, let me have that.’ She grabbed the wine, twisted off the cap and poured liberal measures into two glasses. While she busied herself serving up the food, I considered my options. Caroline and I were close, always had been, and I disliked keeping secrets from her. I’d tell her about Scott, sure, but Liam Tate was another matter. Impossible to reveal my plans for him without mentioning Ellie and the missing money - and she’d sworn me to secrecy. But how could I broach having lied to Scott without disclosing the reason?
I remembered Ellie had only made me promise not to tell Mum. Perhaps I could discuss this with Caroline after all.
She placed a bowl of steaming pasta before me. ‘So,’ she said, taking the seat opposite me. ‘Spill the beans, girl. You’ve met a guy? When, where, how? Tell me everything.’
So I told her. I described Scott’s blue eyes, the warmth in them when he gazed at me. That dimple, sexy beyond words. I talked about the strands of gold in his otherwise brown hair, the lilt of his voice, how charming he was when he got nervous. All the while I was aware of the inane grin pasted across my face. The way my fingers toyed with the child’s bracelet he’d won for me, still fastened around my wrist.
