minutes and then, to my surprise, he made a beeline for me.
‘So what do you do now if there’s a streaker or a fire?’
‘I’m sorry?’
‘Do you still run the posed pictures if something
exciting happens?’ He was clearly teasing.
‘I’m sorry. The photographers never have much time.
I’m sure you’re used to that – and between us, Hugh’s not
exactly into culture. But I always have the camera on my
phone.’ I paused, lifting my phone by way of illustration.
‘In case something exciting happens.’
‘Well, we shall try not to disappoint you … Jennifer.’
He lowered both the tone and volume of his voice as he
said my name. And he held my gaze longer than was
appropriate. I scurried away to my seat. Embarrassed.
Confused. Interested.
The concert was extraordinary. Alex was both a bril-
liant pianist and a warm host, introducing the cellist and
violinists as friends from music college who were doing
him a favour to raise money for cancer research. Apparently
the cellist’s younger brother was currently undergoing
chemotherapy for a rare bone cancer, and I felt this pang
as Alex explained about new research and the importance
of doing everything possible to help a friend.
Later there were performances by Alex’s pupils, and I
realised from his banter on the microphone that he taught
piano, both at a local school and privately. Some of the
pianists were rather good; others were just starting out.
It was a charming evening, and as it drew to a close I
felt the flutter of excitement in my stomach rise, confident
that Alex would find me again.
* * *
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‘So are you going to tell me more before we meet Melanie?
Do you not think you owe me that, Alice? Or Jennifer?
Or whoever you really are?’ Matthew’s voice alongside
me draws me back to the present. His tone is disappointed
rather than angry. ‘I mean, I do know you’ve been through
a lot this morning. But this is going to get very serious
now. And I have no idea what to think, quite frankly. I
don’t know how I’m supposed to help you … or even if
I should at this point.’
I open my eyes and turn to Matthew. ‘My real name is
Jennifer Wallace. I was once engaged to a musician called
Alex Sunningham. I thought he loved me and that our
relationship was real. But it turns out he was using me
as a cover for something else. There was a media frenzy
about it. That’s why I changed my name.’
‘Oh Jeez.’ Matthew does not take his eyes off the road.
‘So what are we talking about exactly?’
‘Look. I really don’t want to go over it all right now,
except to say I did nothing wrong myself. But it was still
humiliating and dreadful and I will never shake off the
guilt for failing to see through him, Matthew. But he’s
in jail now. It wasn’t my evidence that put him there. I
don’t believe he bears me any ill will; in fact, I doubt he
gives me a second thought. And he can’t possibly have
anything to do with what’s going on now because, as I
say, he’s inside.’
I hear the echo of my argument with my sister in her
kitchen.
I know he’s still in jail, Alice, but you still have to tell the police. Won’t they be furious if you keep this from them? They’re bound to find out.
I think of how long it took poor Leanne to get used
to calling me by my second name. Alice. I think of my
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mother, bless her, and those few close friends who also
helped my reinvention.
‘Right,’ Matthew says. ‘Well, one way or another,
we need to talk again, Alice. Do I still call you Alice?’
I don’t know how to answer because I don’t even know
what I think myself now. We are turning the final corner
to the police station and Matthew has already warned
me that he cannot risk being seen taking me right up to
the entrance. It could prove tricky for Melanie Sanders.
But he has promised her that he’ll deliver me safely for
questioning and so will wait for me to go in.
‘You don’t trust me to go in, do you, Matthew?’ I
watch him closely but he doesn’t reply.
He pulls the car up within line of sight of the entrance
and lets out another long sigh, raking his fingers through
his hair – which I realise, watching him, is what he always
does when he is struggling to compose himself. ‘Like I
said, I don’t even know what to call you, let alone what
to think or do right now. Don’t think I don’t feel for
what you’ve been through today. But this is a pickle. Mel
Sanders is a former colleague and a good friend, which
means I’m seriously compromised here.’
‘I’m sorry, Matthew.’
‘Yes. So am I.’
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CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Matthew
Once Alice – or rather Jennifer – is inside the police sta-
tion and liaising with the front desk, Matthew moves his
car around the corner and parks up again.
He is genuinely stunned. He bashes the steering with
the heel of his hand in frustration and anger and relief and
confusion. Only now does he even begin to let out all
the pent-up emotion from what happened earlier. When
the motorcyclist swung past, he felt as if acid were being
flung into his own face. The absolute horror of those first
few seconds. As he was pouring water over Alice’s face,
all he could think was that she would be scarred for life,
possibly blind too, and he had let … this … happen. He
should have persuaded her to ride in his car; he should
not have let her overrule him.
Idiot, Matthew. You complete and utter idiot.
The relief at finally discovering it was not acid was both wonderful and yet equally overwhelming and confusing. The
seesaw of conflicting feelings was incredibly hard to control but all he could think of was the need to stay outwardly
calm for Alice’s sake. And then – just as he was managing
the whole rollercoaster of emotions? This new twist.
It had honestly never occurred to him that Alice wasn’t
being straight. He realises, thinking back to that first proper 95
Teresa Driscoll
meeting in his office, that he’d assumed her reticence
to involve him was the result of being overwhelmed.
Afraid. Confused. Now he feels that this fake-identity
twist may have been a part of it. Was she worried that
hiring a private investigator would increase the chances
of all this being found out sooner?
Hell. What kind of a private investigator did it make
him that he hadn’t sussed this? And then he reminds himself
that the police have only just caught up with the identity
switch, so Alice must have been very clever about it; she
must also have had the support of her closest family and
friends to pull this off.
He ca
lls up her profile on Facebook, which he checked
thoroughly when he first took the case. All the pictures
show Alice with her neat hair and her same, rather sweet
look. Smiley. Delicate features. Hardly any make-up.
Attractive but all very girl-next-door. No pouting or
fake eyebrows or shots obviously enhanced by apps. The
profile goes back several years and there is nothing ob-
viously amiss, although he notices now that there are
not as many friends as you might expect. But even that
is not so very suspicious, as lots of people ditch their uni-
versity profile and set up a new one – to step away from
photographs, antics and friends they do not want to take
forward in their life.
Next Matthew googles the coverage of the Alex
Sunningham case. Several tabloid news stories appear
instantly.
He’d wondered if Alex was secretly gay or commit-
ting fraud behind Alice’s back, but it’s far worse. He was
jailed for sex with two underage music pupils. Matthew
scans the copy, skipping from one online page to another
for more details. It is now vaguely ringing bells but he
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I Will Make You Pay
doesn’t remember it making the TV news. Did he see
it in the papers or online at the time? He can’t be sure.
The earliest stories say that Alex, engaged to journalist
Jennifer Wallace at the time, had suddenly disappeared
with a fifteen-year-old pupil. Alex and Jennifer had lived
in the Highlands and the teenager took piano lessons at
their home. The two runaways were initially believed to
still be in Scotland somewhere, and there was a local police
appeal. They were eventually discovered on the Isle of
Skye when the girl fell ill and a local GP recognised her
from the coverage. At first the pupil, who wasn’t named,
was loyal and devastated that their ‘romance’ had been
discovered. Her initial story to police was that she loved
Alex very deeply and they were going to marry at Gretna
Green as soon she was sixteen.
But a sordid web quickly unravelled. A second pupil
came forward to say that she’d had a relationship with
Alex the previous year but he had dumped her, and so
she’d made an excuse to her parents to give up her piano
lessons. She was too afraid and embarrassed to tell anyone
the truth.
Both girls were appalled to find out about the other
and finally cooperated with the police, giving evidence
which put Alex in jail.
Matthew calls up as many photos as he can find. The
creep Alex is a looker. ‘Smarmy bastard,’ Matthew whis-
pers out loud. He finds himself thinking of his beautiful
little Amelie; he imagines her all grown-up and beautiful
and feels this punch of fear.
Most of the papers carried photographs of Alex only,
but one has an exclusive interview with the girl he dis-
appeared with – she waiving her right to anonymity to
warn others how easy it is to be duped. She is heavily
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Teresa Driscoll
made up in the photoshoot for the feature, and Matthew
tuts. The picture makes him very uneasy.
Only two stories ran small pictures of the fiancée
Jenny Wallace. The copy makes it clear she knew noth-
ing of what was going on. She gave no comment on the
record and her court evidence seemed to be insignificant
compared to the two girls’.
In the photograph Alice looks very different. On closer
examination she is recognisable, but as Jennifer she has
long, dark hair. Now she has a chin-length, blonde bob
with a fringe and is much slighter.
Just as Matthew is twisting his lips to the side, won-
dering what the hell to make of all this, his phone rings
and Tom’s name flashes up. He winces.
‘Hello, Tom.’
‘So what’s happening? Where is she? And what the
hell happened, Matthew? I mean, I’m paying you to keep
her safe.’
Matthew takes in a long, slow breath. ‘I can under-
stand why you’re so upset. Trust me, I blame myself too.
It’s shaken me. But Alice insisted. She didn’t want to
travel with me…’
‘So have they tracked the bike? I’m on the way to the
police station now but Alice won’t answer her phone.
She’s not even answering texts. So have they caught the
guy yet? Is it over? Have they found him?’
‘I don’t know, but I don’t think so.’ Matthew pauses.
‘Tom. There are new complications which Alice will
need to speak to you about.’
‘Complications? What do you mean, complications?’
‘Look, I don’t have all the information myself yet,
Tom. So you’ll need to speak to her. I’m sorry but I’m
in traffic right now. We need to decide about the rest of
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I Will Make You Pay
the day. If you want me to continue the cover, I mean,
once Alice has finished with the police.’
There is another pause. Matthew fully expects to be
fired.
‘I’ll take over supporting Alice for the rest of today.
I think that’s best.’ Tom’s voice is curt now.
‘Fine. I understand. She’s had a tough time. I’ll catch
up with you both when she’s finished with the police.
Hopefully we can find out whether there’s any decent
CCTV or other evidence.’
‘Right. Good. OK then.’
There is nothing more to be said and so Matthew
ends the call and immediately dials home, badly needing
to anchor himself.
‘Hi there. How’s life as Kevin Costner?’ Sal’s voice
is upbeat as she answers, and he can hear opera playing
in the background. Her favourite. He pictures her in her
sloppy red sweatshirt and jeans in their kitchen with a view
of the sea, and would give anything this moment to be
right there with her. For none of today to have happened.
‘Gone a bit off piste, to be honest, but never mind
about me – how are my two girls?’
‘What does off piste mean? You OK?’
‘Yes. I’m fine. So, what are you up to?’
‘Oh. I’m doing housework, so feeling pretty fed up,
actually. Your princess is currently taking a nap, which
gives me a break from demands for Pippy Pocket biscuits.
I have no idea what’s got into her this week. Pippy Pocket
this. Pippy Pocket that. I tell you, if Pippy poo-faced
Pocket showed up right now, I’d sock her in the face.’
Matthew feels a smile for the first time today, re-
membering their daughter on the supermarket floor. The
screaming and the little back flips.
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Teresa Driscoll
‘You do know we have the Barbie phase to come, Sal.’
‘Don’t remind me.’
‘OK, so give her a hug from Daddy when she wakes
up and I’ll see you both soon.’
‘You knocking off early? What’s happened? I thought
you were covering right through until this evening?’
‘H
er boyfriend’s finished work early so he’s taking
over bodyguard duties.’
‘Right.’
‘So I’ll see you fairly soon. Love you.’
‘You too.’
Matthew throws the phone on to the passenger seat
and stares at it for a moment as if longing to hold on to
the connection just a little bit longer. He will tell Sally
everything later but doesn’t want her worrying meantime.
Finally, he refastens his seat belt. With the click of the metal there is a flash from earlier. The roar of the motorbike.
Alice screaming. He squeezes both hands into tight fists
then fires the ignition, mentally planning a route home
via the supermarket.
For Pippy Pocket biscuits.
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CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Him – before
They are nearly home. There are no lights on as they walk up
the path and he is glad that in the dark his shame is hidden.
‘Stop worrying about it,’ his gran says, squeezing his
hand as if she can read his thoughts. ‘It’s just an accident.
Not your fault. We’ll soon get you sorted out.’
Back at the care home after Stan found them, he had
tried ever so hard to hold it in. To save it for the bushes
out in the garden – but he just couldn’t. Stan watched
them leave, and that somehow made it all worse. As they
walked out the back door, he could feel the warmth trick-
ling down the inside of his trousers. He looked down,
praying there would not be too much, but there was soon
a large wet patch and it seemed to come even faster.
‘You can go in the bushes over there,’ his gran had
whispered, nodding her head towards the shadows. But
then she twisted her face into a puzzled expression and
turned to him. He could smell it too, and wanted to cry.
‘Oh, right.’ She was looking directly at the damp
patch on his trousers. ‘Never mind. It was my fault. Not
yours. I’m so sorry, poppet.’
Now, as they creep up the stairs to their flat, the auto-
matic lights come on and he hates that the wet patch can
be seen again. He longs to be inside so he can hurry to
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Teresa Driscoll
the bathroom and strip off his trousers – but to his horror,
as they walk along the corridor on the third floor, there
is a noise from just inside the flat next door to theirs. His gran puts her finger up to her lips as she searches in her
bag for her key, but suddenly the neighbour’s door opens
I Will Make You Pay (ARC) Page 10
