and Brian is standing there in his dressing gown.
‘Everything all right there, Martha? I thought I heard
something…’ He is looking at his watch, frowning.
‘Family emergency,’ his gran says suddenly. ‘All sorted
now but I had to take the boy with me, obviously.’
‘Anything I can help you with?’ Brian’s expression
is still a little strange. ‘Nothing too serious, I hope? At
this hour…’
‘No, thank you. All sorted. We’re fine now. Just need
to get to bed.’ His gran sounds a bit flustered but she smiles at their neighbour. ‘Really sorry to disturb you, Brian.’
His gran then unlocks their door and hurries him
inside, whispering that he should pop his wet clothes
into the laundry basket. She will run him a quick bath
and fetch some clean pyjamas.
In the bathroom he strips naked and puts all his clothes
into the big basket in the corner. When he was very little,
he used to think it was a snake charmer’s basket and his
gran would let him take it into the sitting room and play
his little whistle to charm imaginary snakes. Sometimes,
when she was busy in the kitchen area, he would climb
into the basket and put the lid on top to surprise her.
Secretly he suspected that she knew he was in there, but
she always pretended to be surprised.
Now he worries that the smell of his clothes will ruin
the basket. He is very tired and he wishes that they had a
shower like on the telly. He thinks that would be much
quicker but he does not say this out loud because he is
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thinking suddenly about Brian. How he is fat like Stan
and how he doesn’t like either of them.
‘I’m sorry,’ he says as his gran moves into the room to
join him. She is sitting on the edge of the bath, running
the taps and adding a little bit of bubble bath. It is pink
and he worried that it is for girls, but it smells quite nice so he doesn’t say anything. Anyway – he likes bubbles.
‘You need to be quick, my lovely. School tomorrow. But
let’s get you smelling nice and we can forget all about this.’
‘I’m sorry, Gran, about making a noise. My friend
gave me a trick sweet and it made me cough. I didn’t
mean to—’
She reaches out to brush his hair and leans forward to
kiss his forehead but he pulls back. Even with his clothes
stripped off, he feels a bit sticky.
‘What are we going to do next Wednesday, Gran?’
He is worried about it already and needs to know. He
watches his gran test the temperature of the water before
nodding to say that he should step in the other end. The
water is warm and the bubbles feel lovely. He is so relieved
for the smell to change.
He wonders if he should tell his gran what happened
last Wednesday night when she was working. The knock-
knocking on the door in the middle of the night. You in
there? I know you’re in there…
But his gran doesn’t answer his question about next
Wednesday. She just keeps checking the temperature of
the water before turning off the taps. He watches her face
very closely and is horrified. There is a sort of glistening
to her eyes and he feels terribly afraid that she is actually going to cry.
He loves his gran and knows that this is his fault.
All his fault.
103
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Alice
‘So, your real name is Jennifer Wallace. And when pre-
cisely did you plan to tell us that?’
I half shrug, lips clamped tight. I stare at DI Melanie
Sanders and want to ask if they have caught him. Never
mind Alex Sunningham – the man I try every waking day
to forget. Have they caught the man on the motorbike?
The man who made me think just two hours ago that he
had managed to melt my flesh. To disfigure my face…
‘Do you have any idea how much time you’ve wasted,
Jennifer – concealing this from us? Playing games.’
Jenny. I want to say that people only ever called me
Jennifer in anger. Jenny was my real name…
DI Sanders still looks furious. She has a file in front
of her on the desk and I find myself daydreaming. I let
my mind wander because I don’t want to be here. In
this scene. At this desk. I stare at all the papers on the
stained, wooden surface, and wonder when the police
will go paper-free. Or if it’s like a newsroom – just some
ridiculous pipe dream. We all like to print things off.
Some of the sheets in front of her seem to feature
cuttings from Alex’s trial. Others seem to be from his
prison records, but it’s difficult for me to read them upside 104
I Will Make You Pay
down. She clocks me narrowing my eyes, trying to read,
and tilts the file up at an angle so I cannot see.
‘I’m not playing games,’ I say finally, surprised at
how quiet my voice sounds. Inside I am angry and I had
expected my voice to be stronger. I am not the criminal
here. I have done nothing wrong. Alex Sunningham and
this stalker are the criminals here.
I want to be angrier and I want my voice to be strong-
er but what happened earlier, outside the café, has com-
pletely knocked the wind out of me. I keep thinking
about Matthew standing over me, pouring water slowly
over my skin. I close my eyes, reliving those seconds of
fear that I might go blind.
There is an odd sound of sucking in air, and when
I finally open my eyes, DI Sanders is staring at me, her
expression changed slightly.
‘It was terrible – what happened to you earlier, Jennifer.
We’re still checking all CCTV. Nothing solid yet but
we’ll find him. Don’t think I’m not sympathetic, but the
reason I’m wound up here’ – she pauses as if to control
herself – ‘is that we would have had a head start in this
inquiry if you’d come clean with us.’
‘This has nothing to do with Alex Sunningham,’ I say.
‘Oh, right. You’re sure about that, are you? With your
long experience of police investigations?’
‘He’s in jail. And unless he’s escaped…’ I raise my
eyebrows, aware that my tone is inappropriate; borderline
sarcastic. ‘I had no reason to tell you.’
Melanie Sanders shakes her head and looks up at the
ceiling as if in disbelief. Then she stares at me, unblink-
ing, and takes a piece of paper from her file and turns it
around to place it in front of me.
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Teresa Driscoll
It is a photocopy of some kind of parole document.
Sensitive details – email addresses and names and notes
have been blacked out – but I am able to get the main
gist of the message.
No. This can’t be right.
‘But why wasn’t I told about this?’
‘Well, you’re not technically one of his victims, are
you? And even if you were and someone wanted to let
you know as a pure courtesy, we wouldn’t kno
w where to
find you. With you changing your name and disappearing
off the face of the earth.’ She is tapping the document
with her index finger. ‘He’s been out of jail on licence
for nearly two months, Jennifer. All agreed by the parole
board. Alex Sunningham was a good boy inside. Sentence
shortened for exemplary behaviour.’
I can feel the blood draining from my face. Again there
is a change of temperature. Cold. Then hot. Just like that
first moment I saw the card in the cake box in the office.
Alex was sentenced to five years. I had never imagined
he could be let out this soon. I had three years in my head
as the absolute minimum he would serve; it’s barely been
two and a half years…
‘But there’s been nothing in the papers saying he’s out.’
I am staring again at the photocopied page. ‘You’re ser-
iously saying a teacher can seduce two underage girls and
he’s out in a couple of years? And that’s not in the news?’
‘It’s not unusual – a sentence shortened for good be-
haviour. He’s on licence. Parole conditions. You know
how it works.’ A pause, during which DI Sanders’ expres-
sion changes. ‘Though it’s a bit delicate at the moment.
There’s going to be a press announcement soon.’
‘Why? What press announcement? You don’t seriously
think he could be connected to any of this? These things
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I Will Make You Pay
happening to me?’ I can feel my chin pulling back into
my neck. ‘Look. My evidence didn’t put Alex away. He
has no reason to target me.’
‘Do you seriously not realise that he should be topping
our list of possible suspects, Jennifer? You – an intelligent journalist. You are aware of what this man is capable of?
Lying? Deceit? No moral compass. We specifically asked
you if there were any ex-boyfriends we should look at.
Anyone who might have a motive; who might be tricky.’
I put my hands up to my head, a million thoughts
suddenly swirling around my brain. I hadn’t mentioned
Alex because I thought he was still in jail. And I wanted
to pretend I had never known him; that I wasn’t this naive,
stupid, gullible mug who was taken in by him.
And now, hands still clutching my head, I am back in
court suddenly, trying to remember the way he looked at
me. Was there blame? Did he look like a man who might
one day blame me? Turn on me?
‘No, no. I just don’t see it. He blamed the girl’s fam-
ily. The one he ran off with. They were the ones who
drove the prosecution and persuaded their daughter to
give evidence. I genuinely had no idea what was going
on. I looked a complete idiot, if you must know. And
you’re right. He has no moral compass but I don’t see
him as violent. Someone who would ever do the things
this guy is doing.’
‘Prison can change people, Jennifer. They can make
contacts and they can get steered in a darker direction.
He’s had a long time to stew about this. We have to find
him. And you have to start being one hundred per cent
straight with me about everything.’
‘Find him?’ I feel my head pulling backwards again as I
take this in. What does she mean – find him? I’d imagined 107
Teresa Driscoll
they would have him in custody. If the police seriously
suspect him, wouldn’t they want to immediately check
alibis against my nightmare Wednesdays – inquiries which
I strongly suspect will simply discount him.
Suddenly the door to the interview room opens and
a woman in civilian clothes steps in to whisper a mes-
sage to DI Sanders, who nods. The other woman then
leaves the room.
‘Your boyfriend Tom is here, Jennifer.’
‘I would prefer it if you called me Alice still. It’s my
second name. My birth name. I’m Alice now.’
‘Well, we’ll see. I’m told Tom is throwing his legal
weight around. He’s making a fuss at reception, demand-
ing to see you. He’s been told that he will have to wait.
I take it he knows all about this Alex? About your past?
Your name change?’
I move my left hand up to my ear, pulling at the
lobe. I can feel my head sort of twitching. All the tension
building inside me.
I don’t want to think about Tom yet; about how the
hell I’m going to explain myself to him. I am trying to
deal with the echo of Melanie Sanders’ voice, which
makes no sense.
‘Why did you say find him? Surely the probation ser-
vice knows where Alex is?’
108
CHAPTER TWENTY
Alice – before
After the concert finished – that night I met Alex – tea
and coffee and cakes were served by a team of volunteers,
supporting the charity. I glanced around, disappointed
to find no option of wine. And then a tad guilty at the
longing for a nice glass of Shiraz.
I interviewed a few of the performers and a represent-
ative of the charity, all the while pretending that I was not aware of Alex watching me. He had that distinctive gaze
of a man who is confident of his own attractiveness, and
from across the room he was clearly willing me to look
back at him. For as long as possible, I resisted. I planned
instead to head home for that glass of wine.
And then finally, as people began to drift away, he
was suddenly beside me, leaning in to whisper, ‘Do you
like dolphins, Jennifer?’
‘Jenny. Everyone calls me Jenny. And of course I like
dolphins. Isn’t it illegal not to like dolphins?’
‘So, are you free now?’ He paused. ‘Or not?’
I was entirely thrown by this. Up this close he smelled
wonderful – expensive aftershave. Though I had been
expecting an approach, I thought any invitation would
be casual – for a drink one night in the future. I was not
expecting this immediacy. I didn’t like that he was so
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Teresa Driscoll
sure of my interest, and tried to hold on to my resolve
to play it cool; I tried to think of the delicious sound of
pouring my glass of Shiraz at home.
‘Warm clothes. Flask of coffee. Dolphins.’ He tilted
his head. ‘Interested?’
It was about 9.30 p.m. and exceptionally cold out-
side. I guessed now precisely what he meant; there was a
famous dolphin-watching spot just a few miles away. I’d
been there several times when I first took the job but had
no luck. I wondered how he expected to spot anything
in the dark. I imagined the wind and the cold versus my
rich red glass of Shiraz.
In my head I said: No. Definitely not. But I made the mistake of turning to look at him so that ‘Yes’ spilled out
of my mouth. Later, huddled in two huge blankets stored
in the boot of his car, we sat on a bench, and after half an
hour miraculously saw three dolphins in the moonlight.
You couldn’t make it up.
I was lost.
We didn’t sleep together that first night but we did
the second. And the third. And the fourth. Two weeks
later I moved into his cottage, which was set high on a
hill with a magnificent view of the sea. It was reckless,
entirely out of character for me and also just a little bit
magnificent.
As the light faded each evening, I would stand at the
bedroom window, looking out for dolphins in the distance,
and he would slip his arms around my waist and rest his
chin on my shoulder. A quiet and entirely unexpected
contentment.
‘But you hardly know him,’ Leanne protested on the
phone when I broke the news that we were already living
together. I sent her a picture on Messenger plus a clip of
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I Will Make You Pay
him playing his Steinway grand piano in his music room.
Jeez, she replied. Does he have a twin?
And so I fell under the spell of Alexander Sunningham
with not a clue what lay ahead for me. We cooked together,
laughed together and took long walks in thick coats and
ridiculous woollen hats.
I was on a trainee contract at the local paper on a
modest salary and very soon felt the financial as well
as the emotional benefits of sharing a home. Alex was
a freelance piano teacher – tutoring pupils of all ages.
One day a week, he went into the local primary school
to teach on site and to accompany the pupils learning
violin, saxophone and other orchestral instruments. He
was also regularly booked to accompany pupils for their
various exams. The rest of the time, he taught on his
Steinway at home.
He worked haphazard hours to tie in with his pupils,
and I became used to arriving home from my shift to
find a parent drinking coffee in our sitting room, while
their child bashed away on the keys with Alex alongside
in the music room next door.
I had never lived with anyone before and was shocked
how easily I adjusted to it, mostly because we let each other lead our own professional lives. The house, a beautiful
red-brick terrace, had been left to Alex by his grandmother
– along with the grand piano – so we were better off than
most in the same stage of their relationship and careers.
It meant we took trips. London. Edinburgh. Barcelona.
Rome. And then eight months into our relationship, Alex
took me on a surprise trip to Sorrento and proposed. And
I surprised myself by saying yes.
I Will Make You Pay (ARC) Page 11
