WATCHING YOU_The gripping edge-of-the-seat thriller with a stunning twist.

by Lynda Renham

  There’s a hissing sound and then a husky breathy voice says, ‘It’s Rose. Help me.’

  I gasp.

  ‘Aunty Rose?’ I whisper.

  It can’t be. It can’t possibly be.

  I look at the screen. The caller has hung up. The phone vibrates in my hand making me start that I almost drop it. It’s a picture message. I wipe the perspiration from my forehead and click into it. Aunty Rose’s bloodied body fills the screen. I reel back with a sob. The phone slips through my sweaty fingers and drops to the ground, shattering the screen with the impact.

  ‘Libby?’

  I look up to see Simon. He places a tray of drinks onto the table before picking up my phone.

  ‘Libby, are you okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.’

  That’s because I have.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Present day

  Ewan clicked off his phone and made his way back into the living room where the squeals of his niece and nephew jarred on his nerves.

  ‘Dinner’s been on the table for almost ten minutes,’ chided Dianne. ‘The kids are getting irritable.’

  ‘Sorry. It was an important call.’

  Greg raised his eyebrows and Dianne ignored him. She knew what he meant. How the hell could Ewan have important calls when he’d only just got out of the nick?

  ‘We don’t like dinner to get cold,’ said Greg.

  Ewan turned to look at Greg and Dianne sighed.

  ‘No one asked you to wait for me,’ he said, scraping a chair back. ‘It was a job offer. I had to take it.’

  Dianne winced. He’d heard her reprimand the kids a thousand times for scraping their chairs back. Why the hell did he do it? She dished up the spaghetti and thrust plates towards the kids.

  ‘What job is it?’ she asked.

  ‘I’ve got a place in London,’ Ewan said.

  ‘What the fu …?’ began Dianne but was stopped by Greg’s nod towards the children.

  ‘Are you asking for trouble?’ she asked.

  ‘I don’t know what you mean,’ Ewan said as he poured water into his glass.

  ‘You know she’s in London.’

  ‘I don’t know anything. You’ve just heard rumours. She could be in Mexico for all you know.’

  ‘What’s wrong with Padley?’ asked Greg.

  ‘There are better prospects in London. No one knows me for a start,’ Ewan said with a twisted smile.

  Greg shook the parmesan over his sauce.

  ‘You’ve got to let it go Ewan.’

  ‘I’ve let it go,’ he snapped, slamming his glass on the table. ‘I want to go to London. There’s no work here.’

  ‘Of course there is,’ interrupted Dianne. ‘You’ve just got to give it time.’

  ‘I’ve got myself a place there. I’ll be coming back occasionally. I’m still looking for a position on the land but until something comes up …’

  ‘But London?’ she said.

  ‘Like I said, there’s more work there,’ he said.

  ‘The police will be on your back,’ she argued.

  ‘Yeah, well they should get off my back,’ he said, twirling spaghetti around his fork.

  ‘I agree,’ said Greg, taking a large gulp of his beer. ‘When you’ve done your time, you’ve done it.’

  Dianne flicked her hair back from her face.

  ‘Chloe, sit forward at the table please. You’re getting spaghetti on your top.’

  She looked at her brother and felt her heart might break.

  ‘I know it’s hard Ewan …’

  ‘You don’t know anything,’ he said quietly.

  ‘You can’t change it now.’

  ‘She saw the wrong man,’ he said flatly.

  ‘She was in shock.’

  ‘That’s enough Dianne,’ said Greg. ‘It’s nothing to do with us. Haven’t we been through enough? If Ewan wants to go to London then that suits me.’

  ‘Greg,’ exclaimed Dianne.

  ‘He’s right,’ said Ewan, standing up. ‘It’s not good for you, Greg and the kids for me to be here. I’ll leave tomorrow.’

  ‘That’s silly, we’ve coped …’

  ‘Obscenities painted on our front door. Windows smashed. You and the kids being abused in the street. It wasn’t easy, Dianne. I don’t call that coping,’ growled Greg.

  ‘He’s my brother,’ she said softly.

  ‘You don’t owe me anything Di,’ said Ewan. ‘I’m grateful to you both for taking me in and giving me a job. I know it can’t have been easy.’

  ‘Those people who did that stuff weren’t our friends,’ she said. ‘I don’t give a shit about them.’

  ‘It’s better that I go,’ said Ewan. ‘Better for all of us and it’s not like I won’t be back. Greg’s right. You’ve been through enough because of me.’

  ‘You’re not going to try and find her, are you?’

  ‘She put me in prison,’ he said bitterly.

  ‘She was young and scared,’ said Greg. ‘The police wanted a conviction. They put words into her mouth if you want my opinion.’

  ‘Can we talk about this another time?’ Dianne said, inclining her head towards the children. Dianne knew that Ewan was the talk of Padley. It had been two months since his release and still the locals spoke in whispers when she passed. She didn’t want the children to suffer. Maybe it was for the best, Ewan going to London. If only he’d let things be. It couldn’t have been easy for Libby either, losing all her family in one night. Rumours were that it had turned her head. All the same, it couldn’t have been possible that she saw Ewan murder them. Ewan wouldn’t hurt anyone. He had a short temper admittedly, but so did a lot of people. He couldn’t shoot someone, not like that, not in cold blood.

  ‘You’ll give us your address then?’ Dianne said to Ewan.

  ‘It’s best to give you a P.O. box number.’

  ‘Do what?’ she exclaimed. ‘You don’t want us to know where you are?’

  Ewan shook his head, his lips tight.

  ‘The police can’t hassle you then. You can’t give them an address in London if you don’t know it.’

  ‘You are going to see her, aren’t you?’ Dianne said wearily. ‘In that case you’re right, it’s best we don’t know where you are.’

  Chapter Eighteen

  Present day

  Libby

  ‘The screen’s broken,’ Simon says, handing me my phone.

  I try to steady my hands, but I know he’s aware of how shaky they are. I look at the screen expecting to see Aunty Rose’s bloodstained body but the screen is now black. I turn it on and the home screen flashes at me. I remember those horrid photos. I had to look at them in court and listen to the experts as they coldly gave their evidence and opinions on how Aunty Rose and Uncle Edward were murdered. The judge ruled the photos were not to be used by the media, but of course some sick bastard got them onto the internet.

  There’s raucous laughter around us. People are enjoying the heatwave. They’re sipping Pimms and taking drags from their cigarettes. Some are studying their phones and I struggle to see their faces. Which one is Ewan Galbreith?

  ‘I hope that wasn’t bad news,’ Simon says.

  I look up at him. For a moment I had forgotten he was there.

  ‘What?’ I say.

  ‘The phone call.’

  I glance at the phone in my bag.

  ‘No,’ I say forcing a smile. ‘It was just me being paranoid.’

  ‘I thought you looked a bit shook up.’

  ‘I’m fine,’ I say, zipping up my bag.

  He looks unconvinced but doesn’t push it.

  ‘Thanks for coming,’ he says with a smile. ‘It’s a perfect night and I probably would have worked if you hadn’t called.’

  ‘I don’t normally call men,’ I say, finding my eyes pulled back to the phone in my handbag. I’m expecting it to ring any moment. I hear a deep laugh and then a Scottish accent. Its deep resonant tones make me shiver. I twist in my seat and listen
attentively.

  ‘Are you okay?’ Simon asks, looking at me oddly. I scan the crowd for the man with the Scottish accent. I see him, but he is short and bald. It isn’t Ewan Galbreith.

  ‘I kind of have a stalker problem,’ I say, surprising myself.

  I don’t know why I’m telling him this. I don’t normally share my story on a first date. When I say something about my past they usually look at me in horror and then proceed to study me as if they expect to find some kind of mark on me. Then they’ll ask what happened, even though they admit to having read the whole gruesome story. Everyone knows the story from the newspapers. But somehow there’s nothing quite like the real thing is there – the surviving victim sitting right in front of you like some kind of freak show?

  Simon looks at me with concern etched on his face.

  ‘What are the police doing about it?’ he asks.

  I laugh cynically.

  ‘They say they can’t do anything until he acts.’

  ‘That’s not very helpful is it?’

  I shrug and lift the wine glass to my lips only to discover I’d finished it.

  ‘I’ll get us another,’ he says standing up.

  ‘Oh it’s fine,’ I say, not wanting to be left alone. ‘You’ll have to get in the queue again. We could walk along the embankment.’

  I stand up and realise my legs have turned to jelly. Ewan knows where I am. He has my mobile number. I feel myself shudder when it occurs to me that he probably knows where I live. My eyes scan the faces as we pass, looking for him.

  ‘Did he phone you just now?’ Simon asks, breaking into my thoughts. ‘Is that why you dropped the phone?’

  ‘Yes,’ I say quietly.

  My mind is reeling. I should warn the concierge. I will tell him not to give any information to anyone, and to call the police if anyone asks about me. I need to phone Fran. Damn him.

  ‘Shall we go to The Barbican?’ he asks as he hails a cab. ‘Get a drink there?’

  I nod. The Barbican will be packed with people. I’ll be safe there. I sit in silence as we weave through the backstreets of London. Simon holds the door for me and tips the cabbie. Inside, several couples sit at tables, but it’s not packed. It’s cool in the bar. I discreetly glance around. No one has followed us in and I allow myself to relax. I excuse myself and head to the ladies while Simon gets our drinks. My heart races as I wait for my phone to ring. If Galbreith is watching me then he’ll know I’m alone, but it doesn’t bleep. It’s quiet in the loo and I’m able to hear the voice message more clearly. It is Aunty Rose. My hands shake as I drop the phone back into my bag. I must not let him intimidate me. If he’s watching I must not let him see I am afraid. My face is pale and I pinch my cheeks. If only my heart would stop hammering in my chest. I leave the ladies, paste a smile onto my face and walk to the bar. The same couples are sitting at the tables and now there is a dark-haired man alone by the bar. I look directly at him. Our eyes meet and at that moment my phone bleeps. I glance at the screen. It’s a text message.

  I am watching you.

  I snap my head up. The man’s hand rests on a mobile phone. I stride towards him. He stands. I fumble in my bag for my rape alarm and grasp it tightly. He takes a step forward and my heart jumps into my mouth. I lift the alarm from the bag.

  ‘Sorry I’m late,’ says a voice from behind me.

  A brunette rushes past me and into the arms of the man. I stop, and the alarm slips from my trembling fingers.

  ‘No worries,’ he says.

  There’s no sign of a Scottish accent. I turn, flustered. Simon is walking back from the bar. I hurry to the table.

  ‘He’s watching me,’ I say.

  I hand my phone to Simon and he glances at the screen.

  ‘Do you want me to call it?’

  I nod nervously.

  He taps the number into his phone, listens and then hands it to me.

  ‘The number you have dialled has not been recognised,’ announces a mechanical voice.

  ‘Damn,’ I curse. I should have known. Ewan Galbreith isn’t a fool. Uncle Edward didn’t employ fools and if he did, they never lasted long. Uncle Edward didn’t tolerate fools, everyone knew that. I grimace and throw back the wine from the glass that Simon hands me. After the murders, strangers offered to adopt me. The poor orphan girl. Wasn’t it enough she’d lost her parents and now this, they said. What evil bastard would do such a thing and leave her abandoned? Of course, it wasn’t me they were interested in. It was my inheritance. No one really cared about the poor orphan girl. A pain shoots through the side of my face and I realise I’m clenching my jaw.

  ‘It’s probably pay-as-you-go,’ says Simon.

  I nod.

  ‘I’ll report it tomorrow,’ I say, trying to sound casual.

  I probably won’t. There seems little point. I have to deal with Ewan Galbreith myself. Simon and I sit silently. I pick at some nuts Simon had brought back from the bar. I can’t relax.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I say. ‘I’m useless company.’

  ‘It’s fine,’ Simon smiles.

  ‘Would you mind awfully seeing me home?’ I ask.

  His eyes widened. God, if he thinks I’m up for sex he can think again.

  ‘I’m really not feeling great after that phone message.’

  ‘Of course,’ he says, draining his beer.

  Donna is going to kill me. I’m the world’s worst date.

  ‘It isn’t you,’ I say as we step outside.

  ‘Well, I’m pleased to hear that,’ he grins.

  The lilt in his voice suddenly seems stronger.

  ‘What’s your accent?’ I say bluntly.

  ‘What?’ he says, clearly taken aback.

  I curse as a cab flies past.

  ‘Your accent, what is it?’

  I study his face. He wrinkles his nose and sighs.

  ‘Ah, you’ve spotted it. I’m from Yorkshire. I’m not your typical Yorkshireman though.’

  ‘Yorkshire,’ I say, like I’ve never heard of the place.

  ‘It’s up north,’ he says mimicking the accent and grinning at me.

  I’m paranoid. I’ve got to stop this.

  ‘Here we go,’ he says, as the cab’s brakes squeak behind me.

  I’ll phone Fran when I get home. Ask her to visit Galbreith. He has to know that I won’t be intimidated. I glance again at the broken face of my phone. There are no messages. Tomorrow I’ll change my number.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Present day

  Libby

  We reach the entrance to the flats and a wave of relief washes over me. Soon I’ll be inside with the locks tightly secure.

  ‘Here we are,’ says Simon.

  He has a nice smile. It’s warm and he has a confidence that makes me feel safe.

  ‘Thank you,’ I say, glancing again at the phone in my bag.

  ‘Will you be okay?’ he asks.

  I could invite him in for a drink. I have an alarm in both the bedroom and the living room. The concierge will see him. I’m quite safe. I don’t want to be alone with my phone. Not just yet. I hesitate. Don’t make yourself vulnerable, whispers a voice in my head. Don’t make mistakes.

  ‘Would you like to come up for a coffee?’ I hear myself asking.

  My voice is strained.

  ‘That would be nice,’ he says hesitantly. ‘Are you sure? I don’t want you to feel anxious.’

  ‘Absolutely sure,’ I say with forced confidence.

  I push open the entrance doors and smile at the concierge.

  ‘Good evening madam,’ he says politely.

  ‘This is Mr Wane,’ I say, nodding to Simon.

  ‘Good evening sir.’

  ‘Good evening James,’ says Simon.

  I turn surprised and then remember the name pin on the concierge’s jacket. The concierge smiles and pushes the lift button. We step into the lift and I’m suddenly conscious of Simon’s body close to mine. I take a deep breath and step from the lift as soon as
the doors open onto the fourth floor.

  ‘It’s a nice complex,’ he says, stepping out.

  ‘Where do you live?’ I ask, realising that I have no idea.

  ‘Not in an apartment block like this,’ he smiles.

  We reach my door and I push the key in the lock. I’m already regretting asking him to come up. I never have people in the flat, let alone men.

  Merlin greets us with a meow and I scoop him up into my arms.

  ‘Impressive,’ says Simon looking around the flat.

  I click on the air conditioning and he smiles.

  ‘Even more impressive.’

  I close the door and secure the locks. It’s like a reflex and I do it without thinking. Simon looks but doesn’t comment. I throw my bag onto the couch and am about to offer him a drink when the knife slides from the bag onto the floor. We both look at it.

  There’s silence.

  ‘Right,’ says Simon, finally.

  I lick my lips and pick up the knife.

  ‘I … I’m very nervous when I go out,’ I say apologetically.

  ‘It’s against the law to carry a knife,’ he says.

  ‘I know,’ I say simply.

  I take the knife into the kitchen.

  ‘What would you like to drink,’ I call. ‘I can make coffee, or there’s white wine, beer, red wine.’

  ‘White wine,’ he says, making me jump. He’d followed me to the kitchen.

  ‘It’s not just the stalker is it?’ he says. ‘There’s more to it than that.’

  I take the wine from the fridge and realise my hands are shaking. I flex my neck and fill two glasses.

  ‘No.’

  He follows me into the living room and casually glances around. His eyes land on the triple locks on the front door.

  ‘So, where’s the panic button?’ he says with a smile.

  ‘Under the coffee table and another one at the side of my bed,’ I say flatly.

  He nods.

  ‘You’re clearly expecting him.’

  I sip my wine and feel myself relax.

  ‘He’ll come.’

  ‘Maybe he won’t.’

  I nod emphatically.

  ‘He’ll come.’

  He sits on the couch opposite me and stretches his legs out in front of him. He opens them slightly and I force my eyes from his crotch.