by Lynda Renham
‘Are we going to see each other again?’ he asks.
‘I …’ I’m taken aback by the question. The truth is I have no idea.
‘Because if we are, I’d like to know just how dangerous your stalker is, and why you’re so sure he is coming for you.’
I clench and unclench my fists before saying.
‘Ewan Galbreith was released from prison a few weeks back. He’s served fifteen years for murdering my aunt and uncle, Rose and Edward Owen. He threatened me as they took him down to serve his sentence. “I’ll get you, all of you.” he shouted. “Don’t think you’re safe because I’m going down. I’ll be out one day and then you’ll all be sorry.” It seems he’s keeping to his words.’
Just saying the words brings everything back and for a moment I see Ewan’s handsome face, twisted and angry as he spat out the words. His eyes had met mine and I’d grasped Fran tightly by the arm and then he was gone. I never saw his face again apart from when I searched for him on the internet.
‘That was fifteen years ago,’ Simon says, breaking into my thoughts.
I give a scornful laugh.
‘Ewan Galbreith doesn’t go back on anything he says.’
Chapter Twenty
Fifteen years earlier
Ewan carefully sliced the Stanley knife through the plaster cast and gently flexed the muscles in his arms. He could see the lights from the promenade and beyond that the blackness of the sea. The smell of seaweed reached his nostrils and he let out a long breath. The cold air stung his face. Putting the binoculars to his eyes he studied the bay carefully. The beach was deserted. Only fools would be on the beach at this time of year. But you always got the odd fool and he was conscious of that. It was almost eight o’clock. He had ten minutes. He was prepared. His hands were steady. He’d have a whisky later and take some painkillers. He would most likely need them. He’d had to hold off all day. He didn’t want to make any mistakes. But damn it, he could do with a drink. He lifted the rifle, smarting as he pressed it against his shoulder. He carefully adjusted the sights until his eye focused on the target. The boat bobbed gently on the water. It was a calm night, perfect weather for night fishing. He slid his hand over the safety catch and wrinkled his brow as he studied the target. Ben was laughing with his mates on the jetty. Ewan waited. It wasn’t time. He lowered the gun and looked again through the binoculars, ignoring the pain that shot down his arm. He then sat down on the grassy hill and laid the rifle at his side. It was a popular spot during the day, but no one bothered to come at night. It was too windy and cold, but it was the perfect spot for what he had planned. It was a clear night and the light from the full moon was bright, just as he had hoped. He ran his hands through his hair. He had five minutes.
*
‘I’m meeting that chick tomorrow. You know, the one I told you about,’ said Matt, rubbing his hands together.
‘You dirty bastard,’ laughed Ben.
‘She’s here for a week for some conference,’ smiled Matt. ‘She’s definitely up for it.’
‘Make sure you get the fish off your fingers mate,’ grins Adam. ‘No tart wants a fish finger on her clit.’
Ben roared with laughter as he dropped the fishing tackle onto the deck.
‘Let’s make a killing,’ he said, climbing in. ‘The weather’s getting too fucking cold for much more.’
Matt and Adam followed him into the boat and pulled on their oilskin fishing jackets. Ben untied the mooring and the boat drifted out into the bay.
‘I reckon …’ Ben began, but he never got any further as a thud hit the side of the boat.
‘What the fuck was that?’ he asked, as a second thud made the helm windshield shatter.
Matt shone a torch around the boat
‘What the hell?’ he asked nervously.
A loud crack came from the radar pole, knocking it off the side of the boat, and then another smashed the port side lamp.
‘I can’t see anything,’ said Matt in a trembling voice
‘Probably …’ Ben began, but before he could speak two more thuds tore at the boat and Matt began hopping from one foot to the other and waving his arms around like a marionette.
‘What the fuck’s happening?’ he cried rubbing his neck. ‘What’s on the boat with us?’
Three more thuds shook the boat. Ben flashed his torch and saw water pouring in through holes in the hull.
‘Shit,’ he yelled. ‘Pull the fucker in.’
But no one was listening to him. Adam had covered his head in fear and Matt was cowering in a corner, the torch sending quivering flashes of light where his hand shook.
‘Someone’s fucking shooting at us,’ yelled Adam.
Two more bullets hit the hull and then Ben heard a screech as another bullet flew over his head. His heart was hammering and his breathing had become laboured.
‘Christ,’ cried Matt. ‘I’m getting off.’
He was about to jump into the water when a thud at the side of the boat paralysed him.
‘We’re going to be killed,’ screamed Adam.
‘Fucking, Jesus Christ,’ Matt moaned as a bullet grazed his ear. All three men dived from the boat and swam to the bay. Ben cursed. He knew the shooter had to be Ewan Galbreith. Everyone knew what an excellent marksman he was. No animal was injured when Galbreith went hunting. He killed them outright, hitting his target exactly where he planned. Ben turned to watch his boat sinking in the bay. The bastard had hit his target alright.
‘Christ,’ groaned Adam clinging to the jetty. ‘How the fuck do we go fishing now?’
‘We don’t you moron. That was the plan.’
‘He shot my fucking ear off,’ Adam cried.
Ben laughed.
‘You’d know if he shot your ear off. It’s fucking Galbreith,’ he said. ‘It’s repayment. We should have finished the fucker off when we had the chance.’
He looked upwards to the top of the hill.
‘Fuck you Galbreith,’ he roared.
*
Ewan fell back on the grass and wiped the sweat from his forehead. The pain from his shoulder was excruciating and his ribs ached. He pulled the bottle of painkillers from his bag and swallowed three before putting the binoculars to his eyes. Matt and Adam were hurrying away from the jetty. Ewan laughed. He’d enjoyed it. If his arm hadn’t been hurting so much he’d have put them through a bit more. In the stillness he could hear Ben cursing like a madman. Ewan packed up the hunting rifle and made his way down the hill. He’d pack the rifle in the boot of the car and then drive to the hospital to get his arm re-plastered and then go to the pub. After a few glasses of whisky he’d be fine.
Chapter Twenty-One
Present day
Libby
I wake lazily. The flat is quiet and I savour the peacefulness of early morning. As I reach for my phone I remember the text from last night and feel the calmness drain from my body. My trembling hand clicks into the text with the horrific picture of Aunty Rose and my finger hovers over the delete button. But this is evidence, I should show Fran, I should show her what a sick bastard Ewan is and maybe then she will do something. I fumble with the phone and press the speed dial for Fran.
‘Libby?’ she says.
Her voice sounds tired. Is she weary of me already?
‘He’s intimidating me,’ I say bluntly.
I don’t see the point in niceties. She’s supposed to be protecting me.
‘Ewan Galbreith?’ she questions with weariness in her voice.
‘He’s phoning me and texting me. Yesterday he sent a photo of Aunt Rose’s body. He said he’s watching me and …’
‘Libby,’ she breaks in. ‘Can you prove they are from Ewan?’
‘Of course not,’ I snap. ‘He’s not a fool. He never was a fool. He knows exactly what he’s doing. He won’t make any mistakes.’
I hear her sigh.
‘Can we borrow the sim card we may be able to run some checks?
‘You can keep it,’ I say
angrily. ‘I’m getting a new phone today.’
‘Okay, if you can drop it into a police station we can get someone to look at it.’
I fall back onto the pillows.
‘You’re not going to do anything are you?’
‘It’s not like that Libby.’
I laugh cynically and hang up without saying goodbye.
I stand under the shower and feel the warmth of the water trickling over my breasts. I think of Ewan Galbreith and soap myself down. It’s as I step naked into the bedroom that it occurs to me. I grab a towel and look out of the window at the flats opposite the living room. What if he’s there? What if he has a flat overlooking mine? He only needs a pair of binoculars. I pull the blinds down, hurry to the bedroom and pull those too. My skin tingles at the thought of his eyes on my naked body. My phone by the bedside is flashing and my heart starts to race. I click it on and Simon’s name lights up the screen.
Thanks for a lovely night. Are you free for a repeat tomorrow evening, maybe we could get dinner this time?
I scroll through my messages. There are several banal emails, a meeting reminder and a text from Fran,
Let me know the station
I scroll into Simon’s message and punch a reply,
That sounds great. I’m free, where shall we meet?
I consider suggesting a restaurant but think better of it. It’s expensive. I have no idea how much he earns. No doubt he will check me out, if he hasn’t already, and will realise I’m loaded. And so begin the doubts. Is he with me for me or for my money?
I dress and pull the blinds up. I see several people leave the entrance of the apartment block opposite. Is one of them Ewan? How hard can it be to find out who lives there? There’s no point asking Fran. It’s an invasion of privacy, she’ll no doubt tell me. Never mind how much Ewan is invading mine. I have an hour before my meeting. Excitement ripples through me as I make my plans. I throw on a pair of a jeans and a thin shirt. The sun is shining through the windows and it already feels hot.
The concierge greets me, and I fumble for the right words.
‘Good morning,’ I say. ‘I need to tell you … well, there is someone stalking me.’
‘Yes madam,’ he says.
He doesn’t even blink. It’s as though stalkers are normal for him.
‘Do you have a photo madam?’
‘Not a recent one but I can get an old picture.’
‘That would be helpful madam.’
‘I don’t want any information given out about me and if any strange gentleman asks for my flat number, please let me know?’
‘Of course, Miss Warren, and does that include the gentleman you were with last night?’
I hesitate. Do I know Simon well enough? Joel and Donna know him. I’m being paranoid.
‘No, that’s fine, thank you.’
‘I’ll pass the word on madam.’
I leave the block and cross the road. The building is similar to mine. That should mean there will be two flats on the fourth floor. I prepare a little speech for the concierge but there isn’t one. I study the name plates. The fourth floor houses flats 22 and 23. If I’ve worked it out right, 23 will be the flat opposite mine. The name plate reads ‘G. Newman’. I pause for a moment and then push the buzzer.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Fifteen years earlier
Libby watched as Rose studied her reflection in the bedroom mirror. Rose couldn’t help thinking the dress was too much. It was the staff party after all. She didn’t want to look overdressed.
‘Maybe something simpler,’ she muttered.
‘I think it’s lovely,’ said Libby.
It was two weeks before Christmas and traditionally Edward and Rose Owen held the staff party at this time.
‘We should go down,’ said Edward as he strolled into the room. ‘We don’t want them arriving with us not there to greet them.’
‘I’m overdressed,’ she said.
He cocked his head and she smiled. He looked very attractive in his dress shirt and bow tie.
‘Well, look at you,’ she smiled.
‘Exactly,’ he grinned. ‘We have to make the effort. There is no such thing as overdressed. You look lovely and it’s exactly what would be expected.’
‘Would you help me dear and unclip this necklace?’ she asked Libby.
Libby unclipped the necklace and Rose studied herself again.
‘Yes, that’s better.’
‘I was wondering, could I wear my mother’s pearls tonight?’ Libby asked,
‘I don’t see why not,’ Rose said, looking at Edward for confirmation.
Rose opened the safe and removed the pearls from their box and Libby’s eyes widened in pleasure. Her blue chiffon dress shimmered as she walked towards her aunt.
‘Now, let’s go,’ said Edward impatiently.
Libby and Rose followed Edward down the stairs where Ewan was waiting at the dining room entrance.
‘Evening Ewan,’ Edward said. ‘Did you check the horses?’
Ewan nodded.
‘I’m not happy with Princess,’ he said. ‘She’s not her usual self. I’ll see how she is after the festivities. We may need to call Neil’
‘The vet?’ snapped Edward. ‘Over Christmas? He’ll rip us off left right and centre.’
‘Unfortunately the horses don’t know it’s Christmas,’ Ewan said dryly.
Libby hid her smile. Ewan had made an effort for the party and was wearing a white shirt tucked into his jeans. His hair was freshly washed, Libby could smell the shampoo. His eyelid was still slightly swollen but looked better. As though reading her mind Edward said,
‘How’s the arm?’
‘Better,’ Ewan smiled.
‘Must be if you went hunting yesterday,’ Libby said.
‘Hunting?’ questioned Edward.
‘It wasn’t me you saw,’ said Ewan.
‘But …’ began Libby.
Her eyes met Ewan’s and he winked at her. She knew that it had been him. She saw him leaving the tradesman’s entrance with a rifle over his shoulder. She had wondered about it. Ewan didn’t normally hunt that late in the day.
‘Anyway, Merry Christmas,’ Ewan said, holding out his hand to Edward.
‘And a Merry Christmas to you,’ Edward responded, shaking his hand warmly.
Rose leant forward and kissed him on the cheek.
‘Merry Christmas, Ewan.’
Molly joined them a short time later along with Kevin the gardener and the rest of the staff. Libby gave out the presents from under the tree. Ewan stood by the roaring fire nursing a whisky in his hand. Libby found his present and handed it to him. He took it with a nod.
‘Maybe now you’ll stop stealing mine,’ said Edward with a smile as Ewan unwrapped a single malt.
‘Thanks for that,’ grinned Ewan.
‘There’s another one,’ said Libby.
Ewan took the gift and pulled off the wrapping. Libby watched him and stroked her pearls self-consciously.
‘Your favourite,’ said Molly smiling.
Ewan grinned at the sight of the CD.
‘Brilliant, thanks a lot.’
‘I chose that one,’ said Libby.
‘Good choice,’ he smiled. ‘Thanks.’
He liked it. Libby felt all warm inside.
The dining table had been laid expertly by the caterers and the staff looked at it wide-eyed as they did every year, except for Ewan who never seemed impressed. Libby sat between Molly and Ewan, and his fresh fragrance wafted over to her. His knee touched hers and she blushed profusely. He seemed not to notice. She’d heard the gardening staff gossiping about him and Patti, the woman, from the village. One said they saw them doing it against the wall by the chip shop. Uncle Edward said it was her husband who’d beaten Ewan up in the barn. Libby glanced sideways at him and felt her hands tremble. She pictured him thrusting inside Patti and became breathless. Her hand reached for a glass of water, knocking it over. Ewan quickly stopped it bef
ore too much damage was done and handed it to her. His hand brushed hers and she thought she might faint.
‘I hear Ben Mitchell’s boat got wrecked,’ said Kevin after consuming several glasses of champagne. ‘Someone shot at it. Serves the bugger right, I say. He sabotaged old man Miles’s nets more than once just so he could get the best haul.’
Ewan helped himself to more turkey.
‘Shot it?’ said Edward.
‘Full of holes. It’s like a bloody colander,’ laughed Kevin.
‘Language,’ said Molly softly.
‘Right, sorry,’ said Kevin.
‘You hear that Ewan?’ said Edward with a grin.
‘I did. I can’t think who’d want to go doing that.’
Libby looked at him.
‘Well, we know it wasn’t you,’ said Molly. ‘You can’t do anything with that arm.’
‘That’s right,’ said Ewan, meeting Libby’s eyes.
His leg brushed hers and she pulled it away. He smiled indulgently and reached for a dish.
‘Stuffing?’ he asked her, a curl to his lips.
Libby blushed and shook her head. It was Ewan who shot the boat and she felt sure her uncle knew it too.
‘May I be excused,’ she asked.
Her uncle nodded. Libby rushed to the loo. Once inside, she slid her hand into her knickers and pictured Ewan thrusting inside the woman called Patti until gasping, she came. She’d see Patrick tomorrow. Perhaps he’d do it to her again. She couldn’t help wondering if Ewan did it better. She somehow thought he did.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Present day
Libby
I wait but there’s no reply. I push the buzzer again.
‘Hello,’ says a faint voice through the crackly speaker.
I can’t distinguish an accent.
‘Hello, I live in the apartment across the road. I wonder …’
‘How can I help you?’ the voice snaps back.
