In Her Image

by Adam Croft

  I’m sitting in a ball in the middle of the living room floor, holding my knees up to my chest. It’s almost foetal.

  My phone pings as a text message arrives. It’s from Kieran. I read it without unlocking the screen.

  Here if you need me. X

  But I don’t. I don’t feel comfortable. I have no idea who I can trust right now. And when things get to that stage, there are only two people you can rely on. I unlock my phone and call their number.

  ‘Hello, dear,’ Mum says as she answers the phone. She always does. She probably even says it when she gets sales calls.

  ‘Hi Mum,’ I say, trying to ensure my voice sounds calm and not on edge. Mum’s always been the first person to spot when something isn’t right with me. Then again, that’s a mum’s job, isn’t it? ‘How’s things?’

  ‘Oh, fine, fine. Your dad’s just out in the shed fiddling around with some motor or other. How are things with you?’

  Dad’s a retired engineer, but the bug has never left him. The moment he retired he built an enormous outbuilding — affectionately known as ‘the shed’ — in the garden. It’s almost the same size as the house, but calling it a shed somehow seems to make it more reasonable as an extravagance.

  ‘Fine. Well, not ideal, to be honest. I’ve got a leak. Burst water main. They reckon it’ll take a few days to fix it, and in the meantime they’re moving us out. I just thought it might be a good opportunity to come up and see you guys for a bit, if you don’t mind a temporary lodger.’

  ‘Oh no! Of course not, sweetie,’ Mum says. ‘I hope nothing’s damaged, is it?’

  ‘Shouldn’t be, no. They want to do some repairs and stuff, though, and I’ve got no running water so...’

  ‘Don’t worry, you can come and stay here. I’ll send your dad over to collect you. He could do with getting out of the house.’

  ‘No! It’s fine. Honestly. I can get the train. It’s only two stops.’ I chastise myself for replying a little too keenly, and hope she hasn’t spotted something’s amiss.

  ‘Don’t be silly. You can’t walk through town with all your—’

  ‘I’m already in town,’ I lie. ‘They wanted us out sharpish, so I grabbed my bag and went. Thought I’d ring you on the way. But if you can’t spare the room, don’t worry, I can always—’

  My diversionary guilt-tripping tactic appears to work. ‘Oh no, sweetie. Of course we can spare the room. What time will you be arriving?’

  I look at the clock and make a few mental calculations. ‘Give it an hour and a half or so? I want to get a couple of things in town first. I’ll ring you when I’ve got an ETA.’

  Once the call’s over, I run upstairs, grab the suitcase down from on top of the wardrobe and start packing.

  56

  They’re lovely people, your parents. Richard and Linda. Richard John and Linda Margaret. Twenty-fourth of November 1954 and the eighth of March 1953, respectively. That surprised me. I never had your mother down as liking the younger man.

  I’m sure you’ll have a pleasant stay at 86 Sundown Avenue. Your father’s replaced the crumbling old front wall with a new one. He had to move the rose bush to re-do the footings, but it looks great now. You’re going to love it.

  I must admit I got a little frisson of excitement when I heard you ask if you could go and stay with them. A change of location! We’re going on tour! The thrill of the chase!

  It matters very little to me where you are. Physical location means nothing. Because you’re always here. And I’m always watching.

  Just like I watched you coming home last night. Or this morning, I should say.

  Just like I watched you forget to lock your door. Such a silly little thing, but what a huge impact it had.

  Because that’s the way the world works. Small actions can have enormous consequences. One person’s decision or lack of care can change everything.

  Have you heard of the butterfly effect? It’s a critical part of chaos theory, but that’s a subject for another day. Needless to say, chaos can be reined in or avoided with careful planning and forethought. We have the power to control the future, if only we care to use it.

  The butterfly effect postulates that the smallest, most seemingly inconsequential action can have far-reaching and potentially devastating consequences.

  Potentially devastating.

  Potentially.

  How often do you do things without thinking? I’d hazard a guess that it’s far more often than you think. How many homeless people do you walk past on a daily basis? A couple? A few? Let’s be conservative and say one. How many people do you think walk past him each day? And what do you think that does to a man, being castigated and ignored by his peers, just because he’s fallen on hard times? What’s to say your walking past him wasn’t the straw that broke the camel’s back, the one that convinced him to end it all? Because maybe he’d been counting to a hundred. Perhaps he told himself that he’d end his own life that day if one hundred people walked past without acknowledging him. One hundred people. But the person who inadvertently ended his life was you. Because you didn’t think. Because you didn’t care to think. Because you didn’t think to care. What if that man had something burning deep inside him, a plan, an invention that could end world hunger or rid the world of nuclear threats? Not only did you walk past a man, and not only did you unknowingly condemn him to death, but you’re now responsible for global hunger and the coming nuclear holocaust.

  It’s an outlandish demonstration, I know, but it bears thought. The theory is sound. It stands up to scrutiny. It is a thing. And one day there will be a tiny, seemingly insignificant event that leads to devastation and destruction. What if Alois Hitler had decided to pull out and wank over Klara’s tits? I’m willing to wager he didn’t consider that he was creating the greatest tyrant in modern history while he was grunting and groaning. Ja! Ja! Ja! Not a care in the world.

  We should all have care and consideration. Everything we do affects someone. We aren’t satellites; the whole planet, the whole ecosystem, the whole of human nature is congruent. It all feeds into the greater system, and we all get back what we put in. Carelessness and selfishness leads to... Well, I think you get the message.

  The interesting thing is that the butterfly effect can be gamed, if you know enough about human psychology. Which is why every move I make is bringing you closer to me. You might not know it, you might not feel it, but it’s happening.

  Your little temper tantrum might have seemed out of the ordinary, but it was always going to happen. It had been coming a long time. Because you don’t know how to cope with pressure. Yet.

  I tidied up for you, by the way. But you know that already. I had to be quiet so I didn’t wake you. Do you have any idea how long it takes to pick up individual pieces of cutlery and put them back in the drawer without making a sound? And those sofas! They’re pretty hefty considering they were only £798 from DFS. Picking those up and putting them back the right way round in silence wasn’t easy.

  Still, it’s done now. And now we move on to the next phase, Alice. Because I need you here. I need you close. I warn you, I might have to go to quite some lengths to achieve that, but I’m willing to. Because you’re worth it, Alice. You’re worth every damn second.

  57

  The short drive home from the station to my parents’ house is tinged with an odd atmosphere. It takes me a few moments to work out what it is, but I realise it’s probably down to the way things were left the last time I saw Mum and Dad, when I asked them to leave after they turned up at my house out of the blue. The timing was dreadful, not that I’ve been having any particularly fantastic times recently.

  ‘Look, I just wanted to say sorry about last time,’ I say, punctuating the silence. I hate having to apologise for anything. Generally speaking, I try to avoid doing anything that means I’m going to have to apologise in the first place.

  ‘Don’t worry about it. I told your mum we shouldn’t turn up unannounced. She wouldn’t like it
if someone did it to her.’

  I can tell we’re both thinking that’s not true. Mum seems to think that people should spend their days visiting each other. She doesn’t seem to understand that even if she’s not busy working, other people are.

  ‘How’s life in the shed?’ I ask him.

  He chuckles.

  ‘Peaceful. I’m reconditioning a vintage Atco 2-stroke. Off an old Suffolk Punch, the bloke reckoned.’

  I nod, pretending to look impressed. It doesn’t sound particularly peaceful to me.

  ‘Your mum’s worried,’ he says, in a way which makes me think he’s been wanting to say this since I got in the car. ‘She tasked me with using the car journey to probe about your health.’

  He accentuates this last word, and I know exactly what he means by it. That’s what I love about Dad; he’s open and honest, my ally against Mum’s funny little ways.

  ‘I’ll tell her I reckon you’re fine, of course. Stop her from harping on. But all I will say is if there’s anything you want to talk about, anything you need, just shout. Alright?’

  I put my hand on his knee and squeeze, without saying a word.

  We arrive back at the house a few minutes later.

  I’ve been thinking about what Dad said. I’m going to have to come clean to them about the non-existent water leak and tell them about the whole Toby Sheridan thing. But how much detail do I give them? I know what’ll happen if I tell them everything. Mum will start to give me all sorts of suggestions or, worse, go behind my back and speak to the police or something. It isn’t worth that sort of risk. I need to make out that everything’s in hand, that it’s all being sorted and I just need some space.

  Oddly, as soon as I think about that, I realise that not telling them had never been an option. They’re my parents. And not being able to talk about how I feel hasn’t helped so far. That’s what my counsellor is there for, but I’ve not been open and honest with her, either. Mandy’s just... Well, Mandy’s Mandy. She’s great support; a fantastic person to cover your arse, but in terms of actually putting together a coherent plan of action she’s probably not the best. Kieran’s been wonderfully supportive, particularly since getting Darryl involved. But again, what can he do? The one set of people I should be able to rely on — the police — have been so completely unhelpful that Kieran’s help and support unfortunately means very little.

  Mum asks me how things are going, as she puts the kettle on to make a cup of tea.

  ‘So so,’ I answer. ‘Seems that bad luck’s a bit like buses. All comes at once.’

  ‘Oh? What’s wrong?’

  ‘Well, there’s the water leak,’ I say, deciding it’s probably best to keep that in there. If they think I’ve come here just because of Toby Sheridan, they’ll only overreact. Mum especially. ‘That’s causing all sorts of havoc. And there’s this weird thing that’s been happening recently. There’s a bloke who’s been following me about and sending me messages and things.’

  Mum stops and looks at me. I can see the concern on her face.

  ‘Don’t worry, the police are involved. It’s being sorted.’

  ‘What sort of bloke?’ she asks.

  ‘I dunno, just some bloke who’s taken a fancy to me.’

  Is that why Toby Sheridan’s following me? I guess it’s possible. But why the torment? Why not bunches of flowers or gifts left outside my house? Why break in and leave photos?

  Mum puts the spoon back in the sugar pot and comes and sits next to me at the kitchen table.

  ‘Alice, I want you to be honest with me. How long has this been going on?’

  Great. Her mother’s instinct kicks in.

  ‘A little while. Honestly, don’t worry.’

  She’s silent for a couple of moments.

  ‘There’s no water leak, is there?’

  I look her in the eye, ready to lie to her, but I can tell that she already knows. She didn’t ask it as a question; it was a statement that she wanted me to confirm.

  ‘No.’

  She nods. ‘I looked on the water board’s website. They always list any current issues. There’s nothing mentioned.’ My first instinct is to castigate her for checking up on me, for not believing me, but I realise it’s probably justified. ‘You came here because of this man, didn’t you? You were all on edge when we saw you last, too. It’s been going on a while, hasn’t it?’

  Dad comes into the kitchen at this point, and I let it all out. I tell them everything. Right from the start, every single detail. Mum’s brow furrows and I can see from the look on her face that she’s feeling every word of it. Dad, on the other hand, leans against the kitchen counter, his jaw pulsating as he grinds his jaw.

  When I finish telling them, it’s Dad who speaks first.

  ‘And what if he comes here?’

  His voice is stressed. Generally speaking, he’s the most placid bloke in the world, but he doesn’t handle situations like this well.

  ‘He won’t,’ I say.

  ‘How do you know that? If he’s managed to find out where you live and work, and has broken into your house, what’s to say he won’t rock up here and do the same?’

  Mum stands and places a hand on his shoulder.

  ‘Richard...’

  ‘You need proper protection, Alice. If this guy is dangerous, you need to be somewhere where he won’t find you. This is the first place he’ll come and look.’

  Although it might sound heartless when he says it, I can tell Dad’s just scared. Mum’s scared too, but she’s stuck between a rock and a hard place.

  ‘Richard, we can’t turf her out onto the streets. He’s very unlikely to come up here and—’

  ‘How do you know?’ he says, interrupting her. ‘He could find her here easily. She isn’t safe. It’s putting us at risk too. Of course I want to help her, but what can we do? We’re not bodyguards.’ He looks at me, realising he’s been speaking as if I’m not even in the room. ‘Alice, we desperately want to help you and protect you. You’re our daughter. But this man sounds dangerous. If you stay here, you’re still at risk. We’re all at risk. Surely there must be somewhere safer you can stay. We’re only thinking of you.’

  I can see his point, but I don’t have anywhere else. ‘Like where?’

  He thinks for a moment. ‘Well what about your Uncle George?’

  ‘He’s out of the country,’ Mum says, reminding Dad that George and Sylvia live in New Zealand for six months of the year. Her tone says And you should know that — he’s your brother.

  I can see Dad trying to think of someone else, but there isn’t anyone. I’m an only child, Mum’s an only child and Dad’s brother is on the other side of the world.

  ‘We could ask Jack and Tara,’ he says. I recognise their names as Mum and Dad’s friends from the local ballroom dancing class. The four of them only ever went once, but were united in their realisation that perhaps that particular class wasn’t for them.

  ‘Don’t be daft!’ Mum says, scoffing. ‘They’ve got a young baby. They don’t want to be put under that sort of pressure.’

  It’s always lovely to hear your parents tell you that you’re pressure.

  ‘And what else do you suggest?’ Dad asks her, challenging her. ‘There’s no way he’d be able to find her there. Besides which, they live on the top floor of a block of flats. He can’t exactly just climb in through the window.’

  ‘That’s not the point, Richard. They don’t want to feel unsafe with a young baby.’

  ‘They won’t be unsafe. There’s no obvious connection between us and them.’

  I feel as if I’m being passed from pillar to post.

  ‘Listen, don’t worry about it,’ I say. ‘I don’t want to drag anyone else into this. I’m sure I’ll be fine.’

  ‘Nonsense. Your dad’s just worried about you. We both are. We want you to be safe, but he’s right. You won’t be any safer here than you are at home. If he was able to find your address, he’ll find ours very easily. Don’t forget I was o
n the parish council for four years. Our name and address is everywhere.’

  How could I forget? She never stopped banging on about it. That was probably part of the reason why she got voted off after her first term.

  ‘What about Kieran?’ Dad asks. ‘Can’t he stay with you? Bit of extra protection, I mean.’

  ‘Richard, don’t be stupid,’ Mum says. ‘They aren’t together any more. And in any case, what’s he going to do if this man breaks in and threatens Alice? Bake him a nice cake? Sit down and talk to him about the Crimean War?’

  ‘You need an alarm and CCTV fitted,’ Dad says. ‘The full works. Anti-bump locks, window alarms, everything.’

  ‘Richard, why should she have to live in a prison?’

  ‘She shouldn’t, but she should have the right to feel safe.’ He turns to me. ‘I’d do the lot here if I could, but...’ He jerks his head in Mum’s direction. She ignores it.

  ‘I can’t afford all that stuff,’ I say. ‘I’ve already had the locks changed.’

  ‘Forget that,’ Dad replies. ‘We’ll pay for it.’ Before Mum can challenge him, he adds: ‘Stay here tonight. I’ll go out this afternoon and get all the gear. We’ll go back to yours first thing and I’ll fit it all. Should have it done by the end of the day.’

  I smile and thank him.

  I came here to feel more secure, to know that I was safe in the arms of my parents. But as much as they try to help, try to reassure me, I’m not entirely sure I feel any safer at all.

  58

  Dad went out yesterday afternoon and bought all the security gear as promised. I asked him to tell me how much he’d spent, so I could pay him back in time, but he wasn’t having any of it. I can only imagine it was hundreds of pounds, if not more. The car boot is filled with cameras, alarm boxes, wiring and all sorts of stuff I don’t recognise. Hopefully it’ll be enough to dissuade Toby from coming anywhere near the house.