by Adam Croft
I sit for a moment, stunned.
‘Further evaluation? What do you mean?’
‘Just so they can evaluate what other treatment options might be open to you,’ she says innocently.
‘So who can evaluate?’
‘Medical professionals.’
‘You mean shrinks.’
‘I mean medical professionals.’
There’s a stand-off in which neither of us says anything. She can see I’m not happy with this suggestion, and I’m making no secret of that fact.
‘Alice, I do think it’s right to look at other avenues of treatment. I’m going to be completely open and honest with you now. I had a call from someone who said they were worried about some of your behaviour recently. They weren’t sure how much was coming out in our sessions, and they wanted to ensure that you were able to get all the help you needed.’
I can’t believe what I’m hearing. ‘Are you serious? Our conversations are private! You’re not meant to—’
‘I didn’t divulge anything that was said in any of our sessions, Alice. I didn’t even acknowledge that there were any sessions. I just listened to what they had to say, that’s all. I promise you absolutely nothing was said or shared in the other direction.’
I suddenly feel like everyone is ganging up on me. Who would call Maisie? I think of who knows that I go to see her. As far as I know, it’s just my parents, plus Kieran and Mandy.
‘I can’t believe this,’ I say. ‘What the hell’s going on?’
Maisie tries to calm me with the tone of her voice. ‘Alice, people are worried about you. They want to help.’
‘Well this isn’t fucking helping! Someone phoning you and grassing me up for acting weird? How the hell am I meant to feel?’
‘He just wants to look out for you, Alice.’
Maisie stops as she realises what she’s said. She tries to backpedal, but I get there first.
‘He?’
‘Or she,’ she says, unconvincingly.
I shake my head as I stand up to leave. ‘Don’t even bother, Maisie. Don’t even bother.’
61
I feel completely and utterly betrayed. I give myself a headache as I start to walk home, my teeth grinding together as I think about the burning injustice of what’s just happened. How dare he go behind my back like that? What right does he have to call Maisie and speak to her without letting me know about it? What was he hoping to achieve?
And when did he make that call? Was it before we tried following Toby Sheridan home from work? Between then and our night out? Was he happily enjoying a few drinks with me, knowing that he’d already grassed me up to my therapist? Or was it something he did afterwards, having decided that I was too nutty to hang around with after all?
As much as I try to force it from my mind, I keep playing through the conversation in my mind, imagining what might have been said.
Don’t tell her I said any of this.
Whatever you say to me will remain confidential.
She’d kill me if she knew I was talking to you.
I must admit I’ve been having concerns myself.
Between you and me, I think she needs to go into an institution.
I’ll keep a close eye on her next time she’s in.
I’ll speak to her parents. They might have some information too.
What do we do about Alice?
I hate people talking about me at the best of times. I hate being the centre of attention. I just want a quiet life. I don’t want hassle. I want to be able to get up, go to work, come home, watch TV, go to bed, rinse and repeat. Why is this all happening to me? What have I done? Who have I upset? Where did I go so wrong?
I fumble with my phone as I try to navigate my way through to the Contacts app, the adrenaline coursing through my body, making my hands shake uncontrollably.
Eventually, I find Kieran’s entry and tap the screen to call him.
I don’t even wait for him to answer; I start talking as soon as the call connects.
‘What the hell have you done, Kieran?’
‘Sorry?’
‘Maisie Haynes. My therapist.’ I can hear the adrenaline in my own voice. I sound like I’m sitting on top of a washing machine.
‘What about her?’ Kieran asks.
‘Did you call her?’ I don’t know why I’m phrasing it as a question. I know damn well he did. But there’s something in his tone that tells me he hasn’t got a clue what I’m talking about.
‘Call her? No, why?’
There’s a woman walking towards me, giving me an odd look. I cup my hand around my mouth and the bottom of the phone as I speak, trying to keep my voice down.
‘Don’t treat me like a fucking idiot, Kieran. She told me she had a call from someone expressing their concerns about my “recent behaviour”. But she slipped up and referred to that person as he.’
‘And? That narrows it down to fifty percent of the population. How did you leap from there to me?’
‘Because who else would it have been, Kieran? Only a couple of people even know I go to see Maisie, and one of them’s you.’
Kieran sighs. ‘Alice, I didn’t call her, alright? I’m not the only bloke you know, am I? You must’ve told someone else at some point. For all I know you met someone else while you were drunk and told him.’
Kieran’s response takes me by surprise. What the hell is he talking about?
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ I ask.
‘Well I don’t know, do I? You’ve been flitting about all over the place recently, making weird comments and doing strange things. Half the time, I reckon you don’t even know yourself what you’ve been doing. How can you honestly say you can guarantee that I’m the only male who knows about your therapist? You can’t.’
I let out something approaching a laugh. ‘That’s what this is all about, isn’t it? You’ve totally changed since we split up. And now I can see why. These silly little comments about other blokes, about me getting drunk. This is all about you trying to get me back, trying to make me dependent on you again.’
‘For God’s sake, don’t be so—’
‘No, I’m serious, Kieran. That’s what you’ve always wanted, isn’t it? Your safe, comfortable little life with the dutiful wife or girlfriend always where you know she is. Reliant on you.’
‘Alice, you’re talking rubbish and you know it.’
‘How far would you go to make me reliant on you, Kieran? Hmmm? I mean, you wouldn’t go so far as to get someone to pretend to stalk me, send me a few weird photos, try to break into my house? That’d get me running back to you, wouldn’t it? Straight into the safe arms of Kieran, happily ever after!’
I’m now aware that my voice is very loud and my arm movements are exaggerated. I’m getting a few odd looks from passers-by, but I don’t give a shit.
‘Jesus Christ, you’re paranoid,’ Kieran says.
‘Am I? Am I? How else did he get into my house that first time? You had a key. You had one for ages.’
‘I gave it back when we broke up, Alice. You know I did.’
‘Yes, you did, but what’s to say you didn’t have a copy made before then? Maybe when you started to realise things were coming to an end and you were going to need to go out of your way to make sure I came running back to you? How else did he find my address? How did he know where I work? Somehow he knew my routine, he knew where my parents lived for crying out loud!’
‘Alice, please. This is getting out of hand.’
‘Is it? Is it really? Or is this all one big, sick ploy to win me back, Kieran?’
Kieran’s silent for a moment, then I hear a sigh.
‘Alice, I don’t want you back.’
Even though I had absolutely no thoughts or intention of ever getting back with Kieran, this news still hits me like a ton of bricks.
‘What?’
‘I can’t handle you like this. Besides, you’ve got your new bloke now. Simon, is it?’ The tone of his voice is pure
venom.
‘How do you know about Simon?’
‘Mandy mentioned him. Nice to know I was just being used, as per usual.’
‘What the hell are you talking about?’
‘Well, there’s me thinking you wanted us to spend time together. You came to me when you wanted help finding this guy. You came to me when you wanted to follow him home from work. Why not Simon? Because I was convenient? Or because you didn’t want Simon to know what a nutcase you are?’
I expect Kieran to fall silent after saying that, as if he’d just realised what he’d said and immediately regretted it. But he doesn’t. He continues.
‘Seriously, Alice, I didn’t call your therapist, but I completely agree with whoever did. Your... condition... is affecting your reality. You don’t know what’s what any more. You don’t even know what reality is. You’ve got to stop this, before innocent people end up being hurt by your accusations.’
‘What? Which innocent people?’
Kieran sighs again. ‘Who knows? Maybe Toby Sheridan’s innocent.’
I stop dead in my tracks, even though I’m only yards from my house. ‘What did you just say?’
‘I said maybe Toby Sheridan’s innocent. Maybe you’re imagining the whole thing. Who knows? You don’t know what’s real any more, and I’m starting to struggle as well.’
The feeling of anger and complete betrayal is now overwhelming.
‘In that case, maybe you should have nothing to do with me any more, Kieran.’
I’m not expecting his response.
‘Yeah. I think that would probably be a good idea.’
62
Even though I wasn’t technically with Kieran, and even though we’ve broken up before, this feels a whole lot worse. Before, I was prepared. It was my decision. It was mostly amicable, too. This is completely different. This time, I feel betrayed. I feel victimised.
How could Kieran say that he doesn’t believe me, that I’m making it all up? How could he even consider that as a possibility? He helped me track Toby Sheridan down. He knows he exists. He, of all people, should be the one who’s there to support me. But, instead, he goes and throws it all away.
I’ve only been home a couple of minutes when my phone rings. My first instinct is it’s Kieran calling me back to apologise, but I know in my heart of hearts that’s not going to happen. I look at the screen. It’s Darryl. Great. So Kieran’s called him and told him what happened, and now I’ll have Darryl on my back too.
A thought crosses my mind. Darryl works for the police. Does that mean he’s ringing to let me know they’re investigating me or that Toby Sheridan has reported me for following him home the other afternoon? I tell myself it can’t be that. Darryl’s a member of civilian staff working in IT, for a start.
I answer the phone.
‘Hi, Darryl.’
‘Hi. Listen, I can’t talk long as I’m on my break, but I’ve been having a closer look at our mutual friend.’
Darryl’s method of trying to disguise what he’s talking about makes me feel reassured that I can trust him, but there’s still the Kieran factor.
I keep silent, waiting for him to continue.
‘There was another case just over a year ago, not too dissimilar to this,’ he says. I can hear he’s cupped the phone and is talking quietly to avoid being overheard. ‘Another woman, living locally, who reported being stalked. That’s not the weird thing, though. We get hundreds of stalking reports a year. This one stuck out in my mind for a reason. When I saw you the other night, it jarred something in my memory. I couldn’t work out why. But this morning I realised what it was. You look exactly like that girl that was being stalked last year, Alice. You’re a dead ringer for her. It stuck in my mind because she only lived a few doors up from me. Wait. Give me two secs.’
There’s a pause as I hear some fumbling and tapping noises. He comes back on the line.
‘Right. Check your messages.’
As he finishes saying that, my phone vibrates and dings to let me know a text has arrived. I take the phone away from my ear and open up my messages. I tap Darryl’s name, and a picture appears. It’s the woman. And he’s right. She looks just like me. It’s so accurate, it’s scary.
‘Bloody hell,’ I say, putting the phone back to my ear.
‘I know, right? Listen, there are a couple of cases like this. Possibly more, I don’t know. I’d have to look at different records and things and I’d risk being caught doing it. It’s just lucky I was doing some maintenance work on that particular database this morning. I don’t know when that chance will come up again, but I took it. This girl, she reported things just like you did. Not a photographer, though; this was a guy she met while she was working on her dad’s market stall. One day a week she used to man the stall for him, and this guy came to buy stuff three weeks in a row. They used to chat about various things, and on the third week they swapped numbers. That’s when it all started going weird. He never visited the stall again, either. But get this. The description the girl gave the police was identical to how you described Sheridan.’
I can’t quite believe what I’m hearing. So this guy is a serial offender, but the police still didn’t think they should do anything about it? They must have known I wasn’t going mad or making it up. They must have realised this had happened before to another woman and that we couldn’t both be imagining the same fictional stalker.
‘To be honest, I reckon there’s more,’ Darryl says. ‘When I next get the chance to have a poke around, I’ll take a look. But in the meantime, you need to stay safe.’
‘Thanks, Darryl. But why would he be doing this? What do me and this other girl’s looks have to do with anything?’
Darryl exhales loudly. ‘Could be anything. I’m not a profiler or a criminal psychologist. But my best guess would be that you remind him of someone. Perhaps an old girlfriend who treated him badly. For stalkers, it’s all about control. That’ll be why he needs to keep showing you he’s been in your house and that he knows where you are at all times. It’s his way of showing you he’s in control and that whatever you do, he’s there.’
‘But why?’ I ask. ‘Does he think it’s going to make me go running to him or something?’
‘Who knows. Maybe. He’s obviously sick in the head, so I wouldn’t expect any of it to make sense, but it might be a punishment thing. Perhaps he’s convinced himself that you don’t just look like someone he used to know, but that you are that person. Maybe that person needed punishing, in his mind. If that person isn’t around any more, you’re the next best thing. Perhaps he feels as though punishing you is somehow making him feel better, because in his mind he’s punishing that person who hurt him before. If you see what I mean.’
To be honest, I don’t. It’s all confusing the hell out of me. ‘Like projection?’ I ask.
‘I dunno. Kind of. Like I said, I’m not a psychologist. This is just my own opinion.’
I sigh. ‘So what do we do now?’
There’s silence for a couple of moments before Darryl speaks.
‘I dunno, Alice. I really don’t know.’
63
The rest of the day passed in a haze, and I felt exhausted by the end of it. Mentally more than physically. Sleep helped to clear my head a little, and I woke up this morning trying to figure out the ramifications of what it meant for me that Toby Sheridan has clearly done this to other people before.
Does it make me feel any better? No, of course not. If anything, it scares me a little. This isn’t just someone messing about — the guy does this regularly. But, at the same time, the possibility remains that he could lose interest in me the same as he did with the other girl and move on to someone else. Of course, that doesn’t help either — no-one should have to go through what I’ve been through — but my main priority right now has to be to keep him well away from me and to hope for an end to all this.
Darryl was hazy with the details, as I imagine he probably has to be. He didn’t tell m
e the girl’s name, and I didn’t ask. I figured he wouldn’t be allowed to tell me, and in any case I’m not sure I want to know. What would I do with it? Try and track her down on Facebook, see if he’s either completely ruined her life or if she’s happy and healthy and free of him? Which would I prefer? Which would make me feel better? The answer is neither. So what’s the point? Why would I want to torment myself?
The ideal outcome would be for the police to get involved, find some evidence that they can use to charge him and somehow manage to tie that up with this previous case. That way, he could be charged and convicted for stalking us both. And there might well be more. I imagine there probably is. Who knows how many women he’s tormented over the years? How many of them managed to get away, and how many met other, grizzlier ends? Does this man become violent when he doesn’t get what he wants? Or does he just torment them to the point where they get so desperate to be free of him that they end their own lives?
As these thoughts all cross my mind, I get up and make myself some breakfast, listening to a documentary on the radio about the fight for women’s rights in South Sudan. Programmes like this sometimes make me wonder if we aren’t so different after all.
With breakfast made, I take my mobile phone out and go to check my emails while I eat. There’s the usual junk — newsletters from companies I once bought something from four years ago, a message from my credit card provider to let me know my latest bill’s ready and an email from Simon letting everyone know that the kickboxing class will be starting half an hour later than usual this week. The usual collection of things that really aren’t very interesting at all.
But as I scroll further down, there’s another email which stops me dead in my tracks. My heart skips more than a beat or two as I take in what’s on the screen in front of me.
Gavin Armitage | 01:13
(no subject)
I know I should delete it. Swipe the screen, tap Delete and forget all about it. Ignore him. He’s playing for attention, and he needs to know he’s not getting it. But I feel compelled to open it. What if he’s got some sort of tracker on there and he can see whether it’s been opened? Sure, opening it would feed his ego, but not opening it might enrage him somehow or make him do something worse to try and get my attention. He’s already been in my house, so I dread to think of what he might resort to next. I quickly decide it’s best if I open the email, see what it says, then delete it.
