by Lucy Dawson
If it were a stranger doing this it’d be bad enough – worse maybe because it would be fear of the unknown – but that it’s someone I once willingly shared a house with, slept with, kissed? Leo was always intense, but this? This is a different league altogether … This is the kind of stuff you read about in the papers. Jealous ex-boyfriends flipping out. Trailing their unsuspecting former partners … oh my God, this evening at that community hall … was it him I heard? Was he there?
He knows where we live.
He’s said he’s going to tell Dan.
I stare up at the ceiling, completely immobile with fear, in the dark of my own bedroom.
Chapter Twenty-Three
‘Moll, please,’ begs Joss. ‘Calm down. Take a deep breath.’
She waits as I try to do as I’m told.
‘Good girl. That’s better … and again, take another.’
I try to breathe out slowly, it just sounds jagged.
‘OK,’ she says. ‘Here’s what we’re going to do. We’re going to change your phone number …’
‘It’s too late! He doesn’t need to be able to text me or phone me any more, he can just watch me. I know that car I saw outside the house was him, Joss, I know it was. That message he sent me? The “you look nice” one? He DID know what I looked like that day – he’s been following me! Oh God, this is fucked up. Really fucked up.’ I start to gabble with panic. ‘I don’t know what to do! He could turn up at any moment. He could tell Dan. I don’t—’
‘He’s not going to do anything. This is going to be OK.’ She cuts across me, but I can hear it in her voice, she’s worried. ‘Moll, I think we should call the police, I mean, really, this is harassment, people can get arrested for that, can’t they?’
‘But what am I going to do when they ask me about my relationship with him? I’ll have to tell them I slept with him two weeks ago – or he will. Either way Dan will find out! I’ve already been through this, Joss – all last night. There’s nothing I can do! And he knows it!’
We fall silent. ‘What about telling Stuart – or Chris?’ she suggests hesitantly. ‘Getting them to … sort him out.’
I pause and think about that. Chris or Stuart walking up to Leo in an empty basement car park, like they do in films. My brothers; my nice respectable law-abiding brothers, who I love more than anything. They’ve got children, for God’s sake. They’re fathers, they have responsibilities. Suppose something were to go wrong? ‘No,’ I say instantly. ‘I’m not asking them to do that.’
‘Moll, I really, really want to help you,’ she says ‘but unless we tell someone …’
‘If he finds out, Dan will leave me,’ I say blankly. I can’t believe this is happening. All I really want is for Joss to reassure me that of course Leo is not going to tell Dan, that I’m imagining all this, that I’m letting my mind run away with me.
‘Yeah,’ she admits quietly. ‘I know he will. Does he suspect anything at the moment, do you think?’
‘No – not at all. He’d ask me outright if he did. I know he would.’
‘You think?’ she says doubtfully. ‘I don’t suppose …’ She hesitates. ‘OK, you’re going to think I’m going mad now, but you have been very jumpy and well, not yourself – at least I don’t think so. There’s no chance DAN could have put that tracker thing on your phone, is there?’
I know I’m prone to melodrama, and I also know that I have a habit of overreacting, not thinking things through, but I honestly think that this might be what madness feels like. I don’t know what to think, or how to feel.
Dan just wouldn’t do that. OK, he is an IT expert, but so what? If he thought something might be going on that he was worried about, he’d just ask me. In fact he did – he brought up those mails from Pearce! And who tracks their own wife? But then, as if it’s been lurking in a part of my subconscious I wasn’t even aware of, just waiting, I remember him holding that condom and pin.
Joss did say I’d been jumpy. Dan knows me better than anyone, better probably than I know myself. Could he have picked up on something? If it is Dan who has put that thing on my phone, that means Leo is – well, just bombarding me with texts and trying to get me to meet him. That’s all. Unnerving, horrible even, but not a hanging offence … If, on the other hand, it is Leo’s work, then my husband is innocent, but my ex is actually stalking me.
I would laugh if this whole thing weren’t so completely deranged.
I simply don’t know what to do. Thankfully, I have no meetings today, so I’m able to stay in the house, behind double-locked doors. I sit there all day, just staring at my computer screen unable to focus. Paralysed.
At half-past four my phone begins to ring. It’s Leo.
I ignore it, trying to keep my breathing steady, and it goes to voicemail. So much for my telling him I wouldn’t be responsible for my actions, that really worked. It starts to ring again, straight away. I busy-tone him. Seconds later it starts up for a third time.
Do not panic. It’s just a phone – that’s all. You’re perfectly safe.
Beep! A text arrives:
Pick up. Please. I know you’re there xxxxxxx
My eyes widen, and I glance at the window. The curtains are open and it’s dark outside. I rush to them, look up and down the street – I can’t see any sign of him. I yank the curtains shut furiously.
Beep!
Molly? PICK UP xx
I can’t just ignore it and switch the phone off any more. What if that only provokes him?
It’s a snap reaction – desperate to buy myself some time, some space to try and work out what I am going to do – anything – I text him back:
Let me think. Will call you on Monday. I promise
Beep!
OK. Monday. I love you xxxxx And happy birthday for tomorrow xxxx
‘Have a nice day then,’ the delivery man turns and heads back to his car, leaving me standing on the doorstep clutching an enormous bunch of flowers.
‘Wow,’ Dan appears behind me. ‘Who are they from?’
‘I don’t know.’ I close the front door and start to search around for a card, my heart thumping as I see it nestled in amongst the heavily scented roses. I slip it from the small envelope, and almost faint with relief when I realise they are from Abi, Rose, Nula and Jacquie.
‘The London girls,’ I say to Dan.
‘That’s nice,’ he says. ‘Can I see?’
I pass it to him wordlessly. Is he checking up on me? Doesn’t he believe me? Oh shut up … he’s your husband.
‘Putting me to shame,’ he says easily.
I manage a weak smile and hasten off to put them in some water.
‘Are you sure you don’t want to go out and do a celebratory something?’ he asks for the millionth time, a few hours later through a mouthful, comforting crappy Saturday night TV blaring away in the background as we eat fish and chips. ‘Wow, listen to that rain!’ He lifts the edge of the curtain incredulously and looks out into the dark. ‘It is nice being in like this, all cosy, but I feel really bad not taking you anywhere.’
‘Don’t,’ I wait for him to let the curtain drop back down again before relaxing slightly. ‘We’re seeing everyone for a birthday lunch tomorrow, aren’t we?’
‘But didn’t you want to do something with friends as well as family?’
I shake my head. ‘Rose is due any day, and I left it too late for the others to sort babysitters. Anyway, I know it sounds lame but I really would rather be in with you than out on a night like this, in some bar.’
‘We really are getting old, aren’t we?’ he gives me a rueful smile. ‘Joss and Bec could have come over though …’
‘Bec’s working and Joss is on a date,’ I reach for my glass of wine. ‘Second date in fact.’
‘Really?’ he says interestedly. ‘Well, well, well. By the way, did her in-house lawyer get back to you yesterday about that tracking thing on your phone?’
I tense. Why the sudden interest? But then of course he’s intere
sted, I’d be interested if he’d found that on his phone. I’d be furious in fact.
‘Not yet. I’m going to monitor the situation.’ Which is what he usually says when he’s putting off dealing with something annoying in the hope it will magically sort itself out.
‘OK.’ He turns back to the TV. ‘Well if you think that’s the best thing to do.’
‘Let’s not talk shop on my birthday.’ I reach for my glass again and drain the remainder in one. ‘Is that all the wine we’ve got?’ I eye the centimetre left in the bottle on the floor by the sofa.
‘Yeah, I only bought one. Sorry.’
I really want another drink. I pick up the empty bottle and carry it back to the kitchen. Yanking the fridge door open I find two cans of John Smith’s and Bec’s bottle of Moët.
Clutching the open bottle and two flutes I make my way back into the sitting room.
‘Haven’t you had enough, boozy Sue?’ Dan says lightly, but takes one nonetheless. ‘Happy birthday!’ he raises the glass to me. ‘I hope this year brings you more than you could ever wish for.’
To be honest, I’d settle for getting to keep what I’ve already got.
When we arrive at Mum and Dad’s the following day, having ended up drinking most of the champagne the night before in a desperate effort to relax, I’m feeling pretty crappy. Everyone is waiting for me in the kitchen and they all burst into a rousing rendition of ‘Happy birthday!’ as I appear in the doorway; they’ve made a banner and there’s a home-made cake ablaze with an awful lot of candles. Oscar and Lily are hovering very close to it, excitedly trying to resist the temptation to blow. There is a small mound of carefully wrapped presents on the side next to a chilling bottle of Prosecco and gleaming glasses.
I cover my mouth with my hands, feeling my eyes become shiny as I take in their happy, loving faces. Dan appears behind me and joins in the singing too, smiling proudly, the widest of all.
I’m overwhelmed by it all, seeing everyone I love so much all together, everything I could ever want all in one room …
They finish singing expectantly and wait for me to attend to the candles. How could I have risked any part of this? A tear spills over. Mum and Dad frown, and I see Stu and Chris exchange a confused look. I flap my hands quickly. ‘Ignore me!’ I smile through it. ‘I’m just being silly. These are happy tears – I promise. Let me blow this little lot out!’ I approach the cake.
‘Shall I help you?’ Oscar offers generously. A slightly snotty, dribbly team effort means we get there in the end. Which is somewhat of a relief all round.
‘Make a wish!’ calls Karen, who is sitting on Chris’s knee on the sofa. I immediately wish for everything to work out OK, which is of course a totally wasted effort. Wishes have to be much more specific than that.
After lunch I come back into the kitchen to get some water, the Prosecco having done little to settle me, funnily enough. I’m glugging from my glass over the sink when I hear a sudden ‘Hello’ behind me. I turn round to see Mum has somehow magically appeared from nowhere and is calmly folding a tea towel. I really don’t know how she does it. Was she waiting for me in the fridge?
She eyes me steadily. ‘Not feeling too good?’
‘I’m OK,’ I try a smile. ‘Just a bit thirsty.’
She walks over to the drawer, opens it and puts the tea towel in. ‘What did you get up to last night, anything fun?’
I got pissed at home and for the second weekend running had sex with Dan that I don’t entirely remember. Which is, Mum, becoming something of a theme for me, you’ll be pleased to know …
‘Just a quiet one, nothing dramatic.’
‘What did Dan get you?’ She closes the drawer.
‘A massage voucher.’
‘That’s nice,’ Mum says. ‘You have been working very hard over the last couple of weeks.’ Her face is fixed in a composed expression. ‘We’ve hardly heard a peep from you.’
‘Well, like you said, things have been busy.’
‘I understand,’ she says, almost too generously, and moves over to the cupboard and gets two mugs out. ‘Tea?’
‘No thank you,’ I say, slightly annoyed at her tone. ‘Mum, it’s not like I’ve been staying away on purpose.’
‘Oh I’m not saying you’ve done it consciously,’ she says quickly.
And just like that, I lose it. It’s a tiny, stupid comment that isn’t even an accusation. It’s so meaningless, so comparatively insignificant it’s untrue – like sticking a pin in brickwork – but she fires straight to the bull’s eye in the way only a family member can – or maybe she doesn’t at all. Maybe I’ve just been so stressed out and on the edge I can only let myself lose it with someone I feel really safe with, someone who will always be there, no matter what I’ve done.
‘What exactly is that supposed to mean?’ I explode. ‘I’m consciously, unconsciously doing WHAT exactly? I’m just trying to get on with my fucking life! Why is that so difficult for other people to understand? I’m doing the best I can.’
Mum looks slightly stunned at my reaction.
‘No, come on then!’ I challenge hotly, putting my hands on my hips. ‘Say it. Just say what you’ve got to say. Tell me what you really think, because clearly something’s frying your arse. What have I done now? I’m such a disappointment to everyone, I really am.’ As I’m saying it, I know how unfair I’m being to her, that she doesn’t have a clue what I’m talking about, why I’m so angry. I don’t even know why I’m saying all this.
Silently, she lets the words linger, like a puff of poisonous spores floating in the air that she doesn’t want to breathe in.
‘The only thing I’m disappointed in is the way you’re behaving right now,’ she says eventually, her voice maddeningly measured. ‘You don’t have to speak to me like that, it’s very rude.’
She puts the mugs back in the cupboard and walks out of the kitchen.
I burst into tears, but not noisy, attention-seeking ones. It’s more a bubbling up of frightened grief that somehow just sort of floods up from within me and pours from somewhere so deep, it scares me. I don’t actually realise my Dad has come into the room until I feel his hand on my shoulder, gently turning me to face him.
‘Molly?’
I wipe my eyes quickly. ‘I’ve just had words with Mum.’ I suddenly feel extremely tired, like I want to curl up on the sofa by the dogs’ baskets and sleep for a thousand years, or wake up in time for tea and discover I don’t have to deal with anything grown-up after all …
‘Do you want to talk about it?’
Tears flood my eyes again and I shake my head, still looking down at the floor. I wish that I had not let myself get to a point where I was unable to look after myself in that hotel. I wish it with all my heart. I am so ashamed of what I’ve done, and so frightened. I just want all of this to go away, but I can’t see a way out. I feel trapped, like the walls are slowly closing in on me, like it’s just a matter of time …
‘Well,’ Dad says, ‘OK. You know where I am if you change your mind. I’ll tell the others you’re on the phone and you’ll be through in a minute, all right? Give you a moment to gather your thoughts.’
And he disappears off into the other room.
Dan and I watch a DVD in bed before we go to sleep. We’ve turned the light off and had a nice hug, and it’s a relief to find I’m sleepy. But I jolt awake what feels like moments later. When I check the clock however, it’s actually quarter to one in the morning. I get up to go to the bathroom, creeping around carefully in the dark because I don’t want to wake Dan up.
I don’t know what makes me do it, but as I’m about to get back into bed, I pause and tiptoe over to the window. Holding my breath I move the curtain the merest whisper so I can see through the gap down into the street below.
It’s tipping down, raindrops are both bouncing off and dripping from the two glowing street lights. The top of the hedge which divides our little terrace of cottages from the street and lines the small drive,
is bathed in their rather eerie orange fluorescent light, but everything else is cast in varying degrees of shadow, or simply hidden away completely in the dark … everything is very still.
I can’t see any sign of life at all, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t out there.
Chapter Twenty-Four
When six in the afternoon hits the following day, it feels like the moment of dead air before an explosion. Leo is waiting for me to call him, or text him – and I’ve done neither. What is he going to do? Will he roar up to the house, jump out of the car, march up the drive? Even though my work phone is switched off, I can’t relax as the minutes tick past. I struggle to watch TV with Dan like nothing is wrong, can barely eat tea, climb into bed and lie there rigidly waiting for the doorbell to ring, the hammering on the front door to start …
But nothing happens.
Dan leaves for work on Tuesday morning and I hurry out of the house shortly after him. I don’t actually have to leave for my first meeting until ten, but there is no way I’m staying in the house on my own. Sick with fear, I only switch my work BlackBerry on once I’m in the car and drive practically holding my breath, waiting for it to update.
But again – nothing. What’s he playing at?
I stop en route for a coffee, as I’m running so early, and it actually helps just to sit in a strange cafe where no one knows me, or cares what I’m doing, what I’m thinking about. I switch off both phones – and have an hour of space. I don’t come to any conclusions, no way out suddenly occurs to me, and neither do I think this is somehow all going to magically resolve itself. If anything I purposefully blank my mind and concentrate only on reading the paper, because what else can I do?
