by Maggie James
Every night from then on I visited Love Rats Exposed, familiarising myself with how these men operated. A definite pattern emerged. Chameleon-like, they adapted their strategy to fit their latest target, capable of making any lie sound believable.
‘He seemed so genuine,’ one woman wailed. ‘Every day he’d tell me how much he loved me, how precious I was. How was I to know it was all an act?’
I’d know, I told myself. Hadn’t I been inoculated against deceit through dating Gary McIlroy? My bullshit radar was on full alert, ready to detect any love rat that dared cross my path. More specifically, Steven Simmons. Forearmed with Ellie’s description of him, I felt confident I could spot the bastard with ease should we ever meet.
The posts on Love Rats Exposed also revealed darker tactics. Many women told how, without realising it, they’d been isolated from their friends and family. Purposely turned against them in several cases, so that when they were left bereft, their support structure had crumbled. Some, like Ellie, had attempted suicide. Without anyone to back them up, no wonder they’d been so reluctant to inform the police. Fresh guilt sliced through me for deserting my sister when she was so vulnerable, and my desire for revenge edged higher. One way or another I would con the con artist, force a dose of his own medicine down his scheming throat.
One night, after Ellie went to bed early, I stayed downstairs, nursing my third glass of whisky, my mood dark. I’d been rereading the posts on Love Rats Exposed, convinced that Sophie, Ellie and Broken and Betrayed had met the same man. On scanning through the latter’s posts, I noticed something I’d seen before but forgotten - she’d posted her ex’s mobile number to warn other women. Fuelled by alcohol, angry and in the mood for vengeance, I grabbed my phone. My fingers stabbed like knives at the screen as I composed a text.
You fucker, I typed. You hurt my sister, and that’s pissed me off big time. Watch your step. Because I’m coming for you. Before I could stop myself, I pressed ‘send.’ Then I added the number into my contacts, labelling it ‘Steven Simmons, Ellie’s Bastard Ex’. That done, I switched off my phone and went to bed.
The next morning a dull ache throbbed behind my eyes, accompanied by a mouth that felt full of feathers. Fuck, had I overdone the whisky the night before, but I’d been so goddamn mad. In a rush of post-alcohol regret, my drunken text came back to haunt me. Clearly the Lagavulin had overridden my common sense, but it was too late to worry about it. Besides, the chances were good that Rick Montgomery, a.k.a. Steven Simmons, would never even read the text, not if he changed mobile numbers or phones after each scam.
Satisfied all was well in my world, I drifted back to sleep.
When I awoke two hours later, I went downstairs and into the kitchen, downing a pint of water with a couple of aspirins. Then I switched on my phone, to find its notification light winking at me. Mum, I thought, or Caroline. When I pulled up my messages, however, I saw Steven Simmons, if it was indeed him, had sent me a reply.
Pleased to meet you. You’re Lucy’s sister, I presume.
The cocky bastard. Cool, too, in his refusal to rise to my bait. I thought quickly. Lucy, I assumed, must be Broken and Betrayed’s real name. The last thing I wanted was for her to suffer any repercussions from my drunken text. I typed out a message as footsteps sounded on the stairs.
Wrong. Not Lucy. I’m related to another of your victims.
The second I sent the text, Ellie walked in, rubbing sleep from her eyes. In one swift movement, I shoved my phone into my pocket. She didn’t need to know I’d swapped messages with the man I suspected of being her ex.
‘Want some breakfast?’ I asked, my smile bright.
That morning we walked to the nearby village with no particular aim other than to kill time. Ellie seemed more animated, which cheered me. My mobile was in my jacket pocket, nestling against my hip. After we’d browsed the souvenir shops for a while, I felt it vibrate.
‘You fancy a coffee?’ I asked Ellie.
‘Sure. How about that new place on the high street?’
Once inside, with Ellie ordering our cappuccinos, I made my way to the toilet, intent on checking my messages. Steven Simmons had sent a reply.
Interesting. So many women. So many possibilities.
My jaw tightened with fury. Before I could stop myself, I typed out a response. You think you’re so clever. But I’m onto you, dickhead.
Ellie must have noticed the disquiet in my face when I returned. ‘Something wrong?’
I shook my head, a false smile on my lips. ‘Nope. Everything’s fine.’
I didn’t get a reply to my text until that afternoon. Ellie and I were back at the cottage, a thunderstorm preventing us from taking our usual cliff-top walk. Rain poured down in torrents, the sky pierced by stabs of lightning. Ellie was curled up in the window seat, absorbed in a romance novel. I pretended to read a Stephen King paperback, but my mind was on the latest message I’d received.
That sounds like a threat. Is it, my unknown friend?
Outside the cottage, the skies continued to rumble and flash. My fingers clenched my mobile, my anger equally stormy.
I composed a reply. You bet your arse it is. One way or another, I’ll send you to prison. Next I pressed ‘send’.
And waited. Then waited some more. No response.
We’d been at the cottage for a week by the time Ellie made her announcement. The two of us were at the beach, sprawled on our usual rock, the incoming tide tickling our toes. Beside me, Ellie shifted her bottom on the hard granite, poking at a strand of seaweed with her foot.
‘Something bothering you?’ I asked.
She shook her head. ‘No. But I want to go back to Bristol sometime soon.’
‘You sure?’ I wasn’t convinced she was ready.
‘Yes. It’s done me good, being here with you. I need to return to some sort of routine, though.’
‘Will you be okay? At home by yourself?’ I hated to think of her alone in her flat, brooding.
Her response was a shrug. ‘To be honest, I don’t have a clue how to restart my life.’
I risked another question, although I dreaded the answer. ‘You’re not still feeling like you want to die, are you?’
She shook her head. ‘No.’ Her eyes refused to meet mine, however.
I decided to keep close tabs on her. ‘I’ll be there for you. Whatever you need.’
‘The thing is ...’ She dropped her gaze. ‘I’d love to do more with my online shop, but Steven wiped me out savings-wise. Without Dad’s money, or the wages from my job, I’ll struggle to get by, let alone expand my business.’
‘Remember what I said? About helping you? We’ll sort through your finances together, I promise.’
Ellie bit her lip. ‘That’s great, but I was hoping you could lend me some funds.’
Teach a man to fish, I reminded myself. Much as I wanted to ease her problems, I didn’t consider a cash injection the best solution.
‘This way is better,’ I told her. ‘We’ll set up a spreadsheet, prepare some financial forecasts. See how best to grow your business.’ I made a promise to myself. If the figures stacked up, and Ellie seemed capable of handling more sales, I’d give her the money at a later date.
‘Easy for you to say,’ she retorted. ‘You understand that stuff. I don’t.’
‘I’ll help you,’ I repeated.
A nugget of optimism grew in my belly. My sister was holding up better than I’d dared hope, and I couldn’t deny I was itching to get back to Bristol. I’d still not received any response to my last text to Steven Simmons, but I’d promised myself a month to track him down. If I hadn’t found the prick by then, I’d either change tactics or give up the hunt.
All that changed when I logged onto Premier Love Matches that night. Looking For Love had finally contacted me.
5
He didn’t say much in that first message. Just a brief paragraph, saying he liked my profile, how he’d love to meet for coffee or a drink sometime. I hesitate
d before replying. Should I abandon my pursuit of Steven Simmons? Persuade my sister she should go to the police? Then I remembered her insistence that the law wasn’t an option. The shame of it, she’d said. Hadn’t the women from the Love Rats Exposed website been similarly reluctant?
Something hardened inside me. This bastard deserved to be punished, and I, Lyddie Hunter, was the one to mete out justice. Meaning I needed to discover if Looking For Love was Steven Simmons.
‘A drink sounds great,’ I replied. Then I switched off my laptop and went to bed.
An enthusiastic response from Liam greeted me the next day. Throughout the morning we chatted online, and I agreed to go for a beer with him on Wednesday, at the Watershed bar near the Harbourside. I spun him a tale about how it was close to where I lived. That should snag any con man’s interest. Flats near Millennium Square didn’t come cheap, either to rent or to buy. I finished by asking Liam for a photo of himself.
‘Don’t get me wrong. Looks aren’t important to me,’ I wrote. ‘But I’d like to put a face to the name.’
Ten minutes later, Liam replied. As I’d expected, he blew off my suggestion, saying he hated having his picture taken.
‘I’ll wear jeans and a green polo shirt,’ he wrote back. ‘And I’ll wait for you outside. See you Wednesday evening.’ He ended by giving me his mobile number. I checked it against the one I had labelled ‘Steven Simmons, Ellie’s Bastard Ex’ in my phone. They didn’t match, but that didn’t mean Liam and Steven weren’t the same guy. He probably used several different phones and numbers.
That got me thinking. I checked my watch; by then it was half past eleven. Plenty of time for me to drive to the local shopping centre before lunch.
‘Going to get some extra groceries,’ I told Ellie. ‘I won’t be long.’
Ten minutes later, I had parked the car and was walking towards my destination, one of those ‘cash converter’ shops, which bought goods from those in need of quick funds and then sold them on. I wanted a second mobile phone, one I could pay for without a credit card and for which I wouldn’t have to provide a home address. I found what I was after straightaway. A decent model Samsung with a pay-as-you-go SIM, one I’d top up via vouchers and which couldn’t be traced back to my real identity.
Once back at the cottage, I texted Liam my new mobile number. Thank goodness Ellie seemed keen to get back to Bristol. I’d use that to my advantage. I was all set for Wednesday.
The next morning, Ellie reiterated her determination to return home, that very day.
‘Sure,’ I told her. ‘If you pack up your stuff, we can get going right away.’
If my eagerness to leave the cottage surprised her, she didn’t comment. On the drive back to Bristol, she was quiet, but I didn’t expect much else. After I kissed her goodbye, she gripped my hands, looking straight into my eyes. ‘I’ll be okay,’ she said. ‘You don’t need to worry about me.’
I wasn’t convinced. ‘No?’
She shook her head. ‘I’ll get by. Somehow.’
I frowned, the pain in her expression piercing me. ‘You deserve better.’
Her smile was strained, not reaching her eyes. ‘It’ll have to do. I can’t manage more, not now.’
Before I could quiz her again about whether she was still suicidal, she squeezed my hands, then let them drop. ‘What about your plans? Will you be going back to Spain soon?’
‘No.’ Relief registered in her face. ‘I think I’ll hang around for a while, spend time with Mum and Caroline. You too, of course.’ My reason was halfway true. Besides, I couldn’t tell her the real story. ‘Can I stop by later? Do my big-sister thing and check up on you?’
She smiled, then nodded, but tension was evident around her mouth, and I promised myself I’d keep a close eye on her while I remained in the UK.
Maybe that wasn’t enough. On an impulse, I spoke. ‘You shouldn’t be by yourself right now. Come and stay at my place. For a few days, at least.’
She hesitated. ‘You wouldn’t mind?’
‘Need you ask?’
‘Then yes. If that’s okay.’
Ellie proved an easy house guest. ‘I promise I won’t be a nuisance,’ she told me once she’d unpacked her stuff. ‘You’ll hardly know I’m here.’
She was right. I rarely saw her; she spent most of her time in her room. When she did emerge, she seemed cheerful enough, and I relaxed a little. With any luck, the worst was over.
Each night I checked in with Premier Love Matches and Love Rats Exposed, my anticipation building about meeting Liam. We continued to swap messages online and a few texts as well, the tone of his keener with each one. I responded in kind while I waited for our date, my mind ruminating on what I’d do if he turned out to be Ellie’s ex.
Wednesday evening eventually arrived, and I dressed with care, choosing white linen trousers and a pink strappy top, along with flat sandals and a clutch bag. I also gave consideration to what jewellery might portray me as a wealthy woman. In the end I selected a gold bangle bought for me by Mum on my eighteenth birthday. As I fastened it around my wrist, pain stabbed me at the memory of a different bracelet, given to me by my father. Dad had presented me with it after I passed my accountancy exams, the same night Ellie crashed her car.
‘I’m proud of my clever daughter,’ he’d told me. ‘I bought this for you, darling.’
So beautiful, the bracelet had been. A thick circle of gold engraved with roses, lilies and forget-me-nots. A bittersweet reminder of my father’s love, yet mislaid years ago. I’d never forgiven myself for such carelessness.
With an effort, I dragged myself back to getting ready. Dad’s gift might be lost, but I still had Mum’s. I teamed the bangle with diamond earrings, a present to myself for my thirtieth birthday. Before leaving, I surveyed myself in the mirror, hoping Liam would approve. Caroline often told me how attractive I was, as had Richie when we dated. I shoved my ex-boyfriend from my thoughts, staring at the way my hair tumbled around my face, the soft brown of my eyes. Pretty enough, but ...
In my mind there was always that but.
I stared at the hint of an extra chin. Did my cheeks look chubby? The few extra kilos I carried had been an issue for years, my body the one area in which I lacked confidence. I reminded myself Ellie’s ex was more interested in my bank balance than my dress size. Besides, I could hardly shed a stone in the next half hour. As I walked downstairs, Ellie came out of the kitchen.
‘You look lovely,’ she said. ‘Going somewhere special?’
‘Only to Caroline’s.’ I hated lying, but it was for the best. ‘See you later.’
My hands shook as I drove towards the Harbourside. I parked up and walked in the direction of the Watershed, as nervous as I’d ever been before a date. I prayed I could carry this off. I arrived at eight, the time we’d arranged, but by five past Liam hadn’t shown. Irritation prickled within me.
While I waited, I wondered how the evening would pan out. If this guy was Ellie’s ex, he’d need to bait the hook. A few well-chosen compliments, a sprinkling of subtle flattery, spread out over several weeks and designed to make me fall in love with him. Then he’d begin his attack on my bank balance, most likely using the same tactics he’d employed with Ellie. Meanwhile I’d see how things played out and gauge how best to deliver the prick’s comeuppance.
The evening closed around me, the air cool after the heat of the day. At ten after the hour I spotted a man coming towards me. As he drew closer, I took in his appearance. Six feet and more of muscle was heading my way, along with hair that verged on black. The guy wore jeans and a green polo shirt. When he stopped in front of me, I noticed his blue eyes. Yup, this was Liam all right.
‘Lynnie,’ he said. His voice hovered between bass and tenor, its rich timbre loaded with confidence. He didn’t apologise for his lateness, and my annoyance grew. ‘Liam Tate. It’s good to meet you.’
I forced a smile. ‘Likewise.’
He gestured towards the door. ‘Shall we?’
I followed him inside, upstairs to the bar. Around us the noise of the other customers was a low hum.
‘What can I get you?’ he asked. ‘My treat. I insist.’
Smooth, I thought, once I had regained my composure. ‘A pint of the guest beer, please.’
I studied him while he ordered our drinks. The woman who served him was clearly taken with his charm. A few lines radiated from around his eyes when he laughed at something she said, and his grin revealed white, straight teeth. His clothes looked expensive, the cut of his jeans screaming top quality. I made a bet with myself that I’d spot a Ralph Lauren logo on his polo shirt when he turned my way. I wasn’t wrong.
He steered a path to a table at the back, our drinks in his hands.
‘It’s good to meet you,’ he said, once we’d sat down. ‘I’d almost given up hope of finding anyone online.’
‘Me too. I don’t normally do this sort of thing. Internet dating, that is.’
‘So what persuaded you to give it a go?’ His voice was pure honey, his smile warm and soft. God, he was a charmer all right. The curve of his mouth posed a temptation to any straight woman still breathing. Except me. I brought to mind Ellie’s pallor in her hospital bed, the betrayal that led her to swallow a bottle of pills, and my resolve hardened.
I looked him square in the eyes. ‘My sister joined a dating website. And met a man. Thought it was time to try it myself.’
He sipped his beer. ‘I’m glad you did.’ A clouded expression settled over his face. ‘I’ll be honest with you. My last relationship didn’t end well.’
I adopted a suitably sympathetic tone. ‘I’m sorry to hear that. What happened?’
‘The bitch cheated on me.’ For a second, darkness snaked into his eyes. A sense of unease needled up my spine.
