by Maggie James
It was hardly surprising I’d not yet found Steven Simmons. I’d taken a gamble in the hope of finding Ellie’s former boyfriend via a dating website. Several catered to a more upmarket crowd, and I’d only joined one. Moreover, I had no reason to assume her ex was still in the area. Chances were he’d taken off to another part of the country to try his luck elsewhere. I was back at square one with finding the bastard.
My mood wasn’t total despondency, though. Hadn’t I met Scott through my search?
My mobile pinged in my handbag, causing my heart to pound, my pulse to skyrocket. Get a grip, Lyddie, I told myself. With shaking fingers, I pulled out my phone.
A text message. Hello, friend. Long time no talk.
I forced myself not to respond. He’d soon tire of goading me if I ignored him, surely?
Another ping arrived after ten minutes. Aw, have I upset you? You’re not my friend anymore?
My brain composed a retort, but I resisted the temptation. Instead I dug my nails into my palms, my hands clenched into tight fists.
A third ping followed. Remember what I told you. You don’t want to piss me off. I’m not always Mr Nice Guy.
After my phone beeped a fourth time I hurried to the drinks cabinet and poured myself a whisky, even though scotch had landed me in this mess in the first place. Once seated again, I took a gulp, the Lagavulin burning in my stomach. Fuelled by the courage it provided, I read the latest message.
What, no more threats about the police? You’re no fun these days.
I wouldn’t reply. No way in hell.
I know lots about you, friend. More than you think.
I shot bolt upright, whisky spilling from my glass onto the sofa. Shit. Had I been right? Was this man a hacker? Had he uncovered my name, my address?
Screw not replying. OK, fucker. So what’s my name?
You’ve got me there, I admit. But I’m working on it, trust me. My shortlist of possibilities is down to two.
A bluff on his part. My details couldn’t have been hacked, because if he’d possessed the skills, he’d have done so already. Even so, his words scared me.
A final ping.
And when I find you, and I will, you’re dead, bitch.
I switched off my phone and proceeded to get very drunk.
Saturday morning brought with it the inevitable hangover, sorted with copious amounts of water and some painkillers. To distract my attention from my lingering headache, I trawled the profiles on Premier Love Matches, not finding any likely candidates for Steven Simmons. My enthusiasm for finding Ellie’s ex had waned. Caroline had been right - it was a hare-brained scheme. If I was honest, the text messages, especially the last one, frightened me. I tried to reassure myself. Hadn’t he admitted he didn’t know my name? That crack about killing me was his attempt at rattling my cage. Or so I hoped.
I considered my options. Even if I found the bastard who conned Ellie, could I ever trap him? Wouldn’t I be better off hoping one of his other victims, such as Anna’s daughter Sophie, might involve the police instead? With that in mind, I abandoned Premier Love Matches and logged onto Love Rats Exposed.
A few posts had appeared on the thread I’d started. ‘Any news?’ Sophie’s mum had posted. ‘You said you thought you’d found the bastard - did you?’
‘Update, please!’ Broken and Betrayed had posted, to which Heartbroken Helen had added, ‘Yes, keep us in the loop! What’s going on?’
‘I was wrong,’ I typed, sour disappointment in every word. ‘That guy Liam, the one I believed conned my sister? Turns out he didn’t.’
Within minutes I had a response. ‘Shame! I’ve been rooting for you, girl. You’re not still dating him, are you?’ Heartbroken Helen asked.
I was quick to reassure her. ‘Nope. He’s a control freak, with major jealousy issues. Turns out he’s been stalking me.’
A slew of replies ensued. From Sophie’s mum: ‘Stay safe, SS. Get the police involved if you have to.’
‘Buy yourself a rape alarm. Don’t take any chances with a guy like that.’ From Broken and Betrayed.
‘I agree. He sounds dangerous.’ From Heartbroken Helen.
I typed suitable responses, ensuring everyone I’d be careful. Then I logged off. I’d catch up with any new replies later.
I considered texting Scott but decided against it. I didn’t want to crowd him, what with things with Darcy being so difficult. He’d told me he would call on Sunday evening, and I needed to give him space.
On a whim, I drove over to Caroline’s. It was almost midday, and I was sure she’d be home after her morning yoga class. Besides, I could drop in on Ellie afterwards.
After I’d parked the car, I glanced around, scanning for a man in a hoodie. No sign of Liam, but I couldn’t shake the sensation I was being watched. The scene at the wine bar still had me rattled. Worry clung to me that a guy with such anger issues might be the vengeful sort, intent on payback. I did another three-sixty-degree survey of my surroundings. Two teenage girls, an elderly man, but nobody else. I’d been imagining things. Hadn’t I?
Caroline greeted me at the door, still in her workout gear. To my surprise, she seemed reluctant to let me in. Eventually she stood aside, and I walked past her into the living room, instantly realising why I should have texted first.
Richie occupied one of the armchairs. God, he looked handsome, but then he always did, at least to me. He stood up as I entered, his expression unfathomable, and our eyes met. I drank in his height, the blue irises that had always melted me, the neat goatee he’d grown since our last encounter. Was it my imagination, or was his dark hair longer? He’d lost weight too, and replaced it with muscle. A pang of regret squeezed my heart before I pinned a smile on my face.
‘Richie,’ I said, my voice higher than normal, my breath tightening in my chest. ‘How are you?’
He shrugged. ‘Not so bad. You?’
‘The same.’ An awkward pause descended before Caroline saved the day. ‘I’ll make us all coffee,’ she announced.
‘Actually I was about to ...’ Richie got to his feet, but too late - she’d disappeared into the kitchen. He sat back, defeated, in the armchair. I took the seat opposite, self-consciousness needling me. Would he notice I’d put on weight? Why hadn’t I worn something classier than jeans and a T-shirt? Richie wasn’t looking my way though. If the tension in the room was an accurate measure, he must feel as awkward as I did.
Despite my feelings for Scott, Richie would always own a piece of my heart. I doubted it was mutual. By now he’d have found himself a girlfriend who didn’t constantly accuse him of cheating. Besides, hadn’t I moved on myself, with Scott and me becoming an item? It was time to lay the past to rest.
Caroline breezed in, bearing a tray of mugs, her gaze flitting between her brother and me. Richie took a gulp of his coffee, then set the mug on the windowsill. ‘I should get going,’ he announced. He gave his sister a hug, then turned to me. ‘Good to see you, Lyddie.’ Then he was gone.
I let out a long breath. ‘That was awkward.’
‘You two were bound to meet up sooner or later. Best to get it out of the way.’ Always the practical one, my friend.
She settled herself opposite me. ‘So how’s it going with Mr Wonderful?’
The mention of Scott brought a smile to my mouth. ‘Great, thanks. You want every last detail?’
‘Need you ask?’
‘That’ll be a yes, then.’ I described our last date, including what he’d told me about Darcy. ‘He’s so caring,’ I finished. ‘I think I’ve struck lucky at last.’
Caroline grinned. ‘He sounds like a keeper, all right.’ Her lips pursed a little. ‘What about the other bloke? The one you thought conned Ellie?’
‘Turned out I was wrong. He dumped me. In public.’
‘Ouch. That’s good, though. It means it’s all systems go with this Scott guy. Have you told him the truth yet?
‘No. But I will.’ First I needed to work out what to say.
/> Caroline set down her coffee and fixed me with a stare I knew only too well. ‘Listen, lovey. You’ve found yourself a decent guy, and I’m happy for you, so I am. But you need to quit this obsession with finding Ellie’s ex. Either persuade her to involve the police, or let it go.’
‘You’re right.’ The part of me that loved Ellie was stubborn, though. Devious too, as evidenced by my reply. I hadn’t actually promised I’d follow Caroline’s advice, had I?
After I left her house, I glanced around again, scanning my surroundings. I didn’t spot anything suspicious at first. Then a movement in my peripheral vision alerted me. A man, tall and well-built, a hoodie pulled over his head, was striding away into the distance. He turned a corner and disappeared from view before I could register much about him. Maybe it had been Liam, maybe not. Broken and Betrayed was right - I shouldn’t take chances, not with a guy who might well be unbalanced. I made myself a promise. The next time I spotted Mr Creepy, I’d swing into action against him. No more of this Ms Passive nonsense.
9
Excitement tingled through me on Tuesday evening as I exited the shower. Scott and I had spoken on the phone on Sunday, ending with us planning a takeaway at his place. When I’d enquired about Darcy, his voice took on a strained tone.
‘I’ll tell you when I see you,’ he said.
That night my heart hummed with happiness as I made myself look pretty for our date. My jeans were new, bought that morning, teamed with a mint-green top that skimmed my hips and concealed my thighs. Never one for much make-up, I contented myself with mascara, eye-liner and lip gloss, grateful for the soft caramel of my skin - a legacy from the Spanish sun. A squirt of perfume, some chunky earrings, and I was almost ready. All I needed was the bracelet of gold beads Scott had won for me. With a smile, I slipped it over my wrist.
Scott lived in Southville, on the other side of the city, his house at the end of a Victorian terrace. After I parked my car behind his Toyota, I glanced around, searching for any sign of Liam, but saw nothing to alarm me. Reassured, I stared at the house, observing the fresh paintwork, the window boxes of flowers. Before I could lift the cast-iron knocker, he opened the door and a flutter of happiness hit me.
He didn’t speak. Instead, he pulled me inside, his lips seeking mine. In my belly the tremors swelled into a storm. God, this man could kiss.
When he drew back, he smiled. Out popped that damn dimple, and I was a lost cause. ‘Can’t believe I’ve had to wait since Friday lunchtime to do that,’ he said.
I laughed. ‘Something smells good. And I don’t mean just you.’
Scott led me towards the rear of the house, into a dining area separated from the kitchen by a breakfast bar. A number of cartons sat on the counter, smears of curry staining their tops orange. ‘Chicken balti with pilau rice,’ he announced. ‘Plus some side dishes. I hope you approve.’
I did, opening my mouth to tell him so, then shut it, my attention diverted by the wall in front of me. I turned, taking in the other three. The most incredible artwork I’d ever seen covered each one.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Scott watching me as I stared at the riot of colour. Still life scenes, depicting the standard subjects: fruits, vegetables, baskets of bread, vases of flowers, all in exquisite detail. Were I to reach out a hand, I could pluck an apple off the wall and bite into the succulent flesh he’d painted. The same with the oranges, the cantaloupe melons, the bunch of purple grapes. I’d always admired photorealism and the paintings before me were exquisite examples.
The world stilled around us. All that remained were these phenomenal works of art and the man who’d created them. Scott had been way too modest about his talent.
Behind me, I heard him clear his throat. ‘Those are my early efforts.’ His voice was hesitant, unsure. Holy crap. That promised well for his later stuff.
‘These are incredible. I’d love to see more of your work.’
God help me, but he blushed. Right when I’d thought he couldn’t get any more endearing.
‘Come with me,’ he said.
In the living room, another explosion of colour met my eyes, but God, what a difference. These paintings were abstracts, all of them fantastic. Mandelbrot swirls, most of them, drawing my attention toward the centre of each while also directing it outside their frames. Scott liked to slather his acrylic paint thickly on the canvas when not painting still lifes, I noted. An invitation to dive into every painting, roll in its gooey sensuality and die of bliss. Such an incredible talent this man possessed.
‘Have you ever had any exhibited?’ I asked.
He shook his head, that shy expression back in place. ‘Not many people have seen them, to be honest. You’re one of the few.’
I leaned forward, my eyes on the signature across the corner of the closest canvas. Scott Champion - the name executed with a flourish - along with the year he’d painted it. In my brain I hatched plans. The sale of my villa in Spain, my return to Bristol, the opening of a new gallery in my home city, one in which I’d stock his art. Manager of a car dealership be damned - this man should paint full-time. Then I remembered. To make any of that happen, I needed to come clean to Scott about deceiving him. I turned to him, a forced smile on my lips. ‘Let’s go eat. I’m famished.’
The food proved to be as delicious as it smelled. While we ate, I glanced around. To one side of the table sat several letters addressed to Scott, all unopened - circulars, by the look of them. A spider plant straggled across the windowsill. Next to it stood a plastic air freshener, its base furry with dust. Everything was so normal, so cosy, and I smiled with relief. I’d been beyond lucky to meet this man. I reminded myself not to judge all guys by the rotten ones. Gary McIlroy had been a bastard, sure, as was Steven Simmons. Scott was different, though. I’d found myself a man worth keeping, and I didn’t intend to let him go.
Time to broach the subject of his sister. ‘How’s Darcy?’
His expression clouded. ‘She’s not doing so great. I’m worried sick, to be honest.’
My heart hurt for him. ‘Will she need more chemo?’
He nodded. ‘Yes. And the little minx is refusing to have it.’
Shock hit me. Okay, so chemotherapy was tough going, but surely a leukaemia sufferer would endure the side effects if it meant getting well?
‘What’s her reasoning?’ I asked.
‘She says she hasn’t the strength to go through the treatment again. “That hell”, as she describes it. That there’s no point, given that the disease came back anyway.’ He scrubbed his hand over his jaw, the movement jerky, his eyes haunted. ‘She’s looking into alternative options.’
‘Isn’t chemotherapy the best way to treat cancer?’
‘Yes. But Darcy’s always been into strange stuff. Crystals, chakras, meditation. She reckons she can heal herself through such crap.’ His voice rose high with stress. ‘She’s being ridiculous. I don’t say that, of course. But I think it.’
‘She wants to try complementary therapies to replace the chemo?’ I’d long been convinced of the benefits of natural remedies, but with an enemy such as cancer, the best course of action must be to pull out the big guns, right? That meant conventional treatment. Perhaps I was being unfair, though. Impossible to know how I’d react in similar circumstances. I shouldn’t judge Darcy.
‘Yes. I’ve tried to talk with her, but it’s a thankless task.’ He let out a long exhalation, his eyes closed. ‘I’d like you to meet her sometime.’
Delight flared within me. I hadn’t expected that so soon in our relationship. Because that was what we were forging - a real connection rather than casual dating. Why else would he introduce me to his sister?
‘Lynnie?’ Scott sounded hurt. I realised how he must have interpreted my lack of response.
‘I’d love that,’ I said, with a smile.
We polished off the rest of the food in a comfortable silence, allowing me to savour my happiness. At last I sat back, certain I might burst if I ate any
more. ‘That was delicious.’
He laughed. ‘I’ll fix us some coffee. Make yourself at home in the living room.’
While I waited, I surveyed more of his fantastic artwork. Scott appeared after a few minutes, bearing two steaming mugs. He handed me one before sitting beside me on the sofa. ‘I’ve really enjoyed tonight,’ he said.
‘So have I.’
He sucked in a deep breath. ‘Maybe it’s too soon to discuss this. But we always have a good time together. At least that’s my opinion.’
‘Mine too.’
His gaze slid away. ‘I don’t find talking about emotional stuff easy. But what we have feels right. Like we’re meant to be.’
My happiness bubbled higher.
‘I want us to be a couple,’ he said. ‘To make it work with you.’
I didn’t reply, but my inane grin spoke for me. He leaned over, took my hand. ‘Is that a yes?’
‘Need you ask?’
I suppressed the voice in my brain reminding me I had lied to this man. Not now, I told myself. Later, when I’d worked out what to say. I sipped my coffee, the atmosphere between us relaxed, like that between old friends.
‘I want to tell you,’ he continued. ‘About my last relationship and how it ended. Like I said, I got hurt.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that.’ This woman must have been a fool.
‘I’m over it now. Although the break-up hit me hard.’
‘You loved her?’
He shook his head. ‘We weren’t together long enough for that. Just a couple of months, but I could easily have fallen for her. Partly due to her pretty face, but also because she seemed so fragile. A combination guaranteed to bring out my protective instincts.’ He laughed. ‘I told myself I’d shield her from everything bad in the world.’
