by Anita Notaro
‘What’s going on?’ one of them asked. She couldn’t answer. ‘Jaysus, Micko. Fuck, he was trying to bleedin’ rape her.’ It was a tough little gurrier of about fourteen. He looked as if he was going to cry.
‘Get him!’ screamed his pal, who had watched far too many over-eighteen videos while his mother was in the pub. They tore off and left Annie lying in the bushes, with her bruised face and bloody head and throbbing, exposed body.
One of them was back in an instant, having realized his priorities were not those of a cop. ‘Are you OK?’ He was looking at her in a very odd way.
She nodded, afraid. A tear trickled out, not because she was feeling sorry for herself – that was a luxury she couldn’t yet afford – but because she knew she didn’t have the energy to fight again and that gave him power over her. He took off his coat and an icy panic seeped through her.
It was only when he flung a big padded jacket over her that she realized his look was that of an embarrassed teenager.
‘Thank you. Thank you so much.’
‘Fuck, I’m just glad we came over, we thought you were only bleedin’ messin’ there for a minute. Me mate was afraid you’d kill us for interruptin’ your . . .’ He struggled to be polite. ‘Your, eh, snoggin’ session.’
‘He jumped on me. I . . . I just got off the bus. I didn’t hear him until he grabbed me from behind.’
‘Don’t worry. Seamo’s fast. He’ll get him and he’s goin’ to call the cops if he has enough credit. Here, Jaysus, sorry, I didn’t realize, you’re freezin.’ He was pulling off his jumper and winding it around her like a ball of wool. His kindness was the final straw. Annie felt her stomach heave and she was sweating and vomiting and shivering; it felt as if she was having some sort of fit.
‘Jaysus, missus,’ he stuttered his catchphrase again. ‘Will ye stop it, you’re freakin’ me out.’ The boy stood up and looked around as if contemplating making a run for it. But he didn’t move and she was glad of his company.
‘There’s a car just pulled up over there. Hang on.’ He was straining to see what was happening.
‘Here’s the pigs, eh . . . I mean police.’ It was probably his first ever sigh of relief at this particular intrusion, cops weren’t exactly welcome where he came from.
‘Over here! She’s OK.’ He looked down at her and murmured an unconvincing ‘At least I bleedin’ well hope so’.
Within seconds the place was like a film set. Lights blinded her and soothing words and kind gestures finally proved her undoing. She sobbed like an infant as she was led to the waiting car.
Chapter Forty-Two
DAWN WAS BREAKING in a pearly pink, cotton wool sky as the police car slithered gently to a halt, the driver afraid of hurting her further.
Garda John Reynolds skidded out before it had fully stopped, anxious to treat this woman like a lady to try and make up for the monster who hadn’t. He held the door open and she inched sorely along the back seat, helped by a shiny, red-faced ban garda called Geraldine Cassidy who’d stayed by her side all night.
Momentarily faltering as she put her foot to the ground she was startled by her frailty as she limped like a ninety-year-old towards her front door.
‘Give me your keys and let’s get you inside for a nice cup of tea,’ John Reynolds said. She’d had enough caffeine in the last few hours to keep Mr Tetley in business for a decade, but as usual Annie couldn’t bear to rebuff a kindness.
‘Thank you.’ She handed him her handbag, unable to go about the menial task of locating her keys. He rooted around self-consciously and within seconds they were inside. The sight of familiar surroundings made her tearful all over again.
‘Why don’t you get out of those clothes and into your dressing-gown?’ Geraldine asked kindly as John Reynolds battled with her electric fire and she headed for the kitchen.
‘Would you rather a drink, brandy or something?’ he asked because she was shaking so much.
‘I don’t have anything.’ It was another pathetic reason for tears. He reacted by jumping to his feet.
‘I’ll be back in a second. Get changed,’ he ordered in a gruff, country tone and she surprised both of them by obeying.
Twenty minutes later the three of them sat like tinkers around a campfire, Annie cradling a brandy balloon as if it were a lifeline. The useless electric logs flickered and cast a cheery glow but didn’t deliver on their promise of warmth.
‘Thank you.’
‘You’re more than welcome.’ John Reynolds smiled at her and she felt safe. ‘Is there anyone who could come and stay with you for a few days?’ Annie shook her head, making no effort to hide her isolation.
‘Family maybe, or a friend?’ Geraldine was gently insistent.
‘Only my father, and he’s elderly, he wouldn’t be able for all this.’
‘Brothers or sisters?’
‘They all live away from home. But I can ring my friend Libby later. I could go and stay with her, although I think I should try and stay here and get used to it.’
‘Who’s your friend Libby, then?’
‘Libby Marlowe, she’s a chef.’ Annie gave a little smile.
‘I know her, I met her the night her husband died.’ Annie was startled out of her wanderings. John Reynolds was intrigued that they were friends. Libby Marlowe didn’t seem her type. But he’d liked her just as he liked Annie now. They shared the same sense of vulnerability, which was rare yet very appealing, although the celebrity chef was, outwardly at least, a much less likely candidate for his protectiveness.
‘Well, don’t worry.’ He was good at adapting to any situation. ‘If you do stay here you can sleep soundly, we’ll be watching the house all night.’
It was a lie, but a necessary one.
‘What about tomorrow night?’ It was an obvious question.
‘I’ll talk to the Super. We’ll keep an eye on you and anyway, the man’s unlikely to come anywhere near you again.’
‘He must have been following me.’ She’d told them the chilling details down at the station.
‘Yes, well, he’s sick and he won’t get anywhere near you again.’
‘Promise?’ It was a pathetic plea.
‘I promise.’ He ignored the slight intake of breath from his colleague.
Annie relaxed for the first time. It was worth the fib. ‘I’ll leave you all our numbers.’ He jotted them down and added his mobile number, a definite no-no, according to the Garda training manual. Quickly he folded the note, wanting to avoid another frowning glance from his partner, and thrust it in Annie’s direction. He’d already offered too much.
It was an innocent, early summer’s morning when they finally went and she sat huddled by the fire and tried not to panic.
She wanted to talk to Libby but was ashamed to tell her what had happened. She felt dirty. Finally, need won.
‘Hello,’ a sleepy voice answered on the third ring.
‘Libby, it’s me.’
‘Annie?’
‘Yeah, hi. Sorry, did I wake you?’
‘Yes . . . no, it’s all right. Is everything OK?’
‘Not really.’
‘Annie, what is it?’ Libby was awake now.
‘I . . . was . . . attacked . . . on the . . . way home. A man . . . jumped on me and . . .’
‘Annie, listen to me. Where are you?’
‘I’m at home.’
‘Are you OK?’
‘Yes . . . I think so.’
‘Is there anyone with you?’
‘No.’
‘Stay where you are. Don’t move. I’ll be there in a flash.’
‘No, honestly, I’m—’ She heard the click and was still sitting there with the phone in her hand when the doorbell went twenty minutes later.
Libby had to bite back the tears when she saw her friend. Then she grabbed her and held her tight for ages.
‘Oh Annie.’ They both had a good cry.
‘Tell me what happened?’
‘It was awful.’
; Libby cradled her like a baby and then made strong tea and laced it with some of the brandy and they sat for hours and talked through every second of the horror until Annie had cried it all out of her system, for the moment at least.
Chapter Forty-Three
THE POLICE, WITH Annie’s permission, had contacted Max Donaldson next morning. Max decided that this wasn’t the time for a phone call. He waited till mid-afternoon before ringing the doorbell of the spotless little house.
Annie hadn’t really slept, although Libby had tucked her up on the couch with pillows and a hot water bottle, then slipped out to the shops for supplies. She stood up immediately on hearing the bell, then froze when she realized that it could be him, looking for her again. Perhaps he’d followed them home? Glancing out the window she saw a strange car, and what little common sense she had left told her he wasn’t likely to visit her in broad daylight in a shiny new BMW.
When Max saw her his TV-hardened heart shrivelled.
‘Annie, I am so sorry.’ Her swollen face and eyes were the last straw.
‘Come in,’ she said. She was past caring what he thought of her surroundings. ‘Can I get you a cup of tea?’
He nodded absently, shocked at the change in the bright, lively girl he’d waved off less than twenty-four hours before and very unsure how to confront it.
Libby tiptoed in the door in case Annie was asleep, laden down with grocery bags.
‘Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you had company, although I noticed the car,’ she said.
‘The neighbours will really think I’ve made it, with those two machines parked outside.’ Annie was trying to lighten the situation.
‘Hello, Libby Marlowe.’ She held out her hand. He knew who she was, of course.
‘Max Donaldson. Annie, will I come back later?’
‘No, no. Libby’s my friend.’
‘Actually, Max, it would help me if you were going to be here for a while. I need to slip home and get a change of clothes.’
‘You go, please.’ Annie jumped up. ‘I’ll ring you later.’
‘I’m not going anywhere. I’m staying here tonight or you’re coming to me, OK? I won’t be long. Nice to meet you, Max.’
‘You too.’ He was surprised by her easy manner; he’d heard stories like everyone else. Just shows you, he thought now.
When Libby left, Annie poured it all out again and the details shocked Max further. The police information had been sketchy.
‘Are you sure, Annie? He definitely called you Bobby?’
She nodded, not wanting to deal with it either. ‘He said he’d watched me . . . teasing the men, night after night. Said he was going to teach me a lesson.’
It was his worst nightmare and a situation he’d never had to handle on any of his training courses. ‘OK Annie, look, our priority is you,’ he assured her. ‘If you want to stop playing the part right now I’ll work something out. I just want you to know how sorry I am. I wish it hadn’t happened. I’ve never heard of anything like this before, so I’m unsure of myself, but you are the main concern here. I promise we won’t desert you.’ He smiled weakly and his presence helped where his words couldn’t reach.
‘I can’t do the Late Late, you understand?’ Right now she couldn’t imagine ever facing anyone again, let alone an audience of almost a million.
‘Of course. I’ll handle it, you just concentrate on getting well.’
That was the problem. She wasn’t sick, except in her head.
‘I’m OK really. I am so grateful that it didn’t . . . that nothing happened. But, I have to rethink things. I’m not sure I can go on playing the part. The thought that he’s still out there, that there are others who might see me like that . . . or think it’s real . . . or . . .’
He made no effort to argue, only to soothe. ‘I understand. But do nothing for the immediate future. When are you due in again?’
‘Not until the week after next, but I’m in every programme on air for the rest of this week and that scares me a bit.’ He had forgotten that.
‘Let me think about things. I’m not promising anything. It could be a huge undertaking to try and edit you out. I simply don’t know if it’s even possible with the storyline. But give me the rest of the day to view them and talk to the writers, OK?’
‘I know you can’t simply stop showing the programme. I wouldn’t want that. It just . . . makes me nervous.’
They talked for over an hour and Max left as soon as Libby returned. He promised to call her next morning. That evening’s programme had very little of Bobby in it but Annie watched her every movement on screen and wondered if the man was watching it too. Libby sat with her and rubbed her hand when she looked scared.
She hardly slept again that night, despite lashings of cocoa from Nurse Libby, who insisted on sleeping over, and a reassuring phone call from Garda Reynolds. Her dreams were all of monsters wearing shiny suits.
Next morning, Max telephoned as promised.
‘Annie, I’ve had a look at the rest of the episodes. I think they’re OK, to be honest. There’s nothing graphic that I can see. How did you feel about last night?’
‘Fine. Listen, Max it’s all right, I know I’m just being paranoid.’ It was hard to explain it to him. She didn’t want that monster leering at her, even if only on TV. She didn’t want him even to see her at all and think his filthy thoughts and possibly plan further revenge. It didn’t make sense, yet she knew Max would understand.
‘There’s virtually nothing in there that should worry you, I promise. I was able to edit you out of one scene early and presentation are going to run a promo at the end to make up the time.’
She thanked him and he mentioned that a few people wanted to know if they could visit her. Annie felt she couldn’t face anyone yet so she fobbed him off, saying she’d lots of visitors. In the office Mike Nichols was worried about her and organized two huge bunches of flowers to be delivered to her home, one from the cast and another from the crew.
That evening it all got on top of her again and she cried a bit, but found it brought no relief. Libby had gone to drop stuff off at the office and Annie hated being alone. She was sitting curled up like a kitten, shivering, convinced she was going mad, when the doorbell rang.
She broke out in a cold sweat and huddled up, terrified, sure he’d found her again.
After what seemed like hours the knocking stopped but she didn’t hear a car drive off and that frightened her even more. She knew none of her neighbours would just drop by; they were used to her working odd hours and respected her privacy.
The phone rang and she jumped on it, grateful for any contact with normality.
‘Annie, it’s John Reynolds. I’m outside your door. I’ve been knocking for ages.’
‘Oh thank God.’ She dropped the phone and ran to the door in case he left. He got out of the car and came quickly up the path.
‘Is anything wrong?’ She looked as if she’d seen a ghost.
Annie felt her lower lip give way. She walked into the living room ahead of him to avoid crying all over his uniform again.
‘What is it?’ She shook her head.
‘Please, tell me. We can help you.’
‘No-one can help me.’ Suddenly she was angry with the whole world, everyone pretending they could make it better.
He got up and made two strong cups of tea. They drank it and he promised they were doing all they could to catch her attacker.
Shortly after he’d left, Libby returned and the anger that had been brewing all day finally erupted like hot froth from a cappuccino machine.
‘Why does this keep happening to me?’ She glared with wild eyes at Libby, who didn’t understand the question. ‘When am I ever going to get a break? I’ve never done anything wrong, never hurt anyone and yet I keep getting all this shit thrown at me.’
‘What else has happened to you?’ Libby only knew bits and pieces of Annie’s life, she realized. So far in their friendship it had all been about her
. ‘Tell me everything. I want to know it all.’
‘You name it, I’ve had it happen to me. When I was ten my mother died and I was left to look after them all. I wasn’t able to be a kid any longer. I needed my mother more than any of them, they were boys, they had each other. I had no-one.’
Libby looked at Annie and saw the face of the abandoned child she’d been, and it nearly broke her heart.
‘I’d no-one to talk to when my period came, I had to go to the library and buy a book. I was too scared to go to the chemist so I used to sneak out old towels and cut them up every month.’ She felt no embarrassment at telling Libby these intimate details, had no idea she even still remembered the minutiae. And once the floodgates opened and the memories started to emerge they were like a torrential downpour. ‘I never got the chance to go to college, never had anyone to buy me nice clothes, no-one to share things with. Then, when I eventually plucked up the courage to leave home it was a huge struggle. I’d no money, no job and nowhere to live. All I had was my dream of being an actress. And just when things started to turn round for me, I got cancer.’ Libby reached out and cradled her like an infant.
‘Oh, Annie, my poor baby.’ It felt funny being in this role; Libby was used to being the protected one.
‘Even then, I never felt sorry for myself. I just accepted it and got on with life. It was hell. I was so lonely. But I got through it and I started again and the struggle was harder and then I got the biggest break of my life.’ She looked at Libby, tears streaming down her face. ‘And now it’s all ruined again. I can’t do it any more and it’s something I wanted more than all the other things put together. He ruined it!’ She jumped up and wanted to lash out but there was no-one. ‘He ruined everything.’
Libby put her arms around her but she punched and kicked and screamed and Libby held her friend and let her.
‘I hate him. He’s fucked up my life. And I hate God for doing all this to me. I can’t take any more of this shit. And the fucking police are useless for not catching him . . .’
On and on it went and the words got louder and her face became purple and distorted and she pummelled as hard as she could.
