He's After Me

by Higgins, Chris

  ‘The first withdrawals were made while we were in New York.’

  ‘Oh, come on!’ I can feel my temper rising. I don’t know what game Jude thinks she’s playing here, but she’s not going to get away with it. ‘Jem did not take that money. He couldn’t have!’

  ‘Yeah!’ Livi agrees. ‘You can’t pin this one on him!’

  ‘Well, somebody did,’ he says flatly and it’s obvious he’s made up his mind it’s Jem.

  I lose it. ‘Maybe, just maybe, Jude made it up! Have you thought of that? Maybe your girlfriend is trying to fiddle the insurance!’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous!’ snaps Dad. ‘She’s a lawyer!’

  ‘So?’ My voice rises with frustration. ‘That doesn’t mean she can’t commit a crime!’ Even to my own ears I sound like an hysterical child.

  ‘Well, we’ll find out soon, sure enough. Jude’s gone to the police. It’s out of my hands.’ His tone suggests he’s had enough of the whole thing. You can tell he and Jude have had words about it. ‘They’ll probably want to speak to you at some point, Anna.’

  ‘Right!’ I say, getting to my feet. ‘Thanks very much! Can I go now?’ I stalk out of the house without waiting for an answer.

  When I reach the hotel I realize I’m early, but I go round the back to the staff quarters anyway and ring the bell. The door opens immediately but it’s not Jem, it’s one of his lager-swilling room-mates, the creepy one with the sore red eyes and weak chin who used to drool over the photos of me above Jem’s bed. He reminds me of a rat. His eyes light up when he sees me.

  ‘Where’s Jem?’ I ask.

  ‘Had to go out. He won’t be long. Come in and wait for him.’

  I brush past him and perch myself gingerly on the end of Jem’s bed. There’s a stale smell in the room, of unmade beds and unwashed male. No wonder Jem spends as little time here as possible.

  ‘Wanna drink?’

  ‘No thanks.’ I can feel him watching me, eyeing me up, and I’m angry with Jem for leaving me alone with him. ‘Where’s he gone?’

  ‘Got called down to the manager’s office.’

  ‘What for?’

  ‘Dunno.’ He laughs. ‘You never know with Jem. Could be anything.’

  I don’t bother to reply, then he says, his voice light, teasing, ‘Thought you’d been dumped.’

  ‘Did you now?’ Not my interpretation of events. I give him a dirty look and get to my feet, my arms wrapped tightly around me, annoyed that Jem would confide in a low-life like him. But then I notice the mass of photos of me has disappeared from the wall and decide that even with his limited number of brain cells, he had probably worked it out for himself.

  ‘Was thinking of asking you out myself,’ he says. I feel his piggy little eyes leering at me and dart him a look of disgust. His eyelashes are glued together with blobs of creamy gunge. I feel sick.

  To my relief the phone rings and his attention is diverted. Saved by the bell. Literally.

  ‘Manager wants to speak to me too,’ he says importantly, putting the phone down. ‘Something going on. Won’t be long.’

  ‘Take your time.’ I breathe a sigh of relief as he goes out. Creep!

  I wander listlessly round the room, wishing that Jem would get a move on. I hate it here in this mean, sordid little cell. Above two of the beds – not Jem’s, thank goodness – are pictures of glamour models sporting enormous, impossibly circular breasts. I peer in the single wardrobe next to Jem’s bed and am surprised how few clothes are in it. I never realized he possessed so little. He always looks cool.

  His laptop is on his bed and I notice it’s still on. He must’ve been using it when he was called away. I go to close it down for him and tap the mouse. Loads and loads of folders appear. Some of them have girls’ names on them. Megan, Laura, Kally, Holly … Maybe I shouldn’t be looking at these? Too late now.

  I click on to Holly and a photograph appears of a young girl, about Livi’s age, smiling provocatively into the camera. Her shoulders are bare. I move on quickly to Laura and see the back view of a young woman walking into a building. It looks like a school. I scroll through the rest of the folder. There are scores of photos of her, none of them posed, as if she’s unaware of the photographer’s presence. She looks nice. I wonder who she is? She could be Jem’s older sister, but he’s never mentioned any siblings.

  As I close it up I notice a folder with my name on and click on it with a grin. At least he hasn’t deleted me completely from his life. I am amazed at the number of photos inside – there must be literally hundreds – some of them posed, most snapshots of me I wasn’t even aware he was taking. The mark of a good photographer. He’s even got some of me and Livi outside Dad’s apartment. I squint at them in surprise.

  I don’t get this. Something’s not right.

  Apart from the few days when Dad and Jude were in New York, Jem has never been to their apartment. Let’s face it, I haven’t either, except for the one overnight stay with Livi. But here’s a photo of my sister and me running towards Wharfside, heads down on that very night. Here’s another of us by the entrance, shaking raindrops from our hair. It’s a good photograph; you can see the raindrops suspended in the air. There’s a close-up of Livi, her mouth wide open, laughing, and one of me, pressing the bell.

  I didn’t know Jem then. Did I?

  The penny drops. That was the night I first met him! He was on the bus! Livi was singing out loud and he laughed at her. He must’ve got off behind us and taken the photographs.

  Then the next morning, he was at the bus stop.

  And then he was at the shopping centre.

  That was no coincidence. He was after me!

  Wow! He must have fallen for me that first night on the bus. I knew it! I remember that charge passing between us, like an electric shock. Jem and I were meant to be together.

  And stupidly, I’d nearly allowed the evil Jude to split us up. If the police wanted to see me, I’d tell them everything. I’d have to admit we stayed uninvited at Dad’s flat and I’m not very proud of that. But at least the truth would come out at last. My father’s vile girlfriend had cashed in on the situation and pretended things were missing so she could claim on the insurance. And she’d let poor Jem take the flak for it all! I can’t believe how we all fell for it.

  All except Livi. She’d never stopped believing in Jem.

  It’s time for me to put things right. Come on, Jem, hurry up!

  I click off my folder and something else catches my eye.

  It’s another folder with a girl’s name on it.

  Jude.

  He’d been so excited waiting for her to come. Like being on a first date. It was, in a way. He was going to start again, wipe the slate clean.

  Well, he wasn’t going to confess, obviously. He didn’t need to. She’d buy that story of his about the insurance, now he’d planted it in her mind. She’d believe him, he knew she would.

  They could go off to London together. Tonight! Leave that sad loser and his stuck-up whore of a girlfriend behind for ever. He didn’t know what he’d ever seen in her.

  She was one in a million, his Anna. He didn’t want to lose her.

  Then the manager had called. Wanted to speak to him urgently.

  Sod it.

  Better be quick.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  ‘Bastards!’

  My head snaps up as the door bangs open and automatically I close the program. My fingers are trembling.

  It’s Rat-face, I register with relief. But then, as he slams the door behind him angrily, I jump up, terrified he’s seen what I’m up to.

  ‘I’m sorry …’

  ‘Bloody thieves!’

  ‘What?’

  ‘They took my sodding watch!’

  It’s not me he’s angry with. ‘Who did?’

  ‘The pigs, who d’you think?’

  ‘The police?’

  He swears again and calls them by a worse name.

  ‘Down there in the manager
’s office. Said they wanted me to help them with their inquiries. Nothing to do with me, they said. Then they took my sodding watch!’

  He carries on effing and blinding about his watch, his mean little eyes sparking with rage.

  ‘Look,’ I say, grabbing my bag. ‘I’d better go.’

  ‘Cost me twenty quid, that did!’ he yells at me, as if it’s all my fault.

  ‘Tell Jem I couldn’t wait, yeah?’ I say, edging my way towards the door.

  A torrent of abuse ensues, mainly concerning what he intends to do to Jem when he gets his hands on him. I stop, my hand on the doorknob.

  ‘Where is he?’

  ‘They’ve taken him to the police station.’

  ‘What for?’ I ask, but I already know the answer.

  He shakes his head. ‘Dunno. Breaking and entering? Burglary? Something or other. Hope they throw the bloody book at him. Bastard!’

  Five minutes earlier I would’ve been down there defending him. Now, a folder of pictures later, I’m older and wiser. But still, I have one more question for Rat-face.

  ‘Why did they take your watch?’

  He eyes me pityingly, like I’ve got a screw loose or something.

  Maybe I have.

  ‘Jem sold it to me. Stolen property, innit?’

  I nod. That’s all I needed to know.

  ‘No way! No way, man!’

  He knew the game was up as soon as he walked into the office and saw the two coppers there waiting for him.

  CHAPTER FORTY

  By the time I get home, Dad has left and Mum and Livi are curled up together watching telly.

  ‘Do the police want to see me?’ I ask Mum bleakly.

  ‘Not yet. Tomorrow, I would think.’ She grabs my hand. ‘You look exhausted.’

  ‘I am.’

  ‘Don’t blame yourself for any of this, Anna. You weren’t to know what Jem was like.’

  I shake her hand away. ‘I’m going to bed.’

  I stand in the shower under fierce blasts of freezing water, trying to process the implications of what I had seen in that folder marked Jude. By the time I come out I am shaking with cold. It’s like I want to punish myself. I choose the roughest, hardest towel I can find and rub my skin till it feels raw, then I crawl into bed and curl up into the foetal position. There’s a knock and Livi’s face peers around the door.

  ‘You OK?’

  ‘No,’ I say in a low voice.

  ‘Budge up!’ She lifts the covers and climbs into bed. ‘You’re freezing!’ she squeals, snuggling down beside me and hugging me round the waist. There is something incredibly comforting having my own human hot-water bottle curled around me. I can feel my heart rate slowing down, as I match my breath with hers.

  ‘I hate Dad,’ she says.

  ‘No you don’t.’

  ‘Yes I do!’ Her voice is fierce.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because he believes the evil Jude, not Jem. So does Mum.’

  I’m silent for a moment. Then I whisper, ‘Perhaps she’s not evil.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Maybe she’s telling the truth.’

  Livi shoots up to sitting position. ‘No way! She said things were taken from the flat and they weren’t. She put the blame on to Jem. Of course she’s evil!’

  ‘Maybe it wasn’t like that,’ I say, rolling over and sitting up, my arms around my knees. ‘Maybe Jem did steal those things after all.’

  ‘Anna?’ She stares at me aghast. ‘I can’t believe you said that!’

  ‘How do you know he didn’t?’

  ‘Because he said!’

  I give a short bitter laugh, like a yelp.

  ‘Jem said lots of things.’

  ‘He told me he didn’t pinch anything.’

  ‘He was lying.’

  ‘No, he wasn’t!’

  ‘He took Dad’s watch, Livi. I know he did.’

  Her face is livid. ‘I don’t believe you. You’re making it up so that you don’t get into trouble.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘It was you! You’re the thieving scav, not Jem!’ She springs out of bed and flings open my wardrobe door, pulling things at random till she finds what she’s looking for. ‘See!’ she says triumphantly, brandishing Jude’s top. She flings it on the bed, followed by the incriminating knickers. ‘I knew they were there all the time. I wasn’t going to say anything till you started blaming it all on Jem.’

  I groan. My loyal little sister! ‘Don’t be daft. You’re too flaming nosy for your own good. I only borrowed those. I was going to put them back.’

  ‘Yeah, and Jem told me he was going to put back the money he borrowed. Only he never had time.’

  Her pretty, open face is distorted with outrage. Poor Livi. I’d believed that too. Till tonight.

  ‘If he’s a thief, so are you!’ she persists, her logic irrefutable.

  ‘Look, Livi, there’s stuff you don’t know about …’ I say, but she spits back, ‘Yeah, well, there’s stuff you don’t know about too!’ and marches out of the bedroom. I sink back against my pillows, thinking when the hell has Jem been filling her head with all this garbage?

  But at the moment I’ve got more pressing questions to worry about. Tonight I viewed hundreds and hundreds of pictures of Jude on Jem’s computer. They have totally freaked me out. I’ve seen:

  Jude leaving home, briefcase in hand.

  Jude hailing a taxi, getting into a taxi.

  Jude entering the office.

  Jude leaving the office.

  Jude shopping, clutching bags from designer stores.

  Jude going into a bar, coming out of a bar.

  Jude letting herself into Wharfside.

  Jude arm-in-arm with Dad.

  Jude talking to me on the street. (I remember that day!)

  Jude on her mobile.

  Jude with a girlfriend, laughing, carefree.

  Jude at a supermarket checkout.

  Jude walking through the park.

  Jude at a cash-machine.

  Jude (long-distance but definitely her) standing at the window of the apartment, looking out over the harbour.

  Jude laughing, serious, thoughtful, sad.

  Jude with a different hairstyle. A slightly younger version of herself. Where did that one come from … ? These two know each other. What the hell is going on?

  A crazy, paranoid fear had consumed me. The two of them were in league. It was a set-up. Jude took my dad to New York so Jem could fake a break-in and steal from him! And I was the gullible idiot who made it all possible.

  Now, thinking it through logically, I dismiss that idea. More of her stuff was taken than Dad’s. Though she might have done that deliberately, for the insurance, like I suspected.

  But a wave of common sense washes over me. Come on! For five grand and a few pieces of flash jewellery?

  Peanuts to someone earning as much as Jude. She’s a successful lawyer, on her way up. Why would she want to risk everything for a few thousand quid? She can earn that in a month.

  For Jem?

  Jem is a very powerful person. Jem has a way of making you do what he wants. He did it to me.

  Zoe was right, he controlled me, like I was his puppet and he was pulling the strings. He cut me off from her. He made me give up on my dreams of a degree in a subject I loved, that I had worked towards all my life. He made me into someone who defaces other people’s property, who leaves restaurants without paying, who attacks security guards and runs away, who breaks into her father’s apartment and has sex in his bed. And I let him!

  He made me fall in love with him. And I thought he loved me too.

  I lie there in tears, tormenting myself with images of Jude and him together, laughing at me. Mentally, I scroll through those photographs of Jude again. There were so many of them, loads more than he had ever taken of me. How he must have worshipped her to take all those pictures. And all the time, I was totally devoted to him.

  The bastard!

  Then, as
I peel away the last thin membrane of adoration that has masked my eyes since the day I first met Jem, I see things suddenly in focus so clear and sharp it is painful.

  Those pictures. They all had one thing in common.

  In every single one of them, Jude was totally oblivious to the fact that her photograph was being taken.

  And understanding finally hits me like a two-ton truck.

  Jude would never, ever, in a million years have had anything to do with the likes of Jem.

  He knew who’d shopped him straight away.

  The whore. Discovered at last he’d borrowed her credit card. Well, she obviously didn’t need it; it had taken her long enough to find out he’d been milking her account.

  Couldn’t prove a thing, he’d said, but they’d still arrested him. Laughed in his face, the bastards. Her word against his, and she was the big-shot lawyer.

  Yeah, well, they had nothing on him. His Anna would stick up for him. His Anna would get him off.

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  The next day, things move rapidly. Dad comes round early, his face grim.

  ‘They need you down at the station for a statement.’

  ‘Have some breakfast first,’ says Mum.

  I shake my head.

  ‘No, I can’t eat a thing. Let’s just get it over and done with.’

  ‘I’m coming with you then.’ Mum goes out to the hall to grab her coat. ‘Livi!’ she shouts, ‘We’ve got to go out.’

  Livi appears at the top of the stairs in her pyjamas, her hair tousled. ‘Where you going?’ she asks.

  ‘Police station,’ says Dad. ‘We’re going to nail that little toe-rag once and for all.’

  Livi’s face turns ugly with fury and she disappears into her bedroom and slams the door.

  Down at the station we are met by a DC Blane who ushers us into an interview room. It’s cold and bare, just a desk with chairs either side. He and a woman police officer sit down to question me. I’m scared but I insist my parents leave the room while I talk to them. I don’t want them to hear all the details.