Meant to Be Me

by Wendy Hudson

  Darcy grinned. “Why? You jealous?”

  It was a running joke, as if she’d ever have a chance with someone like Anja Olsen. Beautiful, smart, fiercely loyal, and wonderfully funny Anja. With her long blonde hair that always sat perfectly over her shoulders, and her cute-as-anything Norwegian accent. Inflected with enough of a Scottish twang here and there to make it even more perfect.

  Anja—who was also married, and according to her, to the perfect guy. Weren’t they all? She’d had a bit of a thing for Anja in the beginning and had even thought it was reciprocated. They had worked in separate teams, but Anja had always seemed to go out of her way to speak: in the lift, the kitchen, passing in a corridor. But a workplace romance had burnt Darcy in the past, so she had quickly talked herself out of the idea and hadn’t allowed herself to be anything but polite. She loved and needed her job too much to jeopardise it.

  Then Anja had become her team’s Lead Engineer, and Darcy had spotted the framed photo of a smiling husband on her desk. Before long, a strong friendship had replaced any potential fantasy that had simmered within Darcy, but she didn’t mind. Anja had become one of her closest friends, which were as rare to her as girlfriends.

  “You wish.” Anja winked. “And you’re taking me to that gig, by the way.”

  “Do you still think that’s a good idea? Shouldn’t I hand them over to the police to go with the other stuff?”

  “Nonsense. Who knows how many people will have handled them before they got posted to you? I doubt the person they’re after even touched them. They’re useless as evidence.”

  “But what about how they were paid for? If they were bought online, there might be an account to trace. A card payment?”

  Anja shook her head wearily. “As if. I think we know better by now. That gig was sold out months ago. My guess is they bought some extortionately priced tour tickets off a private seller.”

  Darcy’s shoulders sagged. She remained hopeful her mystery torturer would slip up at some point, but the signs so far showed it was unlikely. The police kept talking about escalation and complacency. That one of those would occur and that would be their opening. Darcy knew which scenario she preferred.

  “Wow, you really want to go to that gig, don’t you?”

  Anja smirked. “And you don’t?”

  “Well…” Darcy couldn’t deny she had been dying to see the band for ages. “Maybe a little. Although why you would think I’m taking you…”

  Before Darcy could attempt to wind Anja up and pretend she had someone else she’d rather take, Boss Woman Bridget sailed through the conference room door, with Joe close on her heels. “When you’re quite finished, ladies. Can we get on with this?”

  “Aye.” Both women nodded.

  “Then let’s get it done.” She sat down and hit the call button. “I’ve far more interesting people I’d rather be spending my Saturday with.”

  Darcy strolled the high street without a care in the world. That’s why it was so easy to watch her. It had become second nature to slip from doorway to doorway, use the crowds and traffic as cover, never allowing Darcy’s image to get too far away.

  Part of the thrill of the follow was that Darcy had no idea who watched her and when. Who hunted and haunted every part of her life. She was oblivious to the fact that she was unwittingly sharing every secret and sacred moment.

  This close to the anniversary was always the hardest as the thoughts of the past ran riot and the question of what might have been mercilessly nagged. Meanwhile, Darcy continued on with her life completely unaware.

  The familiar lump lodged in their throat and grew day by day. It showed no sign of diminishing, along with the anger and the memories.

  Darcy approached the bridge, the same one she’d met that girl on early in the morning. Was she smiling? Remembering the moment? Every ounce of happiness that Darcy experienced gnawed and irritated. Why did she get to be so happy? Why had she deserved it more? Why was it fair that other people should suffer while she was so blissfully ignorant? Decent parents were a precious gift to be cherished. Why should some people have that and others get nothing?

  In the beginning, it had all been so innocent.

  The voice had been merely a faint murmur.

  But it had been a long road to this point and things had changed. Years of research and sacrifice to track Darcy down. Then more years of calculating and plotting, as the objective had become clear.

  As the voice had grown louder.

  Torture her with uncertainty until she couldn’t stand it anymore. Darcy had never witnessed someone she loved torn down, had never had her spirit broken by others. Her sunny outlook had never been challenged. She needed to experience and understand what the real world felt like. What a childhood of scorn and pain could cause.

  For a long time, that had always been the plan, but lately some things had changed. It was becoming harder each time to witness the disappointment on her face. To execute each scheme knowing its ultimate effect. An unexpected and unwanted struggle had begun to materialise.

  The voice stirred inside. A reminder of why it couldn’t be stopped, despite the inkling of new doubt.

  He thought they were better than us. He loved them more. He chose her over you.

  She needs to know the truth. Someone must pay for what was done to us.

  For what we became.

  And she is all that remains.

  Chapter 3

  It wasn’t only the Christmas belly that had Eilidh running the morning she’d met Darcy. She’d awoken too early with a weight on her chest. In her nightmare she was suffocating, as something nameless, faceless, and bodiless pressed down on her and sucked the air from her lungs. It was no better after she’d gasped a few panicked breaths. The room had been stuffy, the central heating up too high, and the walls had pressed in from every side.

  After pulling on her joggers, a cosy hat, and gloves, she’d crept downstairs in an attempt not to wake her girlfriend, Claire, who was sleeping in the spare room. But it turned out she hadn’t even made it to the spare room. Eilidh had found her asleep on the sofa, the TV on low, an empty bottle of wine on the table. She’d thought about stirring her, putting on some, coffee and finally having “the talk”, but a glance at the clock changed her mind. Six in the morning probably wasn’t the time to be breaking up with someone.

  The early morning frost had bitten at first, until her legs stretched and the blood began to pump and only her nose felt the chill. She’d wanted distance, so she’d cut back around their street, taking the long way through the park, until eventually the road to town had opened up before her. Normally she’d avoid Inverness and head in the opposite direction out along the back lanes towards Loch Ness, but so early on a weekend morning, there’d be few souls about.

  The bridge was to have been her halfway mark, but instead it had become her final destination. For her run, at least. After watching Darcy walk away, she knew her muscles would protest if she tried to get going again, and another injury would do her no good if she wanted to get back to work any time soon. So, she found a café and grabbed a cup of coffee and a newspaper before walking along the river bank towards Ness Island.

  The paper wasn’t for reading. She found a bench and used it as a buffer between her arse and the snow. Around her, the city began to come to life, and she watched for a while, focusing on nothing in particular but sipping her coffee and the heavy flakes as they hit the water. Eventually, though, Claire found her way back into Eilidh’s thoughts, and she sighed.

  This was not going to be pretty.

  They both knew it was over, had known for a long time. Eilidh couldn’t even remember the last time they’d shared a meal or a laugh, never mind shared a bed. She’d known that night for certain, the night of the incident; they’d finally voiced the words they both were thinking. Finally had that difficult conversation. But then the world h
ad come crashing down, and now guilt kept Claire from leaving. Eilidh knew it was going to be up to her.

  She thought of Darcy. What had she been thinking giving Darcy her number? Agreeing to coffee? She might have already started to move on from Claire in her mind, but until it was official, this wasn’t the way to do things. If Darcy texted, she would explain and hope she understood. She seemed so lovely; Eilidh hated to let her down.

  She had to admit the excitement that had flushed through her when Darcy asked her for coffee was something she hadn’t felt in a long time. But Claire still came first, no matter their state of affairs. After nine years together, they both deserved to move on, and Eilidh knew only she could release Claire from the guilt. It had been almost six months since the incident. It was time to set them both free.

  Chapter 4

  It had been three long, phoneless days, but Darcy finally had the device fixed and back in her possession. She’d collected it that morning and was gutted they’d had to reset it. All her photos were lost forever and, not for the first time, she cursed herself for not backing them up.

  She held Eilidh’s number in her hand and tentatively typed it in to her contacts, saying each number out loud so as not to get it wrong.

  “What are you up to over there, rain woman?” Anja appeared above her monitor. Glasses perched on the end of her nose, and she peered over them curiously at Darcy.

  “My phone’s finally fixed. I’m making sure I get Eilidh’s number right.” She turned her attention back to the screen.

  “Ah, that’s this mystery woman’s name, is it? How do you even spell that?” Anja stood and stretched her fingertips up to the ceiling. “Cup of tea?”

  “Sounds good.” Darcy got up to follow her to the kitchen, keeping her focus on the phone. “It’s pronounced A-lee but spelt E. I. L. I. D. H.”

  Anja frowned. “You Scots and your weird language.”

  “Aye, like you can talk. With all your Ks and letters not even in our alphabet.”

  “Touché. Are you really going to text her, then?” Anja was busying herself getting the tea started, and Darcy heard the hint of accusation in her voice. She was clearly trying to avoid eye contact, which meant a lecture was probably on its way.

  “Yes. Why wouldn’t I? And don’t give me all the chat about the stalker. If it wasn’t for my clumsiness, I would have never stopped, and we would never have spoken. I’m sure she’s perfectly innocent of any crimes you’re about to charge her with.”

  “It’s not only about her and you know it. You can act tough all you want around other folk, but I know you, remember? I see it in your face every time a call comes to say something has arrived at reception for you. Even when it turns out to be something you’ve ordered yourself.”

  “I know, but…”

  “But what? I’ve seen the tears and I’ve seen the fear. Remember the disaster when that last girl legitimately sent you flowers and you freaked out on the phone to her and screamed for her never to do it again? Have you heard from her since? No. Aren’t you better sticking with folk you know for now? Until the police catch up to this freak?”

  “And what if they never do?” Darcy couldn’t help her own harsh tone. She was angry and frustrated by the whole situation and didn’t need this from someone who was meant to be her best friend. “I mean, do you ever really know anyone?”

  Anja stopped stirring the tea and stared in to space a moment. “I guess not,” she whispered. Then she was crying.

  “Oh my God, Anja. What is it? What did I say?” Darcy moved towards her and tried to pull her in to a hug, but Anja waved her away.

  “I’m okay. Sorry. It’s fine.” She propped her glasses on her head before yanking a piece of kitchen towel from the roll and swiping it briskly under her eyes. “Honest. It’s nothing.”

  Darcy frowned. “Clearly it’s not nothing. You can talk to me, you know?”

  “I know.” She smiled, but it was obviously forced. “Really, I’m all right. Time of the month, that’s all.”

  Darcy didn’t believe her but didn’t push. She finished making the tea, passed Anja a mug, and they wandered back to their desks in silence. She heard Anja rummage for a minute in her desk drawer before producing a half-eaten pack of biscuits. “Fancy helping me finish these?” She smiled as she extended the peace offering.

  “Sure.” She took the pack and relieved it of a biscuit. Darcy considered prodding again about the sudden tears, but after over two years sharing a cubicle, she’d learned Anja would speak when ready and not a second sooner. She settled for a safer topic. “How’s Jason, by the way? When does he get home?”

  Jason.

  Anja’s perfect husband.

  He worked offshore on the oil rigs and ships and could be gone for anywhere between two weeks and two months, depending on what the job was and where he was sent.

  “Tomorrow. Apparently, I’m being treated to a special culinary feast, and he has something to tell me.”

  “Sounds perfect and intriguing. Maybe he’s finally got that onshore job?” For Anja’s happiness, Darcy hoped so. She couldn’t help but feel a little jealous; despite Jason’s long absences, Anja still had someone. By the way she talked, it sounded as if she was his whole world when he was home and more than made up for their lost time.

  “Aye, maybe.”

  Darcy glanced towards the phone on her desk. She hit unlock, and Eilidh’s name shone out at her. “You know what? Sod it. I’m definitely going to text Eilidh later.”

  “Fine. Fine.” Anja waved a biscuit her way dismissively. “Don’t come running to me when it all goes tits up.”

  Darcy laughed. “Your confidence is inspiring. But you know I will, right?”

  Anja nodded her head resignedly. “Oh, I know.”

  The day he left had been filled with tears, confusion, and futile screams. With repetitive calls after him down the driveway of, “Daddy, don’t leave.”

  Pathetic.

  It hadn’t changed anything.

  He’d still ruined two lives that day.

  Most mothers would have found strength for the sake of a child. Instead, she’d withered and spewed bitterness, pining for a man who had deserted his family without a backwards glance. She might as well have left that day too, rather than torturing those left behind. For years.

  She’d been a simple woman, yet full of adventure. Whole days spent exploring the woods behind the house were common: building forts, playing hide-and-seek, camping, fishing, toasting marshmallows on the fire. Idyllic, wonderful days.

  After he’d left, adventures for her began with booze, then upgraded to pills. Every day she had demanded, then begged, the universe to know why she hadn’t been enough. Every. Single. Day. People had tried to intervene. They’d tried and failed, and gradually she had wasted away, piece by piece. Then one day, she’d disappeared altogether.

  He had destroyed her. Destroyed one family for the sake of another.

  Yes, this—all of this—was for the right reasons. Any doubts needed to be put aside. Discarded. Only an awful person wouldn’t feel some empathy, and a fondness for Darcy was natural. It was human. But Darcy had to know what that day had cost those left behind. She had to know what heartache felt like or she would never understand.

  The next gift was sure to get her attention. Darcy would pretend it meant nothing, say she wished it would all stop. But intrigue would still manage to sneak in to her eyes. She’d hate the feeling and try to hide it. Despite the obvious anxiety and second guessing, there would still be thoughtful glances when she sat in a coffee shop or walked in the park. Yes, Darcy would always wonder if someone was watching, her curiosity eager to get a glimpse of something out of the ordinary.

  Was she secretly enjoying the attention? At least in some small way?

  It was attention that had lured him away, after all.

  Chapter 5
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  It had been five months and eighteen days since that night, and eleven weeks since Eilidh had come home from the hospital. If home was what she could call the four walls she restlessly roamed within. The doctors and physios, colleagues of hers, were wary of discharging her home earlier than they would have liked. According to her friend Sam, her girlfriend had rarely visited and seemed to give up entirely during the coma stage. So she understood their reluctance.

  They worried about the support she would get, knew about her lack of close contact with family, but Eilidh had reassured them. Her mum would stop by regularly; medication would be taken; and exercises would be done. She would eat, sleep, drink, and wash as required. She knew the drill, and they could trust her to do things right.

  The doctors didn’t know that the night of the incident was the night Eilidh and Claire had decided to end their nine-year relationship. It had been civil, if a little nippy. Neither had wanted to blame the other, but both were incapable of admitting their own failures. They’d talked, drank, picked at a meal, and, in hushed tones across the table, divided up the furniture and the contents of joint bank accounts.

  Kids, pets, mortgages—the trinity of reasons for an amicable breakup to turn sour, as well as why many people who shouldn’t be together inevitably stayed together. They had none of those things, so three hours later they’d left the restaurant hand in hand with an agreement to begin the process of separation the very next day. Eilidh couldn’t remember if either of them had cried. She didn’t think so.

  She wondered if Claire had held her hand in hospital. Had stroked her hair or her cheek? Had she pleaded for Eilidh to come back to her? Willed her to live? In the months since her return home, Eilidh had been unable to remember a single touch. They were simply strangers now who shared the same space. Biding their time and wondering when it was polite to leave. She knew it was guilt that kept Claire in the spare room, despite the boxes stacked in the hallway.