I Will Make You Pay

by Driscoll, Teresa

  ‘He’s good, isn’t he?’ Claire follows my gaze to the musician before turning back to our table. ‘So – are you feeling a bit better, Alice?’

  ‘Yes. Sorry about earlier. I have no idea where that came from.’ I don’t yet know quite what to make of Claire, but I’m mortified to have dissolved into tears earlier.

  ‘Don’t apologise. I should have suggested somewhere more private. It’s normally quieter here at this time of day, actually. I’m just sorry the office was busy. If there wasn’t a meeting going on, we could have found a quiet corner. We’d love a bigger place but we’re trying to keep overheads down.’

  ‘My fault. Short notice.’ I use my teaspoon to scoop some of the frothy milk into my mouth, then sip at the coffee proper. It’s smooth. Nice. Despite my embarrassment earlier, I’m pleased to have arranged this meeting. Talking to Claire about what’s going on is such a welcome release.

  ‘I can’t tell you how good it is to be with someone who actually understands.’

  Claire reaches forward to hold my hand briefly. ‘I know. That’s precisely why we do this. Everyone says the same when they first contact the charity. It’s the most isolating and frightening thing that can happen – stalking. We do what we can. There’s no pretending we have a magic solution, but the one thing we can promise is that we understand completely.’

  ‘So, do you not see much of your sister these days, Claire?’

  She’d explained on the phone to me previously that she set up the charity after her own sister, Lisa, was the subject of a real acid attack by a fellow student at university. He’d imagined a relationship that never existed and had stalked Lisa throughout their first and second years. Cards and presents and endless text messages. He kept turning up at all her lectures and social events, and her flat too. Lisa reported the pestering to both the police and the pastoral team at the university but no one seemed able to help. The university merely issued the other student with warnings. The police seemed to think the problem would pass.

  Then in the third year, in the run-up to exams, the stalker turned up at her flat and threw acid at her as she answered her door. He was jailed. Lisa was left with injuries which required months of surgery.

  ‘She decided to go abroad in the end,’ Claire says. ‘She said she’d never feel safe in this country again. He’s out of prison now, so I don’t blame her.’

  ‘So you lost your sister, in effect?’

  ‘We Skype. I visit her when I can. But yeah – I feel I lost her because of him.’

  ‘So this is why you set up the charity? Why you do this?’ I am in work gear now. What a story.

  Claire nods. ‘Someone has to. I managed to secure some funding for four years. We’re into our third year and it’s a struggle. Not sure what we’ll do when the funding runs out.’

  I pause. I’d really like to help but I don’t want to jump in too soon. I’ve explained how badly I want to write about my experience. To connect with others. To try to make society realise just how bad it is for victims to go through this hell.

  ‘So what do you think about me writing for your blog anonymously?’

  ‘We’d love it, of course. Someone with your writing talent and personal experience would be such a help to the charity. But I need to be sure it won’t make things worse for you, Alice. While the case is live, I mean.’

  ‘To be honest, I don’t see how anything can get worse, Claire. I won’t include details which could in any way identify me. I won’t mention the Wednesday angle; I just want to put my feelings out there. On record.’

  ‘We normally only run personal stories once a case is resolved. Not live. I’m just a bit worried the stalker might see it. Get off on it. We don’t want to give the creep what he wants.’

  I take in a deep breath. ‘Yes – I do see it’s a legitimate worry. And it’s precisely what my editor says. But I’m climbing the walls not being able to put my feelings out there. I suppose I could start writing and we could hold the material for a bit if you like? I would just feel so much better if I could find an outlet for this. A platform which might actually help other people too.’

  ‘OK.’ Claire finishes her drink and hands me her card. ‘This has my personal contact details. Email me your first piece and let’s talk again. If I’m happy it won’t identify you or compromise the police inquiry, we could run it on the website with social media links to our factsheets. Any way of getting our advice out to more victims is a good thing.’

  ‘Great. It’s a good website,’ I add. ‘I certainly found it very helpful.’

  ‘Thank you. I’m glad. And you feel you have enough support? I mean, I realise it’s Wednesday tomorrow.’ Claire looks graver suddenly.

  ‘I’m travelling back to the south-west later this evening. I have to decide whether to stay at my sister’s house, my boyfriend’s house or my own tonight.’

  ‘So where do you think you’ll feel safest, Alice?’

  ‘The locks have been changed at the house I rent. I’ve had extra security installed. I should be OK there.’

  ‘And have you got a personal alarm?’

  ‘I’ve got one that sounds a siren when you press it.’

  ‘No, I don’t just mean noise. I mean an alarm that triggers action.’

  ‘I’m not following you.’

  ‘An alarm that links directly to the police or a call centre.’

  ‘I had no idea such a thing existed.’

  Claire shakes her head as if exasperated.

  ‘What, Claire?’

  ‘I just think the police should issue them as standard. Run this kind of service. They’ve been known to do it in rare cases. When it’s someone high-profile.’

  ‘I’ve never even heard of this kind of alarm.’

  ‘Well, there are lone worker alarms on the market already that you can wear around your neck. Get straight through to a call centre who can ring the police. We’re piloting our own version actually, especially for stalking cases, but I’m not ready to say too much about that yet.’

  ‘Why not? That sounds fantastic. Exactly what victims need.’

  ‘It’s early days. Expensive to road-test. Not something I’m sure the charity should be investing in.’

  ‘Would you mind sending me details? At least let me look into it.’ I keep thinking how fabulous it would feel to wear something like that around my neck at home. One quick button for help instead of fumbling for a phone.

  ‘I’ll have a think, Alice. I’ll email you some links to the options already on the market if you like, and some details of what we’re piloting ourselves.’

  ‘OK.’

  And then a text buzzes on my phone. Matthew Hill. I feel a jolt inside.

  Some good news. We may be close to finding Alex.

  CHAPTER 34

  HIM – BEFORE

  His gran has made him a birthday cake. Seven candles.

  ‘What’s that mark on your arm?’ His gran stretches out her hand to try to see better, but he pulls the cuff of his jumper down.

  ‘Nothing. Just scratches from the class guinea pig. He got a bit weird when I was cleaning him out.’

  He keeps his thumb on the cuff of his jumper so that it won’t ride up as he takes a deep breath for the candles.

  ‘OK then. Don’t forget to make a wish, my lovely boy.’

  He lets out the huff of air and wishes that Brian were dead. He pictures him in a big pool of blood on the floor. He imagines hitting him with something hard. A hammer. Yeah. Smash, smash, smash, right into his brain.

  ‘Now you mustn’t tell me the wish or it won’t come true.’

  ‘I know that. I’m not stupid.’

  ‘OK, OK. Careful with your tone, my lovely. I know it’s your birthday, but we don’t want an argument, do we? I just want a nice day for you.’

  ‘My friends have parties.’ He feels guilty as he says this but he can’t help himself. He is sick of being different from his friends. All their stupid questions all the time. Why do you have w
eird jumpers? Does your gran knit them? Ha ha.

  He would love to have a party. Balloons. Games. Normal stuff.

  ‘Yes, well. I’m really sorry about that. I don’t think I could manage that on my own. But we’re going to the cinema later, remember? And you can have treats. Popcorn and sweets. I’ve saved some money specially.’

  It’s Saturday. His gran isn’t working today. He looks into her face and sees the sadness in her eyes and he feels even more guilty. He doesn’t understand how he can love her so much most of the time and feel cross with her too. It’s weird.

  ‘Sorry. I’m really sorry.’ He puts his arms around her waist, still holding on to the cuff of his jumper. He uses a compass that he found in school. Mostly he just scratches the skin a little bit, but sometimes when he gets really angry he digs deeper into the flesh until there is blood. He doesn’t know why but it feels quite good for a bit. He wants to stop doing it because he’s worried the teacher or his gran will find out. It doesn’t really look like guinea pig scratches.

  Brian knows.

  What are those marks on your arm?

  Nothing.

  You need to stop doing that or I’ll need to speak to someone. About your gran. Maybe I should tell the police after all.

  Maybe I should tell them about you, Brian.

  Now, don’t be getting silly. We’ve talked about this. No one will believe a little boy. And you want to see your gran in jail? You really think she could cope with that?

  ‘Shall we go and say hello to Grandad? Eat the cake outside in a napkin?’ He has brightened his tone and he knows that his gran will be pleased with this suggestion. He wants to make up for being grumpy about not having a party.

  Sure enough, her eyes look all teary. She glances to the window. The sky is blue. No clouds at all. He tries very hard not to think about Brian. About how he could get a hammer and what it might be like in jail . . .

  ‘That’s a lovely idea. Thank you, my little soldier. He’d like that very much.’

  Outside they sit together on Grandad’s bench at the edge of the patch of grass. He looks up to the window of their flat. Every morning, from up there, his gran looks down at this bench as she makes their cups of tea for breakfast.

  ‘Morning, my love,’ she says every single day to the bench.

  It has a plaque on the wood which his grandad’s friends made. All his customers from his cobbler’s shop. Gran says he used to mend shoes and handbags and belts. He could stitch leather like no one else. He had one of the shops under the flats, and people used to travel from all over town with the things that needed mending.

  ‘Tell me again about Grandad.’

  ‘Your grandad was the best kind of man. Tall and handsome and with a big smile and a big, big heart. He looked after me and he looked after your mum when she was little. He worked all day long in his shop and he used to sit out here on the bench to have his lunch. Sandwiches and a flask of tea.’

  ‘Why didn’t he come up to the flat for his lunch?’

  ‘Sometimes he did, but mostly he liked the fresh air. He told me that he liked to breathe in the fresh air and look up at the trees and the birds.’

  ‘I like birds. Was it this bench he had his lunch on?’

  ‘No. That one rotted away. But they put new ones in, and when your grandad died, his customers put the plaque up to remember him. That’s why it’s so special. Why I like it here so much.’ She took a deep breath. ‘It’s why I never want to live anywhere else. I can see your grandad’s bench from the window. And I can picture him sitting here with his sandwich and his flask. It’s like he’s still nearby.’

  ‘Will I have a heart attack one day?’

  ‘No, lovely. Course not. Your grandad was just very unlucky.’

  ‘So is that why we have no money? Because of grandad’s heart attack?’

  ‘Eat your cake, my birthday boy, and don’t be worrying about money. Not today. He wouldn’t want that. And I told you – I saved a little bit of money for the cinema today. Birthday treat.’

  ‘Can you save enough money to stop working? So you can stay home and not do the night shift?’

  She ruffles his hair and he feels his body sort of freeze like a statue. He tries very hard not to think of hammers and pools of blood but he can’t help it. It’s like there is this big, big volcano in him, waiting to blow its top off. He saw that in a video in school in geography. One minute it was just a mountain and then a huge explosion. Boom.

  That’s me, he thought as he watched the film. That’s me.

  ‘I thought you were used to me doing Wednesday nights now. I thought now that you’re getting a bit bigger, you don’t mind so much. It’ll get easier and easier as you get bigger . . .’

  He stuffs a big piece of chocolate cake into his mouth and looks away at the trees and the birds.

  He would like to ask his gran about his mother. He has a picture in a frame by his bed of his first birthday, sitting with his mum in Gran’s kitchen. Sometimes he thinks he can remember his mum but mostly he thinks he just remembers the photograph. Some of the other children in school say his mum did drugs and that’s why she died. They say that their parents told them. He’s asked his gran but she doesn’t talk about that.

  So instead he looks up at the blue, blue sky. He is thinking again of Brian. And of a pool of blood. He is searching the expanse of blue for an eagle. A hunter. A really big bird with sharp claws that can swoop and claw.

  Swoop and claw.

  CHAPTER 35

  ALICE

  I’m glad I booked a seat as the train’s packed, but I’m regretting the choice of the quiet carriage. I glance around me to take in the faces of the men.

  There’s a slightly geeky guy watching a film on his laptop. A pensioner doing the crossword with a beautiful fountain pen. For a moment I stare, until he begins to fill in an answer. Careful writing. Capital letters. And then across the aisle there is a tall, balding guy spreading his legs under the seat in front. I narrow my eyes, feeling uneasy. I must have been staring for too long, because suddenly he’s looking right back at me. He’s also staring. Unblinking. Then he glances down at his crotch and then back at me again, raising his eyebrows. Grinning.

  Creep.

  I look away. I feel myself blush. Yes, I should have gone for the family carriage. Damn. I normally like to avoid the noisy kids. All those juice cartons and colouring books. But this carriage is full of commuters – men and women travelling on their own. It’s Tuesday evening. I should have thought this through; I should have listened to Leanne, who said it wasn’t a good idea, leaving my return to Devon so close to Wednesday. The problem is I still feel ashamed of this fear – this escalating paranoia around men.

  Christ. It could be the bald guy. Any of them. None of them.

  Calm down, Alice.

  I close my eyes and concentrate on my breathing. I count the breaths in and the breaths out. Just like the cool-down sequence at Pilates. I miss my old routine. Pilates and French classes. I wonder when I will be able to get back to all that.

  I try the breathing and counting some more. It helps a bit but not completely.

  By the time I reopen my eyes the bald pervert has lost interest and has his headphones in. I glance at the luggage rack to check my small pink case. Good. It’s safe. I tell myself again to calm down. I take out a book from my bag, hoping to read, but the words just blur.

  Again I look around the carriage, from man to man. I know only the voice of my tormentor through the voice changer from that very first call. I have no idea what he may look like. Or truly sound like without the distortion. I try to picture Alex with a phone and a voice app but I still can’t make it fit. It feels somehow too improbable. Too neat. Too obvious.

  Matthew says the police now have a strong lead in their search for Alex, but he’s not allowed to share details with me yet for fear of scuppering the police operation. DI Sanders has gone out on a limb updating him, apparently. He promises me more information very soon. />
  The problem is I don’t think that finding Alex will stop this. I try to make the leap of faith. I try to imagine that the police are right and I’m wrong. The relief it might bring once he’s under arrest and then back in prison. But – no; I just can’t make it fit.

  I can feel my heart starting to quicken. The familiar disappointment in myself. Why can’t I be stronger? Braver? Why have I let this faceless man get to me so? Do this to me. Win . . .

  You are on a packed train, Alice. He cannot touch you. He cannot do anything to you here. Not with all these people around you.

  I take out my phone and put in my earphones. I don’t switch on the music but need the prop. The visual cue to step away from all the people in this carriage.

  Tom in his last phone call offered to come up to London and accompany me home. He was upset that he hadn’t been able to coordinate his work to be in the city to tie in with my visit to Leanne. I said it was over the top and unnecessary for him to make a flying visit to town just to see me home. But that was stubborn Alice talking; right now I’m wishing with every bone in my body that I’d said yes, please.

  At least he’s meeting me in Plymouth and has promised to be on the platform early. He’s also booked Matthew again to look out for me from first light tomorrow. Wednesday.

  I hear the word echo deep inside my head. Wednesday, Wednesday, Wednesday. So confusing still. Why Wednesday?

  I spool through Tom’s recent texts.

  You OK? See you soon xx.

  He’s been trying hard to be calmer about the Alex revelation, but I can tell he’s still deeply upset. And who can blame him? I should have told him about Alex. I mean – what must he think of me now? Someone who could be taken in by a man like Alex?