I Will Make You Pay

by Driscoll, Teresa

  ‘You should be a detective.’

  He laughs and finishes his coffee. ‘Right. So what’s the plan for today? You want to just stay home and try to catch up on some sleep? I can keep out of your way if you want to watch films or whatever. But Tom’s right. If you want to go out, then I’m the driver.’

  ‘OK. I’ll have a think. I may just stay in and do some writing actually.’ I’m remembering now the conversation with Claire from the charity. I’d like to check out that alarm she was talking about. And I’ve certainly got plenty to write about. I fancy trying the first anonymous blog. Get some of this out of my system and on to paper.

  I take out my phone, planning to send a text first to Leanne to update her that Matthew’s with me so I’m safe. But as I reach for it, it rings – my sister’s name flashing.

  ‘Leanne. Are you psychic? I was literally just about to message you.’

  ‘You haven’t seen it, have you?’ Leanne’s voice is barely recognisable. High-pitched. Desperate.

  ‘Seen what?’

  ‘Go to Twitter, Alice. It’s horrible. You’re tagged and I’m tagged.’

  CHAPTER 37

  HIM – BEFORE

  The head teacher’s office is bigger than he remembers. He’s only been in here once before – when his gran was taken ill.

  That time, years back, he was collected from his class and led here with no explanation. But he knew something big was up because they brought him lemonade and a chocolate biscuit. The head teacher asked a lot of questions about what relatives he had. She wanted to know if there was anyone she could call because his gran had had a little upset.

  He told the head teacher that he only had his gran and her face sort of changed and she said he was not to worry but she needed to make some phone calls in the other office. He got more chocolate biscuits.

  In the end, a weird woman turned up and told him again not to worry. Which made him worry a lot. She took him in her car to a house in town where a lady called Abby said he would be staying with her for a couple of days. He thought it was some kind of trick and was in a terrible panic. He wondered if he should run away but they took him to see his gran in hospital that evening. She said it was all a fuss about nothing. She’d collapsed at work and twisted her ankle and they insisted on X-rays. She kept asking the nurses to be allowed home, and when they said it was a bad idea, she began to cry. He remembers it really clearly – watching his gran cry.

  There was another lady called Dawn at the hospital who said he could stay with Abby for a couple of nights until his gran was better. He asked to stay in the hospital instead but they wouldn’t let him so he lied. He told his gran that he was fine with it all. Abby gave him pyjamas and some spare clothes. She was sort of nice but her house smelled a bit weird and he still didn’t know if it was a trick. He had never been so afraid.

  Then after two nights his gran turned up in a taxi and took him home, and he clung on to her really, really tight. She promised that they would never, ever have anything to do with social services ever again.

  What’s social services?

  Busybodies. We don’t need them poking about our lives. They’ll take you away. You don’t talk to them, you hear me? If anyone asks questions, you say we’re fine.

  Luckily it was half-term, so he stayed home and helped his gran until she could walk a bit better.

  Today in the head teacher’s office everything feels quite serious again. This time his gran is sitting right next to him. They had to wait until she finished work.

  The head teacher is called Mrs Price and she looks very upset. She’s trying to be all calm on the outside but her neck is red, right up to her chin.

  He’s eight now and he’s better at reading people’s faces. You learn a lot if you watch people really, really carefully.

  ‘I simply don’t believe my grandson would bully anyone,’ his gran says. ‘I think there’s been a misunderstanding. He’s a sweet boy. A gentle boy. I think he’s the one being picked on.’

  ‘The other child is in hospital with a broken arm.’ The head teacher’s voice is quiet but the red on her neck gets darker. ‘This is serious. There are witnesses to say that this was deliberate. That the other child was punched and pushed to the ground and then kicked. Your grandson had to be pulled off the other child.’ Mrs Price looks at him. ‘Why did you do this? We can’t allow this kind of violence. You are a very clever boy and you could have a great future. But you have to understand that this is very, very serious and I may have to consider a suspension. You need to explain why you did such a terrible thing.’

  He remembers exactly. He was upset because of Brian. He was thinking about the disgusting ‘favours’ and the tin full of sweets and special chocolates which make him want to be sick. He was picturing all the things he would do to Brian when he was bigger. The hammer and the eagle attack. He got the volcano feeling in his tummy. And then Toby was saying some rubbish about his gran being very, very old-looking. Toby’s grandfather had just died and they burned him in his coffin until he was just ash, like in the grate after a fire. Toby was saying a lot of stupid stuff about old people dying and how it was just natural; and he just got really, really cross with Toby until the volcano in his tummy exploded.

  ‘It was an accident,’ he says.

  ‘There,’ his gran says, taking his hand in her own. She squeezes it tight. ‘A misunderstanding. Like I said. I’m quite sure there was provocation. My grandson would never hurt anyone on purpose.’

  CHAPTER 38

  MATTHEW

  ‘It’s my mother. Oh no – my mother. My mother!’ Alice is now standing and staring at her phone, all the blood gone from her face. Ghost Alice. She sort of buckles, and Matthew’s worried she may collapse completely and hit her head as she falls.

  He reaches for her elbow to steady her and tries to steer her back to a stool, but she sweeps his arm away and starts shouting.

  ‘No. No. Don’t touch me. Oh Jeez. My mother. I think he’s got my mother!’

  ‘Show me. Alice. Show me what it is. I’m going to help you. But I need to see. To understand you.’

  Alice looks at him as if she hasn’t heard. She is gripping the phone, her knuckles white, as if she can’t bear to let it go. He widens his eyes to encourage her – trying to coax her out of her shock. Finally, she hands him the phone, her fingers trembling and her eyes huge and wild with fear.

  There’s a video auto-playing on her Twitter feed. It shows a woman, gasping for breath. Yes. Struggling to breathe, as if suffocating.

  For a terrible moment Matthew fears this is the posting of an attack. Some kind of strangulation? That the bastard has attacked Alice’s mother and posted the evidence. He sucks in breath to move into professional gear. He braces to watch the video again as it loops, and this time takes in the detail; he can see that the woman has oxygen tubes feeding into her nose. He frowns. Right. So it looks as if she is in some kind of medical setting. There’s an oxygen bottle in the background.

  ‘Has he got her? Is he with her? Has he posted this live? Is this happening this minute?’ Alice now has tears streaming down her face.

  ‘I don’t know, Alice. But I’m phoning this in to the police and I need you to help me. Look at the video again and tell me if you recognise the place. The room . . .’

  She shakes her head. She doesn’t want to look.

  ‘I’m sorry, Alice. But you have to help me.’

  With his other hand he takes out his own phone. He presses the speed-dial key to Mel Sanders and prays she will answer. It starts ringing . . .

  ‘Please, Alice. I know this is terrible. But you need to look again. Do you recognise the room . . .’

  At last, Mel answers.

  ‘Mel. Matt here. New development with the Alice stalker case. A video has been posted online of her mother in respiratory distress.’

  ‘Jeez. So what’s it showing? Is her mother hurt? Being hurt? Where do I see this, Matt?’

  ‘It’s tagged on Alice’s
twitter feed. @alicejournohenderson. All lower case, no punctuation. Alice is with me now. She’s in shock, but stay on the line and I’ll give you what details I can get from her.’ He turns. ‘Alice. Do you recognise the room?’

  She won’t look, so he puts the phone right in front of her face. ‘I’m sorry, but this is urgent. The room, Alice. Do you know the room?’

  At last she looks properly at the phone, a frown appearing instantly on her face. ‘Yes. Yes, I do. It’s her room at the home. At the nursing home.’

  ‘You sure?’

  ‘Yes. I’m sure. That’s her bookcase in the background. With her copy of Wuthering Heights on the top. I read Wuthering Heights to her when I visit . . .’

  Matthew puts his hand up to signal for Alice to wait a moment.

  ‘Right, Mel. The video is apparently showing Alice’s mother in her room at her nursing home. What’s the name of it, Alice?’

  ‘The Heatherdown Nursing Home. Mitsford. It’s on the coast between Brixham and Paignton. Room 14. Second floor.’

  He repeats the details to Mel.

  ‘Right, Matt. I’ve got the video up now. Jeez. This bloody nasty piece of work. What’s he up to now? OK – so I’m in Scotland. We’re about to arrest Alex. I’ll get a DS to phone the home right now. You do the same. See who’s quickest to check the status on the mother. I’ll get a car sent round immediately; see what we’re dealing with.’

  ‘This may not be live or even contemporaneous; this could just be a recording,’ Matthew says. ‘This could still be Alex.’

  ‘Yes, I know. What a bloody turn of events.’

  ‘Right. You get the call into the home and I’ll try this end. Talk soon.’

  Matthew ends the call and leans towards Alice. ‘Call up the number of your mother’s home. Dial it. Now. I’ll speak to them.’

  ‘Is he with her? Has he hurt her?’

  ‘Just dial the number for me, Alice. Please. Now!’

  She picks up her phone and fumbles for a minute through her contacts. Eventually she dials and hands the phone to Matthew.

  ‘What’s your mum’s full name?’

  ‘Harriet Wallace.’

  ‘Right . . . Hello, I’m a private investigator working with the police. We have an emergency situation – reason to believe someone may intend harm to one of your residents, Harriet Wallace. Room 14. You need to check on her right this minute. I’ll stay on the line and you need to report to me what you find. Immediately please. The police will be phoning too. They’re on their way. You’ll hear police sirens outside very soon.’

  The receptionist is at first uncooperative. She asks a lot of questions, wondering if this is some kind of hoax. Matthew barks at her, demanding someone more senior. He’s passed to someone else. He repeats himself and at last there appears to be action . . .

  ‘OK. I’m holding on the line. You need to tell me if Harriet Wallace is OK. I have her daughter with me.’

  This is now too much for Alice. She’s slumped on to the floor – sitting with her back against the wall – tears pouring down her face as she uses the kitchen extension phone to call her sister with this update. She tells Leanne to wait on the line too. Then Alice is sort of mumbling almost incoherently to her sister. Blaming herself. Saying that Leanne was right; that they should have moved their mother to a different home as soon as the stalker used peonies. Mentioned her mother’s favourite flower.

  ‘We should have seen this coming. This is my fault,’ Alice says finally, looking up at Matthew. But then the senior nurse at the home is back on the line.

  ‘Mrs Wallace is asleep. She’s well. She was on her own in her room. Stable. I’ve ordered a member of staff to stay with her. Do you mind telling me what on earth this is all about? We can hear police sirens. In fact, I can see a police car turning up outside. What the hell is going on?’

  CHAPTER 39

  ALICE

  I watch my mother being wheeled on the trolley bed into the private ambulance. She’s wearing a full oxygen mask so I can only see her eyes.

  They’re strained but I can read them precisely. Mum has raised her eyebrows just a little and is widening her eyes at me. I know from the nurses that she’s uncomfortable and has pain in her chest and sides today. She’s also very worried about what’s going on here but she’s trying to hide all this from me. Trying to signal that she’s all right. Not to worry. That everything is going to be all right.

  This breaks me. It’s worse than the time with the police. Worse than the row I had with Leanne over the timetable of moving Mum. Worse than the rest of yesterday – Wednesday, bloody Wednesday – spent with Matthew Hill and then later with Tom as we all worked out the logistics of how to move my mother somewhere secret. Somewhere safer.

  Though Mum’s disorientated and tired and has the same severe breathing trouble she’s had for the past six months, she knows nothing of what’s really gone on. She doesn’t know about the camera concealed in the plant delivered to her room, allegedly a ‘gift’ from me. She’s unaware of the video posted of her online. The stalking. She knows only what we’ve told her, namely that her care needs are changing so we’ve decided it’s best for her to be in a more specialised home near Leanne, who’s not working and can visit more easily. And so our mother’s priority, true to her nature and her selflessness, is to put us first. To show that she’s all right. That people should not worry. Make a fuss.

  I climb the two steps into the ambulance to hold my mother’s hand and to stroke her hair back from her forehead. I again take in the smile in those pale grey eyes. The same face and the same reassuring expression that kept me safe right through my childhood.

  It was always Mum. Only Mum. Dad died very suddenly of a heart attack when I was a baby and I don’t remember him at all. But in school I would get upset on Father’s Day when everyone else was making cards. Mum would have this same look in her eyes when she comforted me.

  And when I sat my first piano exam too. I was nine and I was petrified. I was doing well in my music lessons and my teacher was predicting a distinction. But the pressure was all of a sudden too much. I froze when they called my name in the waiting room. I turned to Mum and asked her to take me home. Legs of lead.

  I can’t. I can’t do it.

  Mum stayed completely calm. She wasn’t cross. She wasn’t disappointed. She simply pressed her palm against my cheek.

  Of course you can, my darling girl. I know that you can. There’s no hurry. They’ll wait a moment. And it doesn’t matter how it goes . . . only that it goes. Just do your best and who cares how it turns out. Pass or fail, I certainly don’t mind. And then my mother leaned in very close to my face with precisely this expression. Slightly raised eyebrows. A slight widening of her soft grey eyes with a smile of love in them.

  Yes. That special smile that reads, It’s all right, Alice. It’s going to be all right.

  I turn away to brush a tear forming. I wonder how I will manage without this force of love in my life.

  ‘Now – you know that I’m not allowed to travel in the ambulance with you. Something to do with the insurance.’ Another lie. Her mother’s daughter. Papering over my worries just as she does. The truth is I’m nervous about being followed. I’m planning to drive in circles again to throw anyone off. I kiss my mother’s forehead.

  ‘Will you be OK with the nurse?’

  Mum nods and widens her eyes even more.

  ‘OK. Try to rest. And Leanne will be there when you arrive to help settle you in. The place is lovely. I’m sorry you have to move but they have the right nurses for you at the new place. And I’ll be back to visit you very, very soon so we can finish Wuthering Heights. OK?’

  Again Mum nods, moving her right hand to her mask, but I reach out to still her.

  ‘No, Mum. No need to talk. I love you too. Try to rest. Leanne is going to send me pictures of your new room. It looked marvellous from her visit. They’re transferring all your things. Your books. You’re going to be very comfortable there; y
ou’re going to be all right. And I’ll visit you very, very soon.’

  One final kiss on her forehead and I go back down the steps and blow a kiss as the nurse closes the rear doors of the ambulance.

  Why am I not braver? Why am I not braver?

  Only now do the tears fall properly, as very slowly the ambulance pulls away.

  I watch. A child again, watching Mum leave the playground when I was small, wanting to run after her. I’m back in that piano exam, Mum’s voice a whisper in my ear. I’m arriving back in England after the horror of my time with Alex – Mum in the arrival hall at the airport. That same smile in her eyes. It’s going to be all right . . .

  I watch the ambulance get smaller and smaller and feel my nails squeezing into my palms. I wish I could travel with her but Matthew agrees this is best. Safest.

  Everyone thinks that any more stalking and tailing is unlikely, which is why Matthew’s not booked to watch my back today. Tom – in a complete panic after my mother’s video was posted – offered to book Matthew every single day until the whole investigation is resolved but I don’t want that. I’ve had enough of it all . . .

  It’s Thursday. Alex is now in custody.

  He’s the prime suspect for the stalking. And prime suspect for sending the ‘gift’ of the pot plant with the hidden camera. The footage was eventually taken down after police intervention, but not before it had appeared not just on Twitter but on Facebook and Instagram too.

  I take in a deep breath as I remember the messages from Leanne’s friends. Have you seen this? It looks like your mum.

  I try to imagine Alex in the interview room facing DI Sanders.

  Will he buckle? Is it him?

  Is it finally over?

  CHAPTER 40

  MATTHEW

  Matthew flips three small pancakes with a metal spatula. It’s forbidden – metal implement in a non-stick pan – but Sally’s not here to police him. The pancakes are a good colour. They’re also small and thick; American-style – the kind he and his daughter love best.