So Talk to Me

by Marina Johnson

  I sort of felt relieved for a minute when I thought I was too late, it would have been the perfect get out and I could forget this stupid idea and not do this.

  But I had to be sure in my own mind so I walked up the alleyway at the back of the houses, counting them as I walked; checked that I had the right house and slipped in through the back gate, which luckily for me was open. Or unluckily. I closed the gate as quietly as I could and prayed that he wasn’t looking out of the window; or that he chose that minute to come out of the back door. I could see the dustbin was still next to the back door, and wondered if he wouldn’t bother putting it out at all and then I’ll have wasted my time.

  But I’m going to wait a bit longer, now I’m here. I shiver. I have my Parka on with the hood up but it’s bitterly cold and damp and my feet are freezing. I want to stamp my feet and flap my arms around to keep warm but I daren’t. I look at my watch again; I’ve only been here ten minutes but it feels like forever.

  Am I mad? I think maybe I am going a little mad.

  In the quietness I hear the sound of a door being opened and I slowly peer around the shed to see a figure coming out of the back door. He grabs the handle of the wheelie bin and trundles it towards me. I press myself back against the shed and hold my breath, not trusting myself to breathe quietly. I hear the squeak of the gate as it’s opened and the sound of the bin being rolled through into the alley way.

  He’ll have to go along the alley and take it around to the front of the house so I have a few minutes now before he comes back. No one bothers to lock their door when they put the bin out, do they? What’s the point when they’ll only be a few minutes.

  I force my feet to move and I come out from my hiding place, carefully holding the ladder so it doesn’t clatter and then I sprint down the garden path and into the house. The back door opens straight into the kitchen and I dash inside and pause for a moment; I need to think quickly because I don’t have long until he comes back. The kitchen is small and basic, a few base and wall cupboards, a washing machine, cooker and fridge; there’s nowhere to hide in here.

  I run through the door into a hallway, the front door is at the end and the lounge opens off it to the side. I look in the lounge for somewhere to hide; there’s a large sofa in front of the bay window, a massive television on a chipped pine unit and a rickety table with four mismatched chairs around it.

  Click.

  The sound of the backdoor being opened.

  A horrifying thought hits me; did I leave the back door in the same position as he left it? I have no idea and it’s too late now.

  I tiptoe over to the sofa and squeeze between the back of the sofa and the bay window and crouch down and hold my breath.

  I hear the sound of the back door being closed and locked.

  Silence, then the heavy thump of footsteps going up the stairs.

  More silence.

  I can hear him walking around upstairs and then the sound of footsteps coming down the stairs. I wonder if he’s here in the lounge; I can’t hear his footsteps because of the carpet. I clap my hand over my mouth, because I’m so scared I think I might start crying.

  I feel almost dizzy with relief when I hear the sound of the front door being unlocked, opened, then closed and locked.

  I wait and let my breath out slowly and silently.

  I look at my watch and decide that I’ll wait ten minutes to make sure he’s gone before I move.

  Ten minutes crawl by and I wait ten minutes more.

  I’m too scared to move, almost paralysed with fear.

  What if he comes back?

  I can’t stay here can I? I force myself to move and immerge from my hiding place. If he comes back I’ll hear him and have time to hide or get out, so stop being so dramatic, Sparkes.

  I decide to start upstairs.

  At the top of the stairs there are two bedrooms, one either side of the stairs. I go into the front one first which has a double bed, a battered chest of drawers and a rickety wooden dining chair. The wardrobe is basically an alcove with a striped curtain across instead of a door. I pull the curtain aside and search through his clothes. I’m careful to leave everything as I find it. Hangers full of trousers, shirts, shoes jumbled on the floor. All the normal things you’d expect to find in a wardrobe, nothing more. I have a moment of excitement when I spy an old shoe box tucked underneath the bed. I stretch my hand under the bed and pull it out and my heart is racing when I open it to reveal a pair of battered trainers. Well, what did I expect?

  The second bedroom is full of junk; a couple of suitcases, an empty box from the television in the lounge; cardboard boxes with books, magazines, CDs and DVDs tossed in them. This house feels unlived in and unloved, it doesn’t feel like a home, more just a place to sleep. It’s cold, too.

  I don’t spend long in the bathroom; a horrible green bath, faded white in places with a green sink and toilet. I open the mirrored bathroom cabinet on the wall above the sink to find a razor, a toothbrush, toothpaste, deodorant. I close the door and my own reflection stares back at me; pale faced and hollow eyed from lack of sleep.

  What am I doing? My reflection asks.

  I come back along the landing and down the narrow, threadbare carpeted stairs. I can’t get warm and I can’t wait to get out of here and go home.

  The kitchen is so small and basic that there’s nowhere to hide anything. I open one cupboard to be confronted by cans: baked beans, spaghetti, soup, pies in a tin and half a white sliced loaf sitting on top of them. The cupboard next to it: four dinner plates, two cups and one bowl. I search the cupboard under the sink: a bottle of washing up liquid and an empty bottle of bleach.

  The fridge holds a container of margarine, a slab of cheese and a pint of milk.

  Nothing.

  I feel depressed; not just at the lack of finding anything but at the state of the house. Who lives like this? I experience a moment of pity and then tell myself not to be so stupid.

  I search the lounge and find nothing, what did I expect, seriously? I’m starting to feel a bit foolish now. Am I wrong? Have I got it all wrong? Have I made a terrible mistake? Have I misjudged him entirely?

  No. I know I haven’t.

  I zip up my Parka and check the rooms to make sure I’ve left no trace of my visit. I’ll slip out of the back door and no one will ever know that I’ve been here; he’ll never know.

  Except that I can’t find the key to the back door, a solid, white plastic door that can’t be opened without a key. I pull open the kitchen drawers one after the other; one holds cheap cutlery, the other, threadbare tea towels.

  A frantic search of the kitchen reveals what I’ve already guessed; no key. Okay, I’ll just have to go out of the front door and hope that a nosey neighbour isn’t watching.

  Which is when I discover that there’s no key for the front door either.

  I’m locked in.

  There must be a window I can climb out of but I check the lounge and kitchen and they’re all locked too. This is the shabbiest, most basic house imaginable but it has new plastic windows and doors that are impossible to open unless you have the key. I go back upstairs and check the bedrooms for a key but there’s nothing. A small window in the bathroom is open which I could probably just about get through but without a ladder how would I get down? Why did I think this was such a great idea at half-past-five this morning?

  I stand looking at the street through the grubby net curtains of the lounge window. I know I have no choice and I’ll never hear the end of it, but I’ll have to ring Biro. I look at my watch, 9:45. I just hope he hasn’t left for college yet. I press the call button and he picks up on the third ring.

  ‘Yo! You alright mate?’

  ‘No. Where are you?’

  ‘Eh? Just leaving for college, why?’

  ‘I need your help.’

  ‘What’s happened?’

  I quickly tell him where I am and how I’m locked in.

  ‘You’re WHERE?’ he shouts at me in
shock. ‘WHY?’

  ‘I’ll explain later, just come now and help me get out. I can climb out of the bathroom window. There’s a ladder down the side of the shed. Put it up to the window and I’ll climb out.’

  ‘Okay, be there in a minute. You’ve got some fucking explaining to do.’

  Relief floods me ‘Thanks, Biro, you’re the best.’

  ‘I’m at the end of the street. Be there in a couple of minutes.’

  ‘Okay.’ I’m about to hang up when I see a car pull up outside the house. I don’t recognise the car but I know the person inside it. I don’t understand why he’s come back? I didn’t think he’d be home for hours.

  ‘Biro! He’s back! He’s outside the house!’ I whisper into the phone.

  ‘Fuck! Stay out of sight and hide.’ He kills the call.

  I drop down to the floor before he sees me through the window and crawl back into my hiding place behind the sofa. My heart is pounding, what am I going to do? I’m trapped.

  I hear the sound of a key in the lock and the front door being opened and closed. And locked.

  This is it; I can’t get out now. Talk yourself out of this, Sparkes.

  What am I going to do?

  I hear the sound of him coming into the lounge when there’s a sudden loud banging on the front door and non-stop ringing of the doorbell. The footsteps falter, then stop for a moment.

  I hold my breath.

  The banging gets even louder and the footsteps fade and go back out into the hallway and I hear the door being unlocked and yanked open.

  ‘WHAT?’

  ‘Hey, mate. I’ve just seen a couple of lads going into your back garden. Looked like they were up to no good.’ It’s Biro’s voice. He’s almost shouting.

  ‘What? When was this?’ He sounds annoyed.

  ‘Just now. I’ll come and have a look with you.’ I hear Biro’s voice get even louder and it sounds like he’s pushed his way into the hallway.

  ‘Hey. Hang on...’

  I peek around the side of the sofa to see Biro clomping down the hall to the kitchen. ‘Can’t be too careful these days...’ he shouts, and I hear the rattle of the back-door handle. ‘If you open this, we could have a look.’

  ‘Look, thanks for telling me but there’s no need to barge into my house.’ Adam’s voice is coming from the kitchen too.

  ‘Sorry mate,’ Biro says loudly. ‘We’ll just have a look and I’ll be off.’

  I listen with my breath held and hear the rattle of a bunch of keys, he must be opening the back door. It’s now or never.

  I creep out from behind the sofa and tiptoe across the lounge to the doorway where I pause for a moment. I can see the front door is ajar and I make a run for it and slip into the hallway and out of the front door. I run down the street as fast as I can and I don’t stop running until I’m three streets away. I stand doubled over with my hands on my knees gulping for air and trying to catch my breath.

  I searched the house and found nothing and nearly missed what was right there in front of me the whole time.

  The last Christmas present I gave Mum was a scarf; pink, shot through with blue swirls and Robins, her favourite bird, scattered all over. Mum had lots of scarves but that was her favourite and she wore it loads. After she died, we never saw that scarf again; Dad thought Mum was wearing it the day she died but he wasn’t sure and he tortured himself about that too; the fact that he couldn’t remember exactly what she was wearing that day. I told him; why should you remember? It was just a day like any other, we didn’t know what was going to happen. We never got any of Mum’s belongings back after her death; everything had been destroyed by the train so we never knew if she was wearing it or not.

  But she couldn’t have been wearing it.

  Because as I ran out of Adam’s house, I saw that scarf.

  It was hanging on a peg in the hallway.

  Chapter 24

  Josie

  I sit and wait at a table in Joey’s Cafe, not far from the Rise, the local common, waiting for Biro to arrive. It’s cheap, sort of cheerful and always smells of a mixture of fried eggs and coffee.

  I take a sip of my hot chocolate but it tastes of nothing; I think my taste buds are in shock and not working. I trace the brown swirls on the table with my finger and try to process what’s just happened. Biro texted to say he’d meet me here and I’m just starting to get worried that he’s not coming when the door flies open and he comes in on a blast of cold air. He shoves the door shut with a bang and glances at me unsmilingly then walks past me to the counter. I hear him ordering his drink then he clomps over and sits down opposite me. The thought pops into my head that he never does anything quietly and I have to stifle a hysterical giggle.

  ‘You okay?’ I say.

  ‘No. What,’ he leans forward and lowers his voice, ‘The fuck, were you doing in his house?’

  I stare at him dumbly unable to think of anything I can say that would make any sort of sense.

  ‘He’s not stupid, when I knocked at the door, he knew I was up to something but he didn’t know what, just kept saying he knew me, that I looked familiar. I said I just have one of those faces but I could tell he didn’t believe me.’ Biro is frowning so hard I think he’s going to go cross eyed. ‘He practically threw me out of the front door.’

  I continue to stare then draw a shaky breath. ‘You were right all along, Biro. You were right about him.’

  We’re interrupted by Joey putting Biro’s cappuccino in front of him on the table. We wait until he’s out of earshot.

  ‘He’s a weirdo,’ says Biro quietly. ‘I know that, but that doesn’t explain what you were doing breaking into his house.’

  ‘I didn’t break in, I slipped in when he was putting his bin out and then I was locked in because you need a key to get out.’

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about so tell me it all, from the beginning.’

  ‘I never told you about my Mum being stalked, did I?’ I say.

  Biro looks shocked. ‘Stalked? No.’

  I tell him about the months of phone calls, the secret codes and the birthday card.

  ‘What’s this got to do with Adam?’ I think he’s guessed, he just wants me to confirm it.

  ‘It’s him. He dropped his notebook on the floor in my counselling session on Tuesday and I picked it up. I didn’t realise straight away. When I saw his writing in the notebook, I knew it was him. It’s the same writing as the birthday card that was sent to Mum.’

  Biro looks at me in disbelief. ‘And you broke into his house on the strength of a birthday card ? You didn’t think he might just have similar writing? You saw that card a long, long time ago. Once. I can’t believe you broke into his house on the strength of some fucking handwriting that may or may not be his.’

  Biro’s voice is getting louder and Joey glances over at us with a frown.

  ‘Mate, really?’ Biro whispers. ‘Really ?’

  ‘I have an eidetic memory,’ I say.

  He looks at me blankly.

  ‘Photographic. I have a photographic memory. I only need to see stuff once and I remember it.’

  ‘Yeah,’ he says, unconvinced. ‘But he could just have the same writing, it’s not proof is it? Fuck me, Josie, it hardly warrants a bit of breaking and entering, does it? What did you think you’d find? Photos of your mum plastered all over the walls or something?’

  I don’t know what I expected to find; all I know is that once I’d remembered, I was sure, absolutely certain. I had no proof at all and I’ve surprised myself with how certain I am, how ready I am to believe the worst of Adam.

  When I thought the very best of him.

  ‘No, it’s not proof,’ I say. ‘And I was seriously doubting myself when I didn’t find anything, starting to think that maybe I’d got it all wrong. But then I saw the scarf.’

  Biro listens while I tell him about the scarf.

  ‘Now do you believe me?’ If he doesn’t believe me, I have no hope that anyon
e else will. Am I going mad? Am I imagining things?

  ‘Yeah I do believe you, but others might not.’

  I feel a rush of relief.

  ‘Because, er...’ Biro hesitates, ‘The fact that you’re having counselling and have had problems could go against you.’

  ‘I know.’ I fight back tears. ‘People will think I’m mental.’

  ‘Which is why we need proof.’

  ‘I know.’ It’s unlikely that anyone is going to believe me. I wouldn’t believe me.

  ‘So, how do we prove it?’

  ‘I don’t know. But that’s not all of it.’ I feel despondent and foolish.

  Biro narrows his eyes and looks at me.

  ‘I thought I was in love with Adam.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘And I thought he was in love with me.’ I look down at the table as a tear rolls down my cheek and I brush it angrily away.

  ‘But now I don’t know what’s going on. Why would he do that to me? Did he know who I was before the counselling? Did he plan it? Why? Why would he pretend to have feelings for me? I don’t understand any of it.’ I can’t hold it back any longer and I start to sob. Biro silently hands me a paper napkin and I blow my nose and try to compose myself. ‘I’m just a stupid idiot,’ I snivel.

  ‘No, you’re not. He groomed you.’

  ‘No he didn’t. I’m not a kid.’

  ‘Yes, he did,’ Biro says angrily. ‘He’s supposed to be helping you and he used his position to take advantage of you.’

  ‘Nothing’s happened.’

  Biro looks at me.

  ‘Sexually, I mean.’

  ‘Would have done though, wouldn’t it? Bastard. Bloke’s a sicko, like I always said. Something up with him. He needs to be stopped.’

  ‘How? I can’t exactly tell anyone that I’ve been in his house, can I?’

  ‘You can at least report him for inappropriate behaviour, counsellors aren’t supposed to behave like that.’

  I don’t know what to do. There’s no proof, apart from Mum’s scarf, and he could just say he found it in the street, it’s hardly conclusive.