by J. A. Baker
‘You know where I am if you change your mind, Rachel.’
She tries to stop herself from turning around to see him one last time but can’t. She needs to do it, just to confirm what her gut instinct is telling her – that he is a duplicitous individual, saccharine sweet on the outside but poisonous within. And she is right. Keith is leaning back in the chair as if he hasn’t got a care in the world, a nauseatingly twee smile plastered across his face. He picks up his phone, waves it in the air to remind her of how to get in touch should she change her mind, and then gives her a casual wink. That manner, those eyes with that look that almost sucked her into his revolting little world before chewing her up and spitting her out once he has had enough. She almost fell for it. Dear God, he almost had her there.
Clenching her fists until her nails dig into her palms, making her wince with the pain, she spins around, storms through the door and slams it hard behind her.
43
Chloe
I see her everywhere – sitting in cars behind me, standing in bus stops, waiting in queues at the checkout. She’s everywhere I go, a face in the crowd, a flutter in my belly, a spear in my heart. My pulse quickens, my chest constricts, I find it hard to breathe, to stay upright, and then I realise that it isn’t her, that it can’t be her because Leah is dead, her body buried deep in the ground. She is no longer a threat to either me or Jacob. We’re safe. So why do I still feel so frightened? Perhaps it’s because she stalked us for such a long time that she became an integral part of our lives, an unwanted presence we simply couldn’t shake.
Leah was the reason I kept my flat. We figured that if she was outside my, more often than not, empty flat, then at least she wasn’t outside Jacob’s, bothering us. Had we only had the one place then her energy would have been focused on us there, day after day after day. We would have woken to see her standing there, staring in, a dead look in her eyes, her face creased with envy and malice. I used to dread looking out of the window, wondering if she would be there, watching. Waiting.
Part of me feels sorry for her, just a tiny part of my overstretched emotions that is, as I know that she had nobody and was disturbed and lonely. The remainder of me is still terrified of her. She may be dead but her face still haunts me, stopping me from sleeping at night, filtering into my thoughts and reminding me of how close I came to death. Reminding me of how precious life is. How precious our lives are – Jacob’s and mine.
I should have locked the door that day. I know that now, and that is another thing that stops me from sleeping, from getting my life back on track and living it to the full. Jacob had left for the week to attend a conference just north of Edinburgh and I was busy and tired. I had had a demanding week at work and tiredness made me lackadaisical. It was an oversight and one I will have to live with for the rest of my life. I can’t change my mistake any more than Leah could have changed her behaviour. We are what we are and it is now time to stop punishing myself and forge ahead with the rest of my life.
I’m seeing a counsellor, hoping it will stop the nightmares and help me to sleep again. Leah standing there in the bathroom is a vision I don’t seem to be able to erase, but I’m trying. Julia is my counsellor and seeing her always fills me with a mixture of emotions, a tension of opposites that always feels like I’m putting my emotions through the shredder, forcing me to work through that event until I reach the other end, a less frightened person, ready to move on. Talking through it helps to lighten the load, but it also means I have to relive it, to remember the fear and the pain, the terror that I was going to die. I have to remember that I thought I was going to be murdered in my bed by a frenzied woman who thought of me as an imposter in her imaginary life when all the while it was she who was the intruder in mine.
It took the police some time to work out her identity after she was pulled out of the train wreckage. She had with her my handbag and my purse with my credit cards and driving licence. They assumed I was dead and contacted Jacob while I was in hospital fighting for my life. I almost died twice in one day.
Many thoughts went through my head as I lay there unable to fight off her blows. Why was she doing it? Who would find me? How it would feel as I drew my last breath, that final gasp of oxygen before I departed this life and disappeared into an empty endless pool of blackness beyond. That moment will never leave me, of that I’m sure – the pain – which was bad enough – and the unknown future. No amount of counselling will erase it.
But I’m pleased to say that I survived and I’m still here telling the tale.
I do often wonder what went through Leah’s head as she lay dying in that train carriage. Did she think of me and what she had done? Or did she simply slip away from this life into another without any regrets or reflection, hoping I was dead? People often say that your life flashes before your eyes before you die which makes me wonder about Leah and what she saw before she passed away. I like to think that she had grave misgivings about my attack and was sorry but I suppose I’ll never know. She was a deeply disturbed woman, detached enough from reality to be able to distance herself from her actions.
I knew Leah was slightly off-kilter but never in a million years did I think her unbalanced enough to try and murder me. Even as she held me captive, I harboured thoughts of her setting me free, threatening me with all kinds of punishments if I dared to report her to the police. I was naïve enough to think she had a shred of empathy and compassion. Obviously, I was wrong.
I’m a psychology teacher. I like to think I should have been able to read her, make some connection or gain an insight into how she thought or what motivated her and save myself, but it wasn’t to be. Terror rendered me helpless. I did fight back but my failed attempts enraged her all the more and, in the end, I was at her mercy, surviving purely by chance. I was unconscious for two weeks and by the time I came to, the police had already established what had taken place. Despite her clean-up attempts, her DNA was all over the flat. I guess I’m lucky she died otherwise I would be spending the rest of my life looking over my shoulder, always wondering if she will be coming back to finish what she started.
The police investigation didn’t take too long to complete. Despite them initially thinking that it was a bungled burglary, finding the purse helped point them in the right direction. They more or less knew who had done it before I regained consciousness and could identify her as my assailant. Jacob told them about Leah and the forensic team soon confirmed what he already knew to be true.
Once the DNA results came back, everything fell into place. When I say ‘fell into place’, some parts of the investigation still baffle me. The police found mounds of incriminating evidence at her old flat to back up our accounts of Leah’s stalking of us. Her landlady had bagged up her belongings after evicting her and fortunately they were still outside under a large shrub in the back garden. Even knowing how unbalanced she was, some of the things they told us made my skin prickle.
It was as if she had written about both of our lives in reverse. There was one account that left me reeling. DC Ingram asked me about a purported assault at Jacob’s birthday party. No such incident ever took place.
What really troubled me about her words was the fact that on that night, I thought that I had spotted Leah, standing in the doorway of the pub, watching us, but when I checked again, she had gone. I put it down to the excitement of the event and the three glasses of wine I had downed in rapid succession after a stressful afternoon of organising the delivery of the cake while I decorated the back room of our local pub.
I wonder if she was so far gone in her delusions that she actually believed her version of events; or was it no more than a fantasy world she had fashioned where she could create her own desires and outcomes? I guess we’ll never know.
There were so many of these fantasy episodes written in her diary that after a while I asked the police to stop talking. Thinking about it made me bone weary. I had thought Leah was just a sad lonely individual when in fact, she was so much more th
an that. So much more.
The papers have had a field day with the story – the suspect killed in a major train accident after leaving the victim close to death. It doesn’t get much better than that, does it? The public love that sort of stuff and for a good while, Leah’s face was on every front page, on every television channel, her dark-eyed stare and sullen countenance piercing my thoughts. Jacob did his best to protect me from it but I wanted to read about it, to watch it until my head hurt, to stare at her pictures if only to convince myself that she really was dead. It gave some finality to the attack and my own near-death experience.
I’ve been fortunate in many respects. I have recovered, not fully, but I can get out and about with Jacob’s assistance and I consider myself lucky that I’ve got him in my life, something Leah always desired and never had. I’m hoping to get back to work once my physiotherapy sessions are over and I can walk unassisted. I suffered traumatic brain injury, or TBI as my doctor calls it. I have some disequilibrium issues and suffer bouts of dizziness but they will pass in time.
The psychological problems, however, may never leave. My mind keeps roving back to that day, forever reminding me of how my carelessness almost cost me my life. I keep telling myself that she would have found a way in regardless. That’s just how she was. She would have knocked, I would have opened the door and she would have forced her way in. Her previous behaviour gave us an indication that something terrible was imminent. She was a loose cannon and it would have happened anyway. I tell myself that to stop the endless rounds of self-inflicted punishments I continually put myself through.
The mistake she made was sending that rogue text to Jacob. He knew immediately that something was wrong and drove straight home. Had it not been for him coming back early, I would have been left there to rot. She’ll never know it, but her message saved my life. I would now be dead and she would have succeeded.
I have a lot to look forward to. Jacob and I are getting married later this year and I’m going out looking at dresses this week. My confidence is finally growing now my facial wounds have healed. The scars are still visible but time will play its part and I’m hoping that by the time I walk down the aisle they will be hardly noticeable.
The doctors worked miracles on my fractured skull and broken nose. Bones are solid and soon fuse back together but skin is far harder to fix. By the time Leah had done her worst, I was unrecognisable with two black eyes and an atlas of scars criss-crossing my face.
It’s ironic that Leah’s mad attempt to split us up actually brought Jacob and me closer together. We have survived a massive trauma and nothing can now come between us.
I’ve had an offer on my flat which I have accepted. We’re also selling this place once I’m well enough to move. Somewhere with a garden and a spare bedroom would do us nicely. Maybe one day we’ll have kids but not just yet. I need to learn how to look after myself and make sure I’m fit and healthy again before I consider looking after somebody else.
There’s another thing that has changed in my life and it’s not something Jacob entirely approves of. Once a week or thereabouts, I speak with Chrissie and Ralph, Leah’s poor forlorn parents. After hearing about their lives, what they have endured, I capitulated and met up with them.
They had asked Jacob and the police if they could see me to apologise and try to make up for what their daughter did to me. I don’t mind admitting that I was initially nervous and extremely reluctant but after giving it much thought, I relented and am so glad I did. It’s not your average friendship, borne out of hate and tragedy and near murder, but it works. It’s asymmetric and unorthodox but deeply cathartic for all of us, I think, like a kind of restorative justice. We sometimes meet in the park, a neutral area that holds no bitter or unwanted memories for any of us, and we just chat. Sometimes we walk.
When I say ‘walk’ it’s more of a hobble for me. Ralph often takes my arm and helps me along. As he does it, I want to scream to the sky above, to ask Leah if she knew how fortunate she was to have these wonderful caring people in her life. Strangely enough, apart from their initial apology, we don’t talk about Leah at all. I think it’s too big a topic for any of us to tackle. How do you even begin to cover such a subject? Far easier to avoid it altogether. Instead, we chat about gardening, Ralph’s love of roses and Chrissie’s need for a new hobby. I’ve told her that when I’m feeling better, we should visit the local theatre. I’ve always loved going there and when I mentioned it, Chrissie’s face lit up. She so rarely smiles that it made me jump, and also gave me something to work towards. I’ve made her a promise and am not about to let her down. When I’m not up to leaving the house, we speak on the phone and that works just as well for us. It’s the contact that I crave, the solidity of speaking to someone who suffered at her hands, just as I did. I know that sounds strange and I can’t begin to explain it. All I know is that it works for the three of us and that’s what counts.
I have changed irrevocably for sure. Whether she intended it or not, Leah has done me a favour. She has altered my trajectory and changed my outlook. She has made me more appreciative of life in general. I live my life afresh every day, appreciating every little bit of sunshine, every glimpse of blue sky. Even dreary grey days make me glad to be alive. Winter is simply a colder extension of summer.
I’m just delighted to be me, to be here, breathing the same air as my love, seeing his handsome face every morning when I open my eyes.
‘Right, you ready?’ Jacob hands me my walking stick and stands back, pretending to look elsewhere, knowing how I hate being given assistance. It makes me feel like somebody’s nan, having him place his arm under mine and haul me upright. I need to learn to do it myself. Got to get my limbs working properly. Leah will not be the ruin of me, of that I am certain.
I do my best to not groan or make any sounds as I force my weary bones into position. There are days when I feel well enough to walk independently and then others when I feel like the Tin Man deprived of oil. I’m not going to lie and say that everything is hunky-dory because it isn’t, but we’re getting there. I am nothing if not determined. Resilience is my middle name. It has worked its way under my skin, and is nestled deep inside me, pushing me on each and every day.
‘I’m ready,’ I say, my hand clutched tightly around the stick, my knuckles white with the effort.
We’ve come for a drive in the car to the North Yorkshire moors. The last two weeks haven’t been so good. I’ve only managed to chat on the phone with Chrissie and Ralph rather than meet up with them, and with Jacob being out at work, I was going stir crazy sitting in the house on my own, hour after hour, day after day. I needed to see the greenery, to hear the birdsong above me, to see the cerulean sky and feel the air as it whistles around me, past me, over me. Being immersed in the elements reminds me that I’m alive, that Leah didn’t get her way and kill me off. She made me stronger. Her attempts to end me have given me a new lease of life.
‘Right,’ I murmur determinedly as I link my free arm through Jacob’s and look up at him. ‘Let’s see if we can make it to that small hillock, shall we?’
The landscape is magical, swathes of heather and velvety moss stretching as far as the eye can see, curling over the hilltops and across the distant horizon. Nature at its finest, surrounding us on all sides.
‘C’mon,’ I laugh, leaning on my stick and grinning at him. ‘Race you to the top.’
We set off at a lick, the wind gathering in strength, invisible fingers of air, guiding us, pushing at our backs as we laugh and head across the rugged terrain.
THE END
Acknowledgements
Writing a book is hard work, there’s no denying it but it’s a little-known fact that writing acknowledgements is almost as tricky (although a lot less time consuming and fewer bouts of uncontrollable weeping). There are so many people out there who, over the years, have supported me and helped me in my dream to become a published author that it’s difficult to know where to start.
I w
ill begin close to home and say a big thank you to my family and friends who have been there for me every step of the way, allowing me the time and space to write, regularly enquiring about my latest endeavours – ‘How’s it going?’ ‘When’s the next book coming out?’ ‘I don’t know how you do it! So many books!’ – your comments are always welcome. If I shrug my shoulders and give a quick reply, it means I’m at the end of writing my latest novel and too exhausted to think straight. My dismissive response has no bearing on your questions! Give me a week away from my characters (and a glass or eight of Prosecco) and I’ll be able to answer coherently and not be the bumbling wreck standing before you who can barely string a sentence together.
As always, a huge thank you to everyone at Bloodhound Books – Fred Freeman, Betsy Reavley, Heather Fitt, Tara Lyons, Alexina Golding, Clare Law, my editor, for her sage and welcome advice, and of course the publicity team who work hard to make sure my books get noticed and sell.
Since being published with Bloodhound Books I have made some good friends – Anita Waller and Patricia Dixon – thank you for being there when I repeatedly message you with my worries and questions. You guys are ace; a pair of stalwart ladies I am lucky enough to have as friends. Also, Vikki Patis – thank you for all your support. You are a star. Thank you to Stuart James (Dunne) for your many retweets. You’ve taught me more about Twitter in the last few months than I learnt on my own in the past few years. Keri Beevis and Valerie Keogh, you are the cogs that keep us Bloodhound authors moving with your support and publicity day shares. Diamonds, the pair of you. So many names to mention that if I’ve forgotten to include somebody, I apologise! We are a great team and you are all brilliant.
