Payback

by Gemma Rogers

  Flopping down on the grass, the only ones in the park, Gareth’s hands trembled as he pulled an open packet of twenty cigarettes from his bag and handed one to each of us. Even Hayley took one, and I hadn’t seen her smoke for ages. Sometimes we smoked, when Robyn could pinch a couple of cigarettes from her mum or if we could get served at the corner shop, which wasn’t often. It wasn’t because any of us really enjoyed it, but I sensed we were all relieved to have a delay in proceedings. I hadn’t seen Gareth smoke before, but I didn’t want to bring it up around his mates. The packet was open, perhaps he’d had one on the way here?

  Gareth lit each cigarette in turn with his yellow disposable lighter and Mark opened the 20/20 and began passing it around. Swigging from the bottle and wiping the top with our sleeves before handing it over. It tasted disgusting, sweet and sickly, but we carried on, alternating between that and the Malibu.

  ‘Where did you get a pack of twenty?’ Becca asked, gawping.

  ‘My brother bought them for me. Well, for us.’

  ‘You didn’t tell him, did you?’ I hissed, my legs juddering as I sucked in the smoke.

  Gareth took a while to answer.

  ‘No,’

  I could tell he was lying but didn’t want to push him in front of the others. I knew the girls would cause a scene. Knowing Craig, he probably threatened to beat the shit out of Gareth until he spilt his guts. He was such a dickhead. I just had to hope Craig would keep his mouth shut.

  Twenty minutes later, we got to our feet, all slightly unsteady, and made the short walk to Park Lane; easing open the garden gate so it didn’t screech and slipping inside the garden one by one. Once inside we were sheltered from view by the surrounding six-foot fence but kept our voices low. I wasn’t sure who the neighbours were, and I didn’t want to attract any attention, so I told everyone to duck out of sight down the side of the house as I opened the back door.

  When we went in, it was eerie, our footsteps echoed on the linoleum floor. We stood, crammed into the kitchen, it was quite dark inside, a massive apple tree blocked out the light from the window.

  Gareth pulled out his torch and the rest of us followed suit. Pointing them at the floor so we were stood in a puddle of light.

  ‘How are we going to do this then?’ Mark asked.

  ‘Well, first you’re going to get your little wiener out,’ Elliot began, and everyone laughed.

  Mark punched him on the arm, and he winced.

  ‘Shut it four-eyes.’

  Boys would be boys.

  ‘Keep your voices down,’ Robyn hissed.

  I cleared my throat. ‘Us girls are going to pick a room. I’ve numbered them all. I’m going to give you lot a number and you go into the room with the corresponding number. Make sense? No one knows who will be waiting in what room, or who will be coming in. It’s completely random. Okay? That way it’s fair,’ I said.

  I was so convincing, I almost believed myself, but it wasn’t true. I’d already spoken to Hayley, Becca and Robyn on the phone earlier and told them what room they needed to go into. I was going in room one, the main bedroom upstairs. Becca was going in bedroom number two and Robyn the box room, which would be number three. Hayley was going to stay downstairs in the den, which was going to be number four. I didn’t want to use the lounge, I remembered it was huge, but the window looked out onto the road and there was a street lamp which shone straight in. The den was better, off the dining room, at the back of the house. It was smaller, cosy and out of sight.

  ‘No one tells anyone right,’ Becca ordered, and we all nodded in agreement.

  ‘Right, go and choose a room,’ I said to the girls, ‘three upstairs and one down here remember.’ I glanced around at Becca, Hayley and Robyn and I could see, even in the shadows, the fear etched on their faces.

  They shuffled out of the kitchen, not a word spoken between them. My heart pounded so hard I could hear it hammering in my ears. The boys looked at me expectantly. I fished in my pockets for the bits of paper I’d numbered earlier. My hands quivered, and I coughed, trying to remember what order I had to hand them out in. My mind raced. How I was going to do it without it being obvious the pairs had already been chosen? I looked at the boys, lingering on Elliot’s face. Could I go through with it? I froze, rooted to the spot, my hand half out of my pocket.

  ‘It’s okay, give me the paper, I’ll pass them out.’ Gareth reached for my hand, but I snatched it away.

  ‘No, it’s fine. I’m just… Never mind,’ I said. I looked again at the group before me. Realising I could hand the pieces of paper out backwards, as they were standing in reverse order. Sighing with relief, I gave Gareth the slip marked number four, James the one marked three, Mark number two and Elliot number one.

  ‘Right, I guess I’ll go then.’ I turned to leave, but James cut in.

  ‘Hang on, we don’t know what room is what number,’ he said.

  I smacked my palm on my forehead. ‘Yeah, sorry. You’re right. One is the main bedroom upstairs, at the front of the house. Two is the second largest bedroom, at the back of the house, and three is the box room, next to the bathroom. Number four is the den, which is through there,’ I waved towards the dark archway leading out of the kitchen.

  They started to disperse, and I made to go, but Gareth caught my hand, signalling the lads to go on ahead. We stood, alone in the dark kitchen. I could hear the boys stumbling up the stairs and giggling in the dark.

  ‘What number are you?’ Gareth asked.

  ‘I’m in room one,’ I whispered, aware Gareth was still holding on to my hand.

  He turned the paper towards the light and saw the four scrawled on it in thick black pen.

  ‘I wanted you,’ he whispered, his shoulders slumped.

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  Gareth leant forward and his lips brushed mine until I eased him away.

  ‘I’m sorry. I have to go,’ I said, blinking back tears as I climbed the stairs in the dark.

  12

  September 2018

  My mind fuzzy with alcohol, it took a second for the realisation to hit. I stared at the photo on the fridge door. Trying to absorb the pen mark across Gareth’s face. Before I had a chance to react, Hope’s phone beeped.

  ‘Taxi’s here.’ She jumped up and I started to walk her out, down the stairwell, but she reassured me she’d be fine and would see herself out.

  I stayed where I was, rooted to the spot, staring around the kitchen, then back to the photo. The door slammed downstairs. Hope had gone but someone had been in my flat.

  My breathing quickened and I scuttled down the stairs to check the door for damage; there was none. Someone had been in here. How had they got in? I double-locked the door. My brain whirled, looping around in circles. I tore through the flat, turning on lights in each room, searching every potential hiding space to ensure I was alone. Once I was satisfied no one was hiding, ready to jump out when I least expected it, I returned to the kitchen and chucked the remaining toast in the bin, my appetite vanished.

  The photo was in the same spot I’d put it earlier on the fridge. I scooted over to look closer, reluctant to touch it. When I’d got back from St. Albans, around three in the afternoon, I’d unpacked my overnight bag and put the photo back in its place. There was no marker pen on it then, I would have noticed. Had Gareth been crossed out because he’d died?

  The cards, the phone call, those weren’t pranks. Someone was trying to get to me. The photographed proved it. What had I done? What point were they trying to make? If they were trying to unsettle me, they were succeeding. Did someone have a vendetta against me? Surely this couldn’t all be centred around the first time I had sex?

  Attempts at sleep were futile, my heart spluttered every time I heard the tiniest noise. The flat was old, pipes gurgled, floorboards creaked. Sounds that never bothered me before now grated on my fragile nerves. Even with my alcohol content topped up from the night before coursing around my system, I struggled to relax. I was overtired and
overwrought. Sleep didn’t come until the sun started to rise and the shadows were chased away.

  When I woke late on Sunday, I sent messages via Facebook again to Becca and Robyn. I didn’t want to contact James in case I came across too keen. If James had received a card or a note, I was sure he’d have mentioned it. We spent hours talking, reminiscing about our adolescence and what we used to get up to, but the party wasn’t mentioned. I had to know if I was the only one being targeted. We were all there after all and if I was the target, I wanted to know why?

  After a long shower I checked my phone, Becca had messaged back:

  Sorry, Sophie, it’s been manic. We’re great thanks, living in Hove now. Would love to meet up. Have you got in touch with Hayley and Robyn too? x

  I quickly typed a message back:

  That would be great, no not heard back from Robyn and have no idea where Hayley lives now. Have you been in touch with her? x

  I waited a while for the reply, a stab of jealously when it came. Becca said she would nudge Robyn as they’d kept in touch, but she hadn’t heard from Hayley either. We arranged to meet next weekend, place to be confirmed but somewhere central for all of us. I had no idea where Robyn lived.

  Had I ignored either of them reaching out over the years? I was sure I hadn’t. I couldn’t complain, I hadn’t made an effort either, until now.

  I called my mum to let her know I wouldn’t be coming for lunch and gave her a rundown of the funeral. She was a bit short with me because she’d bought a joint of beef from Tesco, but I couldn’t face eating. I promised I’d pop in during the week.

  As soon as I hung up, my phone rang again, another withheld number and I was reluctant to answer. Curiosity got the better of me, though, and I slid my finger across the screen, selecting the speakerphone option. A crackling sound burst from the phone.

  ‘Hello?’ I said, hearing my voice echo.

  ‘Sophie, she was the one. I was crazy about her back then.’ A cough like last time and a click, but this time I didn’t hear the elongated drone that told me the line had gone dead.

  ‘Who is this? What do you want?’ I strained to listen for any clues. I heard faint, muffled breathing. I leant closer to the phone, there was another click.

  The man’s voice spoke again, so loud I reeled backwards, rocking my chair on two legs. ‘It was a laugh, kids’ stuff. It didn’t mean anything.’

  I closed my eyes, filtering the voice in my head, but even though it seemed familiar, I couldn’t place it.

  The caller hung up. I wished I’d set my phone to record so I could play it back. Next time I would.

  What did he mean by kids’ stuff? That night at the house? I gritted my teeth. Who was fucking with me? Cowards. Why not come out with it and face me?

  After the anger subsided, I decided the best course of action was to carry on as normal. It was the same with bullies – the best way to ward them off was to appear as though you didn’t care and, if someone was watching me, that was what they’d see. I tried to ignore the nagging doubt in the back of my mind, though, that things were going to get worse.

  On Monday morning, I opened the office as though nothing was playing on my mind. An offer came in early that morning from the family that viewed 32 Park Lane. It was much more sensible than the one from the property developer, but I asked Gary to try and push for a bit more if we could. It was a gamble, but most buyers expected to negotiate; it was unusual these days for a first offer to be accepted off the bat. However much I wanted rid of that property, I owed it to Mrs Davidson to get the most money for her that I could.

  ‘How were you yesterday?’ Hope asked, cornering me in the kitchen when I made the first round of tea.

  ‘Not too bad, what about you?’

  She rolled her eyes before answering. ‘I felt hideous, didn’t get out of my bed all day.’

  I handed Hope her tea and carried the tray back into the main office, filling Frank and Hope in on the developments on Park Lane.

  ‘Gary, how’s that bungalow going? Any offers there?’ As I finished the question, his phone rang, and he raised a finger to indicate one offer before talking into the handset. ‘Hopefully it’ll be a good week,’ I said brightly and retired to my desk where I could remove the mask.

  Frank popped in a while later, bringing me another tea and a slice of fruit cake that Diane had made over the weekend. It was delicious and for a while I forgot about the messages, letting them fall to the back of my mind. I was probably overanalysing anyway.

  Robyn sent a message mid-morning. My Facebook account had never been so active. I noticed, as I scrolled through my timeline, that Becca and Mark had a joint Facebook account; their profile picture was from their wedding day. Who’d have known all those years ago that those two would get married?

  Robyn could meet on Saturday, she suggested Crawley would be a good place, so I booked a table for three at the Hillside pub for lunch. She said she hadn’t been able to track Hayley down either.

  It wouldn’t be all of us together and it was a shame we couldn’t get hold of Hayley but I was looking forward to Saturday, to catch up with the girls and see how they’d changed. I was keen to offload to them about what was going on. No one else would understand. Maybe they would have some ideas who was behind it and most importantly why?

  Work was busy, and it was good to keep myself distracted. I carried on working late after the office closed on Monday, and on Tuesday I went to my parents for dinner. Anything to keep out of the flat. I felt uneasy whenever I was there although I couldn’t put my finger on why. Mum and Dad wanted to hear more about the funeral, and I told them I’d seen James. I didn’t go into detail as to how much of James I saw, of course. Mum was pleased I was meeting with Becca and Robyn at the weekend and asked me to send them her love.

  Around lunchtime on Wednesday, I was having a chat with Frank in the main office regarding a property we were finding hard to shift when the bell clanged announcing a customer. I turned, face ready with my most welcoming smile, to see James standing in the doorway.

  ‘Can I help you?’ Hope moved swiftly between us as my mouth dropped open.

  ‘Umm, I came to see Sophie,’ he said, stepping around her as she looked at me quizzically.

  ‘Hi,’ I said, aware the whole office was watching our awkward exchange. A flush began to creep up my neck.

  ‘I was in the area; thought you might fancy a spot of lunch?’

  ‘Sure,’ I said after a short pause, trying to rein in the smile that was blossoming on my face. Whisking my coat off the stand and grabbing my handbag, I hurried to the door, eager to leave for somewhere I didn’t feel all eyes on me.

  ‘See you in a bit,’ Frank said with a knowing smile.

  13

  September 2018

  James sat across from me, the Formica table reflecting his image as he lifted his toasted sandwich and took a bite. I’d chosen the café over the pub, in case any colleagues popped in. Their faces were a mix of shock and amusement when James had walked in. Frank and Lucy had swapped looks. They’d never known a man to come in to see me specifically before. Not unless he was complaining.

  ‘I wasn’t really in the area,’ he said, averting his gaze.

  ‘Oh?’ I laughed, pulling my sandwich apart and watching the melted cheese drip onto the plate. My appetite waning.

  ‘I didn’t take your number,’ he admitted, shaking his head at his own stupidity. I beamed; his honesty was refreshing. I wasn’t sure whether I would see him again after Gareth’s funeral, but I was pleased he’d got in touch. James met my gaze and matched my smile with his own. Any awkwardness between us dispelled.

  ‘I should have asked for yours,’ I replied before taking a bite of my sandwich.

  I wasn’t sure whether to tell him about the notes and phone call now we were sober. It dawned on me the reason I was reluctant was because I didn’t want to ruin it. I was fed up with keeping people at arm’s-length. James’s eyes were kind, he had stubble today which l
eft him looking a little rugged.

  I told James I was meeting Robyn and Becca at the weekend and perhaps we should organise a get-together for all of us, Mark and James too. Although Elliot might be a bit of a stretch. James seemed happy to go along with it.

  We talked about the deadline he had, the reason why he’d left in such a hurry. Slogging through hours of writing fuelled by coffee when he got back home on Saturday. An hour and a half flew by and there were no awkward silences, even without alcohol.

  ‘It’s been good to see you again. Let’s go for dinner sometime?’ I said, my face glowing like a beacon. Sod it, I was going to be brave.

  Thankfully James didn’t leave me hanging. He fumbled with his phone and keys, dropping them on the floor as we stood to leave. ‘Dinner would be great. One evening next week perhaps?’

  I nodded, trying to act cool but failing miserably, my grin stretching across my face like a Cheshire cat.

  James paid for lunch at the counter and we swapped numbers before he walked me back to the agency, giving me a brief kiss on the cheek goodbye.

  I floated back to my desk, ignoring the smile on Frank’s face and the wink he gave me as I passed. He looked like a proud father who had seen his daughter off to prom.

  ‘Sophie, I’ve got to nip to the post office and send these documents, won’t be long,’ Hope called before rushing out of the door like a whirlwind.

  ‘Sure,’ I called after her, the bell jangling. I was already scrolling through James’s photos on Facebook on my phone.

  Later on, Gary came to update me on the latest developments. Mrs Davidson had accepted the Baron’s second offer, five thousand pounds higher than the first, and the bungalow offer had also been accepted. It appeared to have been a successful day all round and I insisted we went to the pub after work for celebratory drinks.