Payback

by Gemma Rogers

  My heart thumped so hard I thought it would burst out of my chest to get free. The door separating the kitchen to the stairs was ajar and it was one I always closed, without fail. The front door at the bottom of the stairs, that led out to the street, was wooden and needed replacing; I’d been looking at getting a new PVC one, I was plagued by draughts. It became so bad, I screwed excluders onto the bottom of the inner door to keep the heat in. A new front door was on my list of things to do, another problem I hadn’t got around to fixing. The agency always seemed to come first, the flat above lagging.

  I could see into the kitchen, through the sliver of the open door, the shadows of the chairs enlarged like giants against the cabinets. At first glance everything looked as it should. I was expecting to find the place turned upside down, my personal effects pulled out of drawers and cupboards, spilling onto the floor. But nothing seemed as though it had been moved. Had I been burgled? Cold sweat pooled at the arch of my back as I crouched at the top of the stairs, listening for any movement. Covering the screen, I waited for my eyes to adjust to the darkness. I should go back downstairs and call the police. Wait outside for them to arrive. But what if they took ages? What if it was me that hadn’t shut the door properly?

  My hair sparked with electricity, rippling down my neck like dominoes as I continued to look through the crack in the door. I remained crouched for a few minutes, it seemed like an age, but I heard nothing. I had to decide: either I retreated and called the police, or I ventured out into the open. Did I really believe someone was in here with me? I positioned my keys through each of my fingers and clenched them into a fist. If someone did attack me, they’d be getting a fistful of metal in their face.

  I uncovered the torch and stepped into the kitchen, trying the light switch, but that too was dead. I started to tremble, imagining a man in a balaclava cutting my wires, but this wasn’t a movie. A wave of foreboding washed over me. I had to check the fuse box.

  I turned, heading to the next staircase which led to the bedrooms. Beneath was a cupboard which housed the fuse box. I trod on a floorboard that groaned underfoot and paused mid-step, straining my ears. No sounds gave away the hiding place of my intruder. Imaginary or not.

  The cupboard door creaked when I pulled it open, every sound amplified. Was the flat giving me up? Shining the light on the fuse box, I saw everything had tripped out, all the switches were in the wrong position. The last time that had happened, the power shower and the washing machine were both running when Mum had used the toaster. Unless someone had broken in to have a wash whilst making toast, I had to assume it had been tripped on purpose.

  I pulled the main switch down and light flooded in around me, stinging my eyes. Yellow orbs blinded my vision.

  I checked every room, for the second time in so many days, starting to feel stupid. Was it me? Had I left the door open? I couldn’t find any evidence that anyone had been inside my home. Nothing apparent was taken, no cards or messages left, or rats thankfully. No additional crosses on any of my photographs.

  I talked myself out of calling the police. I could imagine the call.

  ‘What’s your emergency?’

  ‘Sorry but I think someone has broken into my flat and tripped my main fuse.’

  ‘Has anything been taken?’

  ‘No but I feel a bit scared and I can’t remember if it was me or not.’

  They would think I’d lost the plot and I would be inclined to agree with them.

  I poured a large glass of wine; it was a bit early for me to be drinking, but I needed one to steady my nerves. The adrenaline coursing through my system took a while to retreat, my muscles continued to twitch, ready to run.

  The flat was too quiet, even with the television on. I wanted noise to drown out the silence which was oppressive, but not so much I wouldn’t be able to hear someone sneaking around. If indeed someone had been, which I was beginning to question now. But I couldn’t be going mad. Someone had been in the flat before; someone had marked the photograph. Maybe they’d left another warning, but I was yet to find it?

  My muscles stiffened. I was no longer safe in the place that was supposed to be my sanctuary. I was so preoccupied, I jumped when my phone bleeped. It was a text from James.

  Are you up to anything?

  * * *

  Nope.

  I couldn’t pretend I wasn’t hoping he’d come and rescue me from this nightmare.

  Can I come over?

  * * *

  Sure

  * * *

  Are you above the estate agents?

  * * *

  I am indeed.

  * * *

  Okay see you soon x

  I had a quick five-minute shower and changed my clothes My shoulders already feeling looser knowing I was no longer going to be alone.

  When James arrived, I’d managed a brief tidy and lit some candles. When I opened the door he looked grave, like the weight of the world was on his shoulders. He gave me a quick kiss on the cheek before stepping past me and up the stairs two at a time. Once in the kitchen, he didn’t pause, taking off his coat and putting it on the back of the chair.

  ‘How are you?’ I asked, knowing something was wrong.

  ‘Okay, you?’

  ‘Yeah, I think so, what’s up, has something happened?’

  James pulled an envelope from his jean pocket, the paper curved where he’d been sitting on it. I knew what it was before he’d even slipped the card out to show me. The handwriting on the front easily recognisable. It was the same card I’d received, right down to the design of blood-red cherries on the front.

  James passed me the card and I opened it.

  Who did you fuck at the party, James?

  My hand flew to my mouth, but it didn’t stop the gasp escaping from my lips. This one seemed more venomous than mine. It was personalised for a start, targeted.

  James stared at me, his eyes searching mine, reading on my face what I couldn’t help but give away. ‘You know what this is about?’

  ‘I got one too,’ I said, turning to retrieve it from the drawer I had tossed it in the day it arrived.

  James took his time, looking at the card, placing mine and his side by side, examining every inch. Deep lines engraved on his forehead as he frowned down at the table. ‘When did it come?’

  ‘Two weeks ago, today, I think. Yes, the weekend before the funeral. It was put through the door of the office, I found it on Sunday morning.’ I retrieved my laptop from the sideboard, powering it on. On the fridge, I had stuck the business card of the security company who had installed the camera. ‘I’ve got a camera at the front. I don’t know why I didn’t think of it at the time,’ I said, shaking my head.

  James dragged his chair over and we were side by side waiting impatiently for the laptop to stop whirring. He smelt of cigarettes and it made me crave one.

  I found the website and logged on with my unique password, able to select past recordings that had been saved into the cloud. I started with two Saturdays ago, after we closed, clicking fast-forward and seeing people whizz past the screen. We watched for a minute and it was around eleven when the figure came. They were only on screen for five or so seconds, pushing the envelope through the door before hurrying away.

  ‘Can you slow it down?’ James said, leaning over to take control of the touchpad.

  James managed to freeze the image, but all we could see was a person wearing a black hoody, face concealed and dark trousers. Nothing distinguishable about them at all.

  ‘Because of the angle, you can’t see how tall or what build they are, everyone looks kind of small.’

  I nodded, taking a large mouthful of wine before remembering my manners. ‘Do you want a glass?’

  ‘Sure, I’ll have one please,’ James replied.

  I filled a clean glass and sat back down, recounting the events leading up to the card. About the first note, the rat and how I believed someone had been inside my flat. I showed him the photo on the fridge, now w
ith the cross over Gareth’s face.

  ‘Why didn’t you call me?’ he asked, resting his hand on my arm.

  ‘I don’t know, I guess I’ve been hoping it’ll just go away.’

  ‘I don’t understand what it’s all about?’ James admitted, rubbing his forehead.

  ‘Me neither, but if it’s to do with that night, it has to be one of us who was there.’

  Saying out loud what had been consuming my thoughts for the past few days weaved a chill down to my toes. Everything felt numb. Why would my friends do this to me? I bounced my leg under the table. My nerves jittery, even with James here I felt ill at ease. For all I knew he could be behind this? It could just as easily be Becca or Robyn, maybe they’d just been playing along when I met them earlier? Perhaps they were all in it together? No, I was being paranoid, but I couldn’t deny that I knew nothing now about the friends I was so close to back then. I hadn’t seen Mark or Elliot either, could they be behind it? In fact the only one I knew it couldn’t possibly be was Gareth, unless he was doing it from beyond the grave. Even I wasn’t crazy enough to believe that. As my mind churned over a million possibilities, a deeply unsettling thought came to me. What if Gareth’s death wasn’t really an accident at all?

  16

  September 2018

  ‘What if it’s Hayley?’ James drained his glass.

  ‘Why would it be Hayley?’ I ignored the twinge of guilt for contemplating the same thing.

  ‘Why would it be any of us?’ James retorted.

  He was right, the whole thing made no sense, but if he’d received a card, had the others too? Was someone playing with all of us, or just me and James?

  James helped himself to another glass of wine from the bottle. He’d had too much to drive. Did he assume he’d be staying over? I wouldn’t complain, I wanted the company. ‘I’m just thinking. Do you remember that night?’

  ‘Of course,’ I replied. Surely everyone remembered when they lost their virginity?

  ‘Something happened between Hayley and Gareth, do you remember? We couldn’t find them afterwards. Did she ever tell you?’

  ‘No, she didn’t. I didn’t push her on it and Gareth wouldn’t tell me either. But I don’t think anything happened, that’s the point. But even if something had, it doesn’t explain why she’d wait until now. Plus, why would it be my fault?’ It sounded like a whine; I hadn’t meant it to come out like that, but why was I being singled out?

  ‘Because I seem to remember it was your idea,’ James said, a smile spreading across his face.

  I leant into him, craving the safety of his embrace. Sensing how I was feeling he planted his lips on mine, his stubble tickling my skin. What started out as the briefest of touches morphed into a kiss that ignited the desire I’d felt for James after Gareth’s funeral. We left everything where it was and slipped upstairs to bed.

  On Sunday morning, a dog barking woke us late and James nipped out to the supermarket when he realised my cupboards were empty. Ten minutes later, he was back, and we snuggled up, eating croissants and watching reruns of Friends on my tiny television. Flakes of pastry scattered amongst the sheets; Mum would have had a coronary. Spiteful notes and intruders were forgotten, if only for the moment. I could get used to waking beside someone, a warm body next to mine. Chasing the demons away. It made me feel safer. James seemed more at ease this morning too, the lines ingrained into his forehead had all but disappeared overnight. However, it was clear he’d been mulling things over and I had to refrain from groaning when he raised the subject again.

  ‘I think the next thing to do is find out if Becca, Robyn or Mark have had any cards or letters. If they have, then we need to go to the police.’

  I rolled my eyes. ‘And say what? We’re being tormented because of a virginity party, which, by the way, officer, was my idea. Oh, and it was over twenty years ago?’ I shook my head. Going to the police was a last resort. I couldn’t involve the police, not yet. Nothing much had happened other than the rat. It felt like I was making a big deal out of nothing. I could handle a few notes if there were no more uninvited visitors to my home. Perhaps it was time to invest in that new front door?

  ‘What about someone getting inside the flat?’ James said, incredulous at my nonchalance.

  ‘Well, I can’t say for sure anyone did,’ I admitted, although someone had removed my hallway bulb, but I didn’t volunteer that.

  ‘Okay, fine, but you said the photo, Gareth being crossed out, happened here?’

  Did it? I couldn’t be sure of anything any more. Was I going mad?

  ‘Let’s see how it goes. We can ask the others when we meet if they’ve had anything,’ I offered.

  James grimaced, reluctantly letting it go.

  He left before lunch and we arranged to go for dinner midweek. I wasn’t sure if this was turning into something permanent, but for the moment I was enjoying spending time with him. James was as smart and intense as I remembered, however now he seemed more comfortable in his own skin. Weren’t we all though? At fifteen going on sixteen, it was hard to know who you were or even who you wanted to be. He’d filled out, still tall and lean but now broad-shouldered, his blue eyes haunting like dark lakes. They made my blood rush in all directions and it was strange. An attraction had grown that was never there when we were young. Mum would be thrilled to learn I’d started seeing someone again, especially someone I’d hung out with as a kid.

  I arrived at my parents as lunch was being served. Mum was banging around in the kitchen as I walked in, the sound of plates clanging together.

  ‘I wasn’t sure you were coming,’ Mum berated, but she warmed up as I helped lay the table and we sang along to Queen on Magic FM.

  Over lunch, we swapped stories of what we’d all been up to that week. Mum’s knee seemed to be better, the rest had done it good and she was now moving around freely. They’d been to the cinema in Crawley the night before to see A Simple Favour and Mum was raving about how good it was. Perhaps I’d ask James to watch it with me.

  I told them I’d seen James again. Mum couldn’t wipe the smile off her face. I could hear her clock ticking for grandchildren louder than my own. I didn’t want to get her hopes up.

  Dad wanted help changing their home insurance as it was approaching renewal, so I helped him get a few quotes once we’d washed up. He wasn’t a massive fan of computers or the internet and it didn’t take long. It was nice to do something easy, mundane even. Taking my mind off of what was going on. I couldn’t tell my parents about it; I had no idea where to start and I didn’t want to alarm them when it could be nothing.

  Back at the flat, it was too quiet. I wished I could forward time to Monday morning. Everyone else would be clinging onto what was left of their weekend but I just wanted to bury my head in work and focus on what I could control. My phone sprung to life around six. I’d taken to jumping around three feet in the air every time it made a sound. It was a Surrey number I recognised. A panting Liz from Graham Jackson Solicitors was at the other end.

  ‘Sophie, I’m so glad I caught you. Sorry to bother you on a Sunday, but that completion for Brampton Road is due tomorrow; I’ve just realised I’m missing the planning permission from the file. Can you dig it out and send it over?’

  I told Liz it would be with her in ten minutes. Gary was dealing with Brampton Road and it was due to complete last Friday, but there was an issue with someone higher in the chain and their ability to release funds.

  I headed into the office. We have a filing system; a large set of metal drawers with hanging files, one for each property in alphabetical order. Only the Brampton file wasn’t where it was supposed to be.

  ‘Fuck’s sake Gary,’ I cursed, searching his desk. We also had a clean-desk policy that Gary had obviously forgotten; designed for weekends, so nothing would be left on view from the street. I tried his desk drawers, but they were locked. Sighing, I rummaged through his pencil pot, as that’s where I hid my desk key. Bingo. I found the key and got into the dra
wer. The Brampton file had been chucked on top of a bunch of papers. I pulled it out and flicked through, finding the planning permission certificate easily. Two minutes later, I’d scanned it and sent it to Liz before returning the file back to the cabinet.

  As I slid Gary’s drawer closed, something caught my eye at the bottom of the pile. A card, with something red and round on the front. I slid it out. It was identical to the one James and I received. I opened it, but the inside was blank.

  Was Gary sending the cards? Why would he do that? What did Gary have to gain? Did he even know James? Why would he send a card to him?

  I put the card back, a knot forming in my stomach. Debating on what to do next. Should I confront him or wait? Maybe I could catch him in the act?

  Was there anything else? I moved the papers around, feeling like a child with my hand in the biscuit tin. It was silly, I owned the place and everything in it, but I would normally always respect someone’s privacy. The idea of anyone rummaging through my things made my skin crawl.

  Purely by chance, I spotted the flyer, a crude printout on everyday white paper, not glossy weighted stock I used for leaflets. It was a home-made job. Sell your house with WHITES in thick red letters. I could have knocked up the same thing in five minutes on Microsoft Word. Was this the leaflet Mrs Davidson was talking about? Gary had taken on 32 Park Lane, had he been dropping flyers? It made little sense as he’d barely started when Mrs Davidson came in to complain and she said she’d been getting them through her door every day. I slipped the flyer into my pocket and got to my feet.