Payback

by Gemma Rogers

  A surge of annoyance stung me like a wasp. I should be revelling in this milestone, reliving the evening in my head and marvelling at how well I handled my first sexual experience. Instead I was worrying about them, but there was nothing I could do now.

  I set my alarm for five in the morning. I had to return the key for Park Lane back to my dad’s desk and I knew he wouldn’t be up for work until seven. It gave me plenty of time to put the key back and get to sleep before the sun rose.

  My legs twitched, nerves firing, sending unwanted signals around my system. None of which were compatible with sleep. I rolled onto my side, stretching out. Powerless to do anything tonight, I had to wait until tomorrow, but I couldn’t shift the lingering feeling of dread. Something bad had happened and, whatever it was, it was all my fault.

  19

  October 2018

  My hands shook and I laid them flat on my desk to keep them still. Someone was impersonating Gareth, using him to get to me. Why? What had I done? Mum said there was another car involved in Gareth’s death. Was it on purpose? Have they found that vehicle? So many questions whirled around my head.

  I waited impatiently for everyone to leave so I could do some investigating of my own. Before they did, I endured an excruciating conversation with Gary who came to see if I was all right before he went. He must have thought I’d had an episode of sorts or was on the way to a breakdown. I had to explain that someone was leaving me strange messages, but I played it down, so he thought I was more frustrated than scared. He didn’t pry but asked if he could help, which was sweet. I gratefully declined, the fewer people knew, the better. I wasn’t one to air my dirty laundry in public.

  Once everyone had left for the day and I’d locked up, I called my mum. She spent ten minutes telling me about the picturesque pub her and Dad found today, where they’d stopped in for a ploughman’s. Retirement sounded like a dream! In the end, I had to interrupt for fear of being there all night.

  ‘Mum, I wanted to talk to you about Gareth. What did Sue tell you about how he died?’

  Mum paused to remember. I could almost hear her brain whirring from here. ‘She said he’d been run off the road by a Volkswagen going around a bend and they hadn’t caught the driver.’

  ‘Do you know if that’s still the case?’ I asked, hoping there might have been a development.

  ‘No, well, I haven’t heard anything, but I haven’t spoken to Sue this week. Listen, do you want to bring that nice James to lunch on Sunday?’ I rolled my eyes, sure an invite to my parents’ for Sunday lunch would frighten him off.

  ‘I’ll see what he’s doing, Mum.’

  I spent another five minutes giving her instructions on how to log on to the email account I’d set up for her a few months ago so she could send some old photos of Gareth to Sue, before I said goodbye.

  Outside, it was dark and chilly, since October had arrived the temperature had plummeted and we’d gone from having the air con on to the heating. I disliked sitting in the office when it was dark outside – you were on full display to the street. They could see in, but you couldn’t see out. Illuminated like a Christmas tree for your every move to be watched, although there wasn’t much footfall past the office after six o’clock. It gave me the shivers. At least in the winter, when the sun set earlier, I wasn’t there alone.

  I opened a search engine and typed in Gareth Dixon. Numerous hits dotted the screen but not what I was looking for. I typed in Gareth Dixon – death – Volkswagen and got a hit straight away from the St. Albans Review, a local paper. The article was reporting the initial crash, that a man had died, and police wanted to speak to the driver of a blue Volkswagen. I’d seen that before. I scrolled down, but there was no further information. Nothing I didn’t already know. I switched off my machine and stood to collect my things.

  Suddenly there was a loud crash into the glass of the front window, causing it to shake and me to stumble back into my chair. The noise reverberated around the office. How it didn’t shatter, I don’t know. I stared out into the darkness, unable to see anything. I unlocked the door to go outside and investigate, the bell jangling over the thudding of my heart, which echoed in my ears. The light outside was fading, not yet completely dark, but I couldn’t see anyone around. The road was empty. On the pavement lay a water balloon, which I guess someone had thrown at the window hoping it would burst.

  ‘Fucking kids,’ I muttered, picking it up. Before realising it was a condom.

  I wrinkled my nose and held it at arm’s-length as I went back inside, locking the door behind me. I stabbed the condom in the kitchen sink to release the liquid and tossed the disgusting thing in the bin, washing my hands twice. No one had ever thrown anything at the office before and Halloween was three weeks away. Had it been meant for me?

  I hurried back to my computer and logged onto the camera out front. Slowing down the footage, you could see the condom crash into the window, but whoever had thrown it had been too far away and out of shot. I had no doubt that I was the intended target and my insides coiled up tight.

  I wanted to get out of there, out of view, so I quickly shut down my computer and headed upstairs, locking the back door to the office and checking the flat’s front door was locked too. Shit, I’d forgotten to ring the glaziers about getting a replacement. It would have to wait until tomorrow.

  As I shoved a prepared pack of hunter’s chicken in the oven, I dialled James. He answered straight away.

  ‘Hello, gorgeous.’

  I grinned at his greeting. ‘Boy, am I glad to hear your voice.’

  ‘Shit day?’

  I proceeded to tell James about the delivery of flowers and the water-filled condom thrown at the window whilst I was working late.

  ‘Why would they give Gareth’s name when sending the flowers, why not just anonymously?’

  ‘I don’t know, probably because they guessed I might ask the florist? Whoever did it wanted me to know. It’s made me think Gareth’s death might not have been an accident.’

  ‘It was an accident,’ James said in a voice so stern it sounded like it wasn’t up for discussion.

  ‘What do you mean?’ His tone had got my back up. I kicked off my high heels, one of them bouncing off the fridge. What did he know that I didn’t?

  James sighed down the phone. ‘His mum told me the inquest reported that he was twice over the legal alcohol limit. Yes, maybe there was another car involved, but if anything, it sounds like it was more a case of leaving the scene of an accident than attempted murder. Gareth was driving drunk; the other car may have had nothing to do with it at all.’

  My gut heaved as though I’d been punched, the wind knocked out of me. How close were Gareth and James?

  ‘I haven’t seen that reported in the press?’

  ‘Have you been digging?’ he asked. I remained quiet, unsure how to respond, but James continued. ‘Jim knows the editor of the local paper, they used to go banger racing or something when they were kids. He asked him to keep it out of the article.’ James sounded exasperated.

  I rubbed the back of my neck. Now wasn’t the time to mention finding the cards and flyer in Gary’s desk. I was positive it wasn’t him; well, almost positive. Instead, I changed the subject, which James took as a welcome relief, telling me about his meeting in London with an editor to review an idea for a book he wanted to write. I invited him for dinner on Wednesday, I’d cook steak and asked him if he could fix some deadbolts to a couple of doors.

  ‘I’ll bring my drill then.’ I didn’t fail to notice his sarcasm. Had I overstepped the mark?

  ‘You don’t have to, I can ask Frank to loan me his drill,’ I retorted, a little stung. Frank would have done it for me if I’d asked, without hesitation.

  ‘I was joking, Soph, of course I’ll do it. For steak I’d do almost anything.’

  On Wednesday, James arrived, drill in hand, and I couldn’t help but giggle when I answered the door.

  ‘What?’ he said, pretending to be offended,
looking himself up and down.

  ‘You look like you’re about to star in a porn film. All you need is a tash!’ I doubled over laughing, the glass of wine I’d had already taking effect.

  ‘Maybe I am.’ James wiggled his eyebrows and struck a sexy pose which made my side hurt

  We had a lovely meal, I’d managed to cook the steaks to perfection, served with chunky chips and onion rings. We sat back, our stomachs full, talking about our terrible tastes in music. He loved classic eighties rock and my guilty pleasure was cheesy pop.

  ‘I’m serious, S Club 7 were my favourite band.’

  I snorted. I hadn’t laughed so much in ages, my jaw ached. I hadn’t realised how stressed I’d been.

  ‘Right, let me get the drilling done before I have another glass, otherwise I’ll put a hole in my hand,’ James said, covering his glass as I went to refill it. I’d had three already and had forgotten about the deadbolts.

  We hadn’t talked about Gareth or the messages and it felt nice to have an evening without it being on my mind. James bringing up the deadbolts reminded me why I needed them. A dark cloud drifted overhead, tainting our time together.

  James started to descend the steps to the front door.

  ‘You don’t have to worry about that one?’

  ‘Why not?’ He turned, drill raised like he was 007.

  ‘I’m getting a new UPVC front door tomorrow.’

  ‘Oh okay.’ James frowned up from the gloomy stairwell.

  ‘What’s wrong with getting a new door?’

  ‘Nothing, just this one is kind of fitting with the period features.’ James tapped the stained beam above his head that featured throughout the flat. He traipsed up the stairs, marking where the deadbolt was going on the internal door which led into the kitchen.

  ‘But you’re right to get a new one, safety first and all that.’ He started to drill, and I felt my shoulders loosen a little. Once the new door was fitted, if someone wanted to get into the flat, they’d have to go through two doors, one with a deadbolt.

  Once he’d finished, we got through a second bottle of wine and went to bed. James was happy to stay over as he didn’t have a lot on the next day. He’d written most of his column and was waiting on it being signed off.

  In the middle of the night, around two a.m., I woke thinking I’d heard a noise somewhere in the flat. Disorientated, I sat up, James oblivious to my movement. Had I heard something or was it James’s snoring that had woken me? He sounded like a train; it wasn’t something I was used to.

  I climbed out of bed, trying not to disturb him, mouth gaping like a fish struggling for air, and slipped down to the kitchen. I switched on the under-cupboard lights, enough to give out a dull glow, and filled a glass with water before sitting at the table.

  I could hear James above my head, the rhythmic sound getting louder with each snore. His phone lay on the table, discarded as we’d made our way to bed a few hours earlier. Eyeing it curiously, I felt a pinch of conscience as I reached for it. Feeling its weight in my hand. I bit my lip. Did I want to go down this road? Did I want to pry into James’s life? The answer was no, but I had to be sure about him.

  I pressed the screen to see if it was on. It came to life, illuminating the room and stinging my eyes. Unable to get past the home screen which requested the passcode or thumbprint, I pushed it away. A twinge of guilt made my stomach clench. I wasn’t usually such a snooper. My eyes strayed to his wallet on the side with his keys. I wasn’t sure what I was hoping to find, but once the idea took hold, I couldn’t stop myself.

  20

  October 2018

  I flicked open the wallet, the creased black leather bulging. Comforted by James’s snoring upstairs and no longer irritated; the last thing I wanted was to be caught going through his things. What did that make me? It wasn’t the most honest way to start a relationship and I didn’t really think he was behind any of it, but once I’d looked, I’d be able to put it out of my mind. I liked him, I really liked him, and we got on well. Maybe, in time, things could get serious between us?

  There was nothing in the card holder that caused me concern. All the credit and debit cards were in his name. No membership cards to any dodgy fetish clubs or strip bars. There were a few receipts, nothing of any relevance at first, until I found a photo which made my heart lurch. It was of James, his arm wrapped around a beautiful redhead, laughing at whoever was taking the picture. They both looked so happy and my chest twinged.

  I turned the photo over and saw H2013 on the back written in blue biro; 2013 was obvious, but who was H? I looked again at the photo. Could it be Hayley? I struggled to remember what colour eyes Hayley had. Were they green or grey? The woman in the photo had green eyes, pale skin and freckles across her nose. It could easily have been Hayley, she was a redhead, but I couldn’t be positive. The nose didn’t seem right, though. I remembered Hayley’s being larger and more roman in shape; but we were fifteen and still growing into our faces back then. Would I ever be able to make James as happy as he looked there?

  I bit down on my molars, rocking my jaw from side to side. I knew James had a younger sister. I thought her name was Maria or Marie, but she was blonde and around nine years younger than us. The girl in the photo looked the same age as James, and I didn’t see much of a resemblance to convince me they were siblings.

  I closed my eyes, trying to picture the last time I saw Hayley. Wearing a nun’s costume of all things. The four of us slow dancing to Robbie Williams at the Halloween party, drunk on spiked punch. The more I looked, the more I didn’t believe it was Hayley in the photo, although the initial H had me doubting myself. If it was Hayley, it meant James had been lying about not having seen her. I had no idea what he’d done since 1997. We hadn’t really talked about it. It was still early days, we were getting to know each other, and I didn’t want to seem like I was prying but now I wondered if he had any skeletons he was hiding.

  I sat back in the chair, sighing, wafting the photo in front of me. Suddenly the silence seemed to swallow me up. James wasn’t snoring any more. The drone in the background had been replaced by a thudding of floorboards overhead. My fingers fumbled as I stuffed the photo back into the wallet and folded it closed, jumping up from the table and banging my ankle on the table leg. Ouch, shit! No idea if I’d put it back into the right compartment, but there was no time to check.

  ‘You okay?’ James’s voice came from behind me as I rinsed my glass at the sink. He wrapped a warm arm around my waist and planted a kiss on my neck.

  ‘I am now,’ I replied as James pressed his groin into my behind and I felt a surge of desire. I turned around to face him, standing in only his boxer shorts. ‘I wanted to get a drink and I kept thinking I could hear noises,’ I admitted with a nervous giggle.

  ‘Come back to bed,’ he said with a grin and led me back upstairs.

  The glaziers fitted the new door in less than an hour. The wooden one was ripped out and replaced by a bright red composite door with a diamond-shaped pane of frosted glass. It was only when I stood by the door, it hit me how badly fitted the old one was. To be fair, it had been our front door for as long as I could remember, over thirty years. I couldn’t feel any draughts coming from the outside with the new door closed and I hoped my heating bill would show a difference over the coming months. The most important thing, though, was safety, I had a new key and a five-point locking system. No one was coming into my home without being invited now.

  I hadn’t asked James about the photograph. How could I without admitting I’d been going through his things? I desperately wanted to trust him. When we were together, he was kind and funny with a caring side to him I hadn’t seen in school. But I was keeping more and more from him, unable to be sure whom I could trust. I had no one to talk to, no one to confide in.

  Hope picked up on my low mood that afternoon. She insisted we all went for a drink to celebrate her first sale. It was a two-bed flat by the park and she’d got an offer accepted from a first-time
buyer who commuted into London. Her excitement was palpable, and she bounced around the office like a puppy. The buzz of a sale made the whole office buoyant. I was happy for the distraction and the excuse to buy the team a few drinks after work.

  ‘So, you and this fella getting serious then?’ she asked, her words taking on a slur. Hope had demolished half a bottle of wine in an hour and was motoring her way through her fourth glass. I’d abandoned trying to pace myself, watching the others get rowdier. Phil, the landlord, was used to it.

  ‘Well, not serious as such, but it’s going all right. What about you, I never asked, have you got a boyfriend?’

  ‘God no. I can’t fucking stand men,’ Hope shrieked and burst out laughing.

  I was taken aback at her ferocity. She sounded like she truly meant it.

  Gary piped up, coming to the defence of the male population and how the world wouldn’t exist without them.

  Frank took his chance and made his excuses to leave. I rolled my eyes at him, in a ‘what the hell am I still doing here’ expression.

  ‘Enjoy,’ he whispered, kissing me on the head before disappearing out of the door. He’d told me before, he was ‘getting too old for this shit’.

  ‘Are you into girls then?’ Gary sniggered into his glass.

  Without hesitation, Hope threw the remnants of her wine in his lap. Thankfully there wasn’t a lot in the glass, but I jumped between them, fearing Gary would blow.

  ‘Right, I think that’s enough, time to call it a day,’ I said, handing Gary a napkin.

  He ignored me, pushing past Hope, knocking the table as he went. Our glasses wobbled and Gary’s half-full pint sloshed over the side. He grabbed his jacket and strode out of the pub. I was sure I heard him mutter ‘crazy bitch’ under his breath as he went.