‘Hello?’ the voice was gruff.
The blood swooshed loudly in her ears making it difficult to hear properly. A fist banged against the glass. How could he have tracked her down? She ran through all the people back home who could’ve let her new address slip and drew a blank; not even her closest friends knew her street name or flat number. She’d been so careful to limit the number of people she’d told about her move back to Brighton and had kept social media posts deliberately vague, never tagging or checking in her locations. Marcus’s bedroom door swung open and he shuffled out wearing boxer shorts and a Star Wars T-shirt. His hair stuck out at funny angles. Clearly, he’d just woken up. He shot Jessie a confused look as he went to pull down the latch and open the front door, to let the stranger inside.
‘No,’ she rasped softly, still Velcroed to the wall. ‘Marcus, don’t.’
The wooden chair rail which ran the length of it was digging into her back but she barely registered the pain, looking in horror as the door opened and the owner of the dark shadow moved inside. A bubble of air lodged itself in her throat.
‘I’m here to fix a broken lock?’ he grunted, presenting his toolkit like an officer’s badge.
A handyman! Jessie couldn’t move. The adrenaline that had swiftly flooded her veins was still in full effect. When it came to fight or flight, it turned out she’d managed neither and, instead, had remained frozen.
‘Not mine,’ Marcus said monotonously, giving Jessie another bewildered stare. ‘Yours, maybe?’
Yes, hers. Her bedroom lock needed replacing. That was all. This man had come to help her, not hurt her.
‘Second door on the right, just past the bathroom,’ she heard herself say, pointing at the stairs.
The man nodded and made his way in the direction of her finger. Jessie listened to each footstep pounding and getting quieter as he neared her bedroom, then the bag of tools hit the ground. He began whistling.
‘Are you okay? You’re trembling,’ Marcus said, moving back to the doorway of his dark bedroom.
His legs were very thin, almost hairless. They reminded Jessie of a bird she’d once rescued as a child and nursed back to health in a shoebox. Behind him, she could just about make out a messy desk littered with strawberry yoghurt pots – the same brand as the ones she bought – and, above it, a Bullet For My Valentine poster. Marcus obviously didn’t clean up much in there either.
‘The doorbell just made me jump,’ she replied, wiping her forehead with the back of her hand. ‘That’s all.’
‘Have you seen Lauren?’ he asked, deadpan.
Jessie swallowed, willing her brain to stop screaming and start thinking normally.
‘Not this morning. She cut her finger badly last night making dinner and we ended up in A&E until late. She’s probably sleeping in.’
Marcus looked at Jessie wearily.
‘While cooking? That seems unlikely – she more than knows what she’s doing in the kitchen.’
Confused by his remark, Jessie waited for Marcus to explain himself. What was he saying, that Lauren had cut herself on purpose? Instead, he turned away without another word and shut her out. A few moments later, she heard the sound of a guitar being tuned. Not feeling able to go back to her own room whilst the repairs were being carried out, Jessie grabbed her coat off the peg, checking her purse was still in the pocket, and headed into town, desperate to leave the flat. Now that she’d allowed some of her internal fears out into the atmosphere, it was as though she couldn’t help gulping them back in with every breath. Trapped in a vicious scaremongering loop of her own doing, she needed fresh air.
In the flat, Marcus sat on his swivel desk chair, strumming at the same set of miserable chords, never quite able to find a melody that captured his longing, or how lonely he felt in the flat without her there to talk to. He looked around at his sanctuary, at all the photos up on the walls. He especially loved that shot of her, his perfect girl, over by the bed. It showed her with her head thrown back in laughter. He missed kissing the tip of that perfectly turned-up nose, wishing with every fibre of his being that he could go back in time, to the way it used to be.
Hours later and feeling much calmer, Jessie returned to the flat laden with carrier bags. In an effort to distract herself from Matthew’s unread email, she’d ended up spending far more than planned, then deleting the email on the bus home, hoping that ignorance was bliss.
‘I’m back!’ she called out, heading towards her room to unload the bags.
Sofie and Lauren shouted a response from the lounge. Guitar sounds came from behind Marcus’s closed door. A full house, for the first time in weeks. Jessie liked the busyness of it; it felt as though some of the earlier skeletons had been tidied away for the night, overpowered by human life.
She stripped off her white duvet cover, ready to replace it with a Cath Kidston duck-egg blue one from TK Maxx. She’d wanted a calming, delicate colour, suddenly finding the white too stark. Next, she placed a newly bought cactus on the windowsill, no bigger than the size of her palm, beside a bowl of bracelets. The new lock had been fitted to her door and a key left on the dresser, which she quickly slipped onto the keyring that also contained her flat keys and ones to her parents’ place. She’d not quite managed to find the ‘right’ set of curtains to replace the oppressive dark ones, but the lighter coloured quilt already lifted the mood of the room. Things were coming together. Catching the time on her alarm clock, Jessie realised she needed to start getting ready for the evening. The rest of the home improvements would have to wait until the morning – she didn’t have long until she was supposed to meet Rob at the bar.
Soon after Jessie had left for her date, shouting a cheery goodbye on her way out, the doorbell rang for the second time that day. Lauren, who was watching a slasher movie with Sofie, heaved herself up from the sofa to answer it. Her left index finger still throbbed from the cut, so she’d settled on an easy night in front of the TV and self-medicating with wine, rather than hitting the town. How silly she’d been to cut it so deeply, she’d just meant to graze it enough so that it bled a little.
‘Ian? Hi?’
His navy BMW, a source of pride and joy, was parked the perfect distance from the kerb.
‘Mind if I come in? The landlord’s asked me to check that the handyman did an all right job on Jessie’s bedroom lock.’
He rubbed his arms to signal it was cold outside. Surely Jessie would just email Happy Homes if she’d had any problems? Then again, Lauren knew how tight her landlord was, the type always looking to save a quick buck. He was probably hoping the handyman had done a rushed job so he could avoid having to pay out. Still, it was getting late, nearing 8 o’clock.
‘Nothing better to be doing on a Saturday night?’ Lauren asked, only half-joking but stepping aside to let him in all the same.
‘Sadly not, actually,’ Ian chuckled. ‘Won’t be a minute, just need to take a few photos. May I?’
‘You’re missing the best part,’ Sofie called from the lounge. ‘He’s on his way to stab her!’
‘Coming!’ Lauren called back, before turning her attention to Ian again. ‘You know which one is Jessie’s room.’
Lauren didn’t head back to the lounge right away, instead choosing to watch Ian mount the stairs. She wasn’t keen on the thought of him being alone in Jessie’s bedroom. He seemed to be finding lots of excuses to pop by lately and they were getting flimsier every time. Unbelievable, almost, and far too frequent for her liking.
CHAPTER NINE
A mile across town, in a buzzy pub, Jessie dipped a straw into her second gin and tonic. She was still blushing from the kiss on the cheek Rob had given her on their way inside. He looked every bit as handsome in real life as he did online. Although she’d be the first to admit she was no expert on dating, she had a good feeling about him. Two drinks quickly turned to four, as they sat cosied up in a corner of The Mesmerist, comparing their favourite books, films and food, and swapping stories about their childhoods.
Everything she’d imagined Rob to be like from his Tinder profile seemed to hold up. He’d even worn the same camel-coloured coat as in some of his pictures. She stroked the sleeve, feeling braver with every sip, and told him how much she liked it.
‘A decent coat can do a lot for a man who’s not got much else going for him,’ he replied, making her laugh.
Really though, Rob knew he was attractive. He carried himself with ease and she was surprised at how effortless it was to be herself around him.
‘Sadly, there is one rather large confession that I need to get off my chest,’ he suddenly said in a serious tone, using it as an excuse to take hold of her hand. ‘The dog on my profile isn’t actually mine, he belongs to a mate.’
‘Well, I think I’ll be leaving then,’ Jessie shot back, in an equally sincere tone. ‘That’s the only reason I came tonight, as I thought you might bring him along too.’
After telling her about his travels around the world – he’d been everywhere from Argentina to Vietnam – and learning to cook with the locals, Rob promised he’d whip up an authentic bowl of pho for Jessie the next time they met. It was an invitation she accepted gladly. As they clinked their glasses in confirmation, he gave her a look that made her bite her bottom lip. It was nearing closing time.
‘I’ll walk you to the bus stop,’ Rob offered, helping her carry their empty glasses over to the bar.
He leant in and gave her a lingering kiss, then they headed to the exit. Jessie floated onto the bus and tried to busy herself looking in her bag for headphones, knowing that Rob was still watching her through the window.
On her way to work the following day, Jessie noticed she was still smiling. The date couldn’t have gone better. She sat on the top deck of the bus and listened to branches whack the windows when it rounded a corner and checked her watch frequently, despite knowing she’d left plenty of time to get to her new office. The first day nerves had kicked in when she’d not been able to find her lucky charm bracelet earlier that morning, the one she always kept in her bowl of jewellery on the windowsill. It had a small gold ‘J’ on it and was the one piece she’d worn during each of her GCSE exams (and any others thereafter), a present from her parents, meant to spur her on throughout revision. She’d have to search for it again properly after work.
After walking up the steep hill and reaching the reception area five minutes early, Jessie found Pamela waiting to greet her and conduct a grand tour of Tulip Court.
‘Tea, coffee, milk and all those essentials are just over here by the fridge, where you can keep your lunch,’ she said, pointing in the relevant directions. ‘Down the corridor we have the filing room where, unfortunately, you’ll be spending a fair bit of time. We’ve a lot of paperwork that needs getting in order.’
Jessie tried to take in the warren of doors and identical-looking metal cabinets as they went, along with the names that were reeled off to her whenever they passed an occupied desk. The smell of printer ink and instant coffee hung in the air.
‘Up over there, that’s the area the doctors work in when they’re not with a patient.’
All the walls were the same tone of not-quite-white. Not dissimilar to her flat.
‘And here’s where you’ll sit, opposite Juliette.’
A pink, plump woman in her forties looked up at the sound of her name and gave Jessie a lopsided grin. She had kind eyes, looking small and earnest thanks to her wire-framed glasses. Judging by the photographs on her desk, Juliette was a cat person, the type who referred to them as ‘moggies’, and who hugged them just a little too tightly. Jessie put her belongings under her own desk and switched on what turned out to be an asthmatic computer, which wheezed loudly as it tried to load the welcome screen. Her main duties, so far as she could gather, would be to assist the mental health outreach team by drawing up staff rotas, taking notes in meetings, getting patient files in order and completing any other admin that came her way. There was a database with all past and present patient details on it that she needed to be trained up on and which her contract stated she was not to abuse under any terms. Confidentiality was key, said Pamela, tapping the side of her nose. Keeping secrets was a job that Jessie had grown very adept at, thanks to Matthew, so really, that part of the role couldn’t have been easier.
At lunchtime she took a short walk around the area surrounding her new office and quickly discovered that Woodingdean consisted of little more than hills, a post office and a Co-op. Deflated, she trudged back to eat a cheese salad at her desk, then got stuck into more paperwork, pausing occasionally to answer Juliette’s questions about Strictly Come Dancing. She’d never seen the programme but had read enough on the Daily Mail’s showbiz section to be able to bluff her way through brief conversations about it. What felt like only a short while later, Pamela stood up and made her way over to the coat peg.
‘You’ve survived day one, my love. Well done!’ she said, wrapping a chunky knit scarf around her neck. ‘Any exciting plans for later?’
‘Not tonight, just a quiet one,’ Jessie replied, surprised at how quickly the day had gone.
She wondered if this was the sort of place where people went into proper detail about their leisure time or kept it top line only.
‘I’m looking forward to getting an early night and being fresh for tomorrow.’
Pamela hid her disappointment, no mention of a boyfriend or any hobbies, then. Those snippets of information would obviously need to be teased out of her new girl over the coming days – a task she would relish.
‘Enjoy it. Have a fabulous evening both, see you in the morning.’
Not long after, Juliette waved her goodbyes too. Jessie locked away the files she’d been working on into the secure cabinets – another rule of importance pressed into her – and placed the key inside the Tupperware box on a shelf in the stationery cupboard, then locked that too. Nothing could be left at risk of prying eyes. On the walk to the bus stop, she checked her phone and saw four missed calls from an unknown number. Probably a telemarketer trying their luck. Nothing from Rob as yet.
Back at the flat, Jessie headed straight to the kitchen for a cup of tea. Her eye was immediately caught by another bright yellow square of paper stuck in the fridge – this time on Lauren’s carton of oat milk, tucked inside the door. Stop drinking my milk please – get your own!! X The double exclamation marks were accompanied by a firm underlining of the words ‘my’ and ‘your’ but the ‘X’ softened the warning. Jessie reached for her own pint of semi-skimmed, spared by whoever it was that had targeted Lauren’s, and gave a small chuckle. This was how it was supposed to be. Flat-sharing banality at its finest; it was all she’d wanted while living with Matthew.
Mug in hand, she wandered upstairs to her bedroom, realising with slight dismay that she hadn’t locked her door that morning. Shaking her head she put down her mug on the dressing table. Then she froze. Her laptop, which had been there when she’d left for work earlier that day, was now propped up against her pillow. She’d never have left it like that, she was sure of it. Her eyes darted around the room, scouring it for any other objects that might be out of place, but nothing struck her, then she opened the laptop and checked her homepage. That all looked normal too. The laptop having been moved though, that was too weird to ignore. She pulled up the group chat.
Hey, everyone, hope you’ve had a good day. Just wondering if anyone has been in my room to use my MacBook? No worries if you have, but could you just ask first next time?
She didn’t want to come off as aggressive or distrustful, if on the off-chance she’d got it wrong. Lauren was the first to reply.
Not me babe!
Quickly followed by a blunt one word answer from Marcus.
No.
She saw the message hadn’t been delivered to Sofie yet, but she was rarely in the flat anyway. So it must have been Marcus; surely it was him. Then again, she’d had a few drinks last night and had been distracted looking for her bracelet this morning, gearing up for her first da
y. Maybe she’d thrown it on her bed to clear some space while doing her make-up? It was plausible.
Sofie’s reply buzzed through.
I’ve been out all day, doll, not me either! That’s odd.
Now she looked weird. As Jessie thought about how to reply without sounding accusatory, a phone call from a private number flashed up. She let it ring out. If she didn’t answer, she could carry on pretending it was a telemarketer. What could she say back in the group chat? After a few seconds, the unknown caller reappeared. It rang out, then called again. What if it was Pamela and she’d forgotten to do something at work? This time, Jessie took a deep inhale and answered. Whoever was on the other line was breathing heavily. The hairs on her neck stood up.
‘Hello? Hello, who’s there?’
The call ended. Jessie tossed her phone on the floor, not caring if it smashed. She pushed her palms into her eyes. Why couldn’t he just leave her alone? She picked it up, hands unsteady as she searched for Priya’s number, needing to hear a soothing voice. The flat creaked around her as the electronic purr of the call rang on.
‘I think he’s just called me, he must know where I am.’
The words escaped Jessie’s mouth before Priya had barely picked up.
‘He can’t know, Jess, please calm down. Take a few deep breaths. What makes you think he knows?’
She’d expected Priya to understand instantly, not to question her. Jessie explained the emails, both the spam ones from ‘Truth Teller’ and the message from his work account, then the heavy breathing down the line. Her knees jerked as she waited for her friend to take it all on board and repackage what she’d said into something more manageable. Something less terrifying. A scenario where Matthew was entirely absent. Priya took a moment before answering.
‘Even if this is him calling – and I’m not saying it is – he still doesn’t have your address or anything like that, okay? You are safe. The call could have been an automated survey or kids pranking you; his email could have been an apology, the others a virus. I hate to say this, but you sound completely paranoid, Jess.’
The Wrong Move Page 7