by Gemma Rogers
‘As soon as she told me she knew who was driving the car, once she’d been checked over and you were taken to theatre, she said goodbye to John and we jumped in the car.’
‘What about the police?’
‘We spoke to them before we left, they came to the hospital to take statements, having already spoken to witnesses at the scene. They had the number plate and Karla didn’t want to name names. Leon is clearly a dangerous man. He made a direct attack on Karla’s life with no regard for you or Barry.’
‘How is Barry?’
Dan shook his head, looking past me out towards the corridor. ‘Not good, they’re trying to control his internal bleeding.’
I closed my eyes, head swimming. Barry was a twat, but I didn’t want him dead. If anything, he’d saved mine and Karla’s lives, even if it was only because he’d been in the wrong place at the wrong time.
‘I’m so sorry I dragged you into this,’ I mumbled.
‘You didn’t, we’re a team and I’m not going anywhere.’ He took my hand in his and kissed it.
‘How are we doing here?’ A nurse pulled back the curtain, a wide smile and striking gap between his two front teeth.
‘Okay,’ I said, my throat still feeling sore.
‘Do you need some more pain medication?’
‘Yes please,’ I replied, wanting nothing more than to float away and forget everything.
Epilogue
Sand tickled in between my toes as I padded along the shore, the tide slowly going out as the sun set way off in the distance.
‘Water’s bloody freezing,’ Dan said, his jeans rolled up, dashing away from the surf. Karla giggled, as did I.
It was mid-June; I’d been without my cast for over a month, although my arm still looked pale and spindly. Hidden beneath a hoody, I rubbed at it, the ache never went away.
Dan’s hand reached for mine and we walked together, Karla in front. I’d been desperate to visit but wanted to let her get settled in her new home. I’d spoken to her every week since she moved, our bond cementing slowly over time. We didn’t talk about Terry and it was as though what we’d done never happened. Karla seemed to have changed, the attitude had disappeared, and she sounded optimistic about her future in the small seaside village. She’d got a job, at a dental practice, looking after the admin and patient records and was keeping on top of the rent.
She came back to Croydon for the anniversary of Eddie’s death in late March. With Leon on remand, she felt able to reunite with her foster parents, who welcomed her with open arms. They let off blue balloons to mark the occasion at a playing field close to the crash site. There was quite a turnout as in death, Eddie had become a legend of the estate. The secret of what happened in the car that night remained buried. I’d kept my promise to Karla, there was no point in dredging up the past.
Ashley had been invited to attend, but she politely declined, wanting to close the door on that chapter of her life and now that Karla knew the truth about what happened, she understood. Now on the final stretch of her degree, Ashley was eager to start her job as a junior lab technician. We’ve already met up since I last went to Portsmouth and hopefully our nights out will be a monthly fixture moving forward.
Dan had booked a hotel for the weekend, knowing we couldn’t all fit into Karla’s small boathouse but when we’d arrived, she had a surprise. Her tiny bump was obvious at once, she was so skinny and I saw her face light up as she patted it, confirming what I’d guessed. She was twelve weeks pregnant. A lump grew in my throat and I hugged her tight, whispering my congratulations into her curls.
John came down every weekend and was in the process of selling to move in with Karla permanently. They planned to buy a house together, maybe even get married. I couldn’t get my head around Karla being anyone’s wife, but it suited her, I’d never seen her look so happy and vibrant. It was lovely to have some good news after the hell we’d lived through.
Helen and I were still grieving. I’d moved back into the bedsit, unable to bear living alone in Mum’s house, incapable of stopping the visions of her in the chair every time I came into the sitting room. It might have been comforting for some, but it highlighted my guilt. Helen was doing her best to rid me of it and I was grateful she didn’t hold me accountable. Mum’s letter had seen to that. We were selling the house, having done the painful task of going through everything.
We’d laughed over our baby pictures and school reports. Cards we’d made Mum from school, Easter bonnets and Christmas gifts. Mum had kept everything, so we boxed it up and took it with us. Almost everything else was given to a charity who cleared houses. They removed the furniture and gutted the place ready for sale. I was worried that sitting empty, it’d be vandalised but there’d been no more visits from Gilby or his friends. No graffiti or windows smashed. I had a feeling I had Karla to thank for that although she never mentioned it.
Once sold, I intended to move out of the bedsit into a flat with my half of the proceeds, although Helen and I seemed to get on well as neighbours. I’d miss popping over for a cup of tea after work. Mum’s death had brought us closer together than I’d believed possible, although I missed her terribly. She had been cremated and her ashes lived with Helen for now, so in a sense I saw her most days too.
Dan offered for me to move in with him when I said I couldn’t go back to Mum’s, once discharged from the hospital. We’d been getting on so well, I didn’t want to jinx it, so politely declined. He didn’t renew the lease on the maisonette but put an offer in on a terraced house nearer Bright’s. Deciding to put down roots after all. We had a conversation about his future plans when I came out of hospital, when he told me he’d thought of us as exclusive after the first night we spent together. I needn’t have worried about whether I was his girlfriend or not.
The workers at Bright’s were happy, Dan was doing a fantastic job running the laundry. The girls were all were quite taken with him, forever telling me how lucky I was, and since Karla had left, no one had handed their notice in, even the ones who’d finished with their probation. He’d pledged a safe working environment with better pay and bonus incentives that didn’t include sexual favours. In turn, they worked hard and stayed loyal, the memory of Terry’s reign now fading.
He was still a missing person, but the trail had gone cold. Wimslow hadn’t been back to Bright’s, I don’t think they were looking too hard for him. Dan kept in touch with Kim regularly and saw his niece every few weeks. She’d started seeing a guy she’d met on Hinge, a dating app. I thought it was a bit quick, but Dan wasn’t perplexed. He said, despite appearances, she’d told him Terry had treated her like shit anyway. So if anything, she’d had a lucky escape.
I’d had my final probation meeting. The new guy, Dave, signed me off and wished me well. He spurred me on to find an evening course, where I could pick up my A-Level English again. I’m due to start in September. Dan is helping me search for another job. As much as I love working with him, I have bigger dreams to chase. I haven’t been successful yet but have had two interviews for office jobs. Practice makes perfect and I don’t think it’ll be too long before I’ll be moving on to pastures new. Barry had been wrong about his replacement; Dave was one of the nicest guys I’d ever met. He told us that Barry had spent six weeks in hospital and then discharged to fully recover at home. Apparently, he’d recently got a night job as a security guard. Dan admitted it had been him who’d blown the whistle on Barry, not Karla, after realising he couldn’t get justice for Terry’s crimes, but he could punish his enabler.
The night I was signed off we spent celebrating my freedom, Dan bought a bottle of champagne and we toasted to our future on his balcony, looking out on the stars. For the first time in a long while, I finally had a future to look forward to. I wasn’t one of Terry’s bad girls any more.
A red glow simmered over the horizon as we walked back towards the boathouse. ‘I have something for you,’ Karla whispered as Dan stooped to pick up a pebble and launch it into the sea
. She fell in step with me, took my hand and pressed the SD card into it. ‘I want you to burn it.’ I stopped dead in my tracks, staring down at the grey card in my palm.
‘You kept it?’ I asked, incredulous.
‘I guess I wanted insurance, just in case, but I don’t need it any more. Take it.’ Karla stared at me, her deep brown eyes earnest.
A seagull swooped down, squawking, and I saw Dan looking at us, his brows knitted together as though he knew ours was a conversation he wasn’t supposed to be privy to. I was glad he was far enough away not to hear us over the sea breeze. We resumed walking side by side, pebbles crunching beneath our flip-flops.
‘It’s the only thing left that ties us to Terry.’ Glancing over her shoulder as she spoke in a low voice.
Karla finally trusted me, and she was letting me know that I could trust her too. The three of us bound together with secrets. Two of us tied in a crime we could never reveal. I squeezed my fingers around the card, feeling the edge dig into my skin.
Karla’s mobile rang and she veered off to answer it. From the tone of her voice it was John on the other end. I looked out at the receding sea, dragging pebbles back beneath the surf, taking them prisoner. Dan slipped into the space beside me where Karla had been and put his arm around my shoulders as we carried on walking. I thrust the card into my pocket.
‘You okay?’ he asked.
‘Yeah, you?’ I replied.
‘I’m good.’ We walked along in silence, listening to the snatched conversation Karla was having with John who was due to arrive tomorrow.
‘You know, I think this would be a perfect spot,’ Dan said before he stopped and faced the sea, letting out a heavy sigh. His hand found mine, warm and soft around my icy fingers.
‘For what?’ I asked, frowning. He turned to smile at me, a flash of sadness in his eyes.
‘A bonfire.’
Acknowledgments
Firstly, thank you to my Mum and Denise Miller, who are my go-to readers as soon as I have something new for them. They spur me on with their appetite for more chapters and then I know I’m on the right track.
Thanks to my lovely editor, Caroline Ridding, as well as the entire Boldwood Books team who are always on hand for advice or to answer my questions. They are taking the world by storm! I’ve now seen my books in a shop, which has always been a dream of mine. I’m getting that bucket list ticked slowly but surely!
Jade Craddock, thank you once again for your editing prowess, fantastically eagle-eyed and a dream to work with.
A massive thanks to Ian Gilbert from Addfield Environmental Systems Limited who was readily available to answer many gruesome incinerator questions and never tired of my emails. Your advice was invaluable to the book.
More thanks to Hazel Manuel who gave me an insight on what it was like to work in an industrial laundry. Also Athers Philips who supplied me with information on the Probation Service.
The Savvy Writers’ Snug on Facebook is where I’ve found so many supportive authors, as well as the fabulous Gangland Governors group, who have the most wonderful readers with wicked senses of humour. I’d be lost without you all, thank you for your time, advice and for reading my books.
Lastly, thank you to Dean, Bethany and Lucy for being part of Team Rogers.
More from Gemma Rogers
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You can buy Stalker, another gritty thriller by Gemma Rogers, by clicking on the image below. Or read on for an exclusive extract…
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Chapter One
Saturday 27 January 2018
I’ve never been in trouble before. Not the sort of trouble that brought me here. Freshly painted, stark white walls surround me; their toxic scent lingers in the air. A fluorescent glow from strip lights so dazzling they must be there to desensitise the occupants. Everything is white or chrome, like I’m on the set of a futuristic movie. I swing my legs, which dangle over the edge of the bed, not quite reaching the floor. I do this for a minute to keep warm. Despite the blanket around my shoulders, I can’t help but shiver. It’s late and they didn’t bring my jacket. I guess it’s been taken away as evidence.
The woman in front of me is standing too close, hot breath on my arm. It makes me squirm and I fight the urge to yank my hand away from her grip. She’s holding it like I’m a china doll, fragile and easily broken. I dislike the invasion of my personal space. It’s something I’ve learnt to tolerate over the years. I was never a big fan of being touched, shrinking away if someone brushed past me or stood too close on public transport. I’m not a hugger either – no one was in the house where I grew up. After tonight, I can’t imagine I’ll let anyone touch me again.
Her name is Doctor Joyce Hargreaves, she told me as we entered the victim examination room. Her job, she said, was to collect evidence from me, which is why she was wearing a paper suit, so there wouldn’t be any cross-contamination. She hasn’t picked up on my anxiety, the tremor in my fingers; she’s too busy. Brows furrowed, eyes focused as she peels the plastic bag away from my bloodied hand to collect scrapings from my skin and beneath my fingernails. The tool she uses makes me nervous.
‘Is that a scalpel?’ my voice barely a whisper.
‘No, it’s a scraper. Don’t worry, it won’t hurt. This is just so I can make sure we collect any skin cells that may be buried underneath the tips of your nails. I’m afraid I’ll have to give them a trim in a minute too.’ She wields the scraper with care and it’s true, it doesn’t hurt. Physically I’m okay, except my throat is on fire and the ringing in my ears is deafening, timed perfectly with the throbbing of my face. I have a feeling I might feel worse once the adrenaline leaves my system.
When she finishes with my hands, she pulls the fallen blanket back over my shoulders and offers a kind smile as she pushes her glasses up her nose. I can see strands of greying hair trying to escape by her ear, exposed beneath the coverall hat. She wears no jewellery and her face is free of make-up. Was she on duty or has she been called out of her bed to attend to me? Would we recognise each other in different circumstances? Probably not, I must be one of many people that pass through this room every day.
Joyce delicately inserts each of the specimens into small tubes before labelling them to be sent for analysis. I don’t know why? I’ve told them what happened. Soon she’ll want to examine me thoroughly. Internally. Until there are no more swabs left to be taken.
She glances at me, knowing what is coming, what she must ask me to do. Her eyes are full of pity. I must look a mess. Dried blood on my face and chest is beginning to flake away, like charred skin falling into my lap. My cheek is puffy and the vision poor on my left side. I wish I could stop shivering. They said it’s shock and provided me with a mug of hot, sweet tea after the ambulance checked me over. They wanted to make sure the blood I am doused in isn’t mine. It isn’t.
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Stalker is available to buy now, click below:
About the Author
Gemma Rogers was inspired to write gritty thrillers by a traumatic event in her own life nearly twenty years ago. Stalker was her debut novel and marked the beginning of a new writing career. Gemma lives in West Sussex with her husband, two daughters and bulldog Buster.
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Visit Gemma’s website: www.gemmarogersauthor.co.uk
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First published in Great Britain in 2021 by Boldwood Books Ltd.
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Copyright © Gemma Rogers, 2021
Cover Design: www.judgebymycovers.com
Cover Photography: Shutterstock
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The moral right of Gemma Rogers to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This book is a work of fiction and, except in the case of historical fact, any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Every effort has been made to obtain the necessary permissions with reference to copyright material, both illustrative and quoted. We apologise for any omissions in this respect and will be pleased to make the appropriate acknowledgements in any future edition.
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A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
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Paperback ISBN 978-1-83889-021-6