by Anna Jacobs
In the middle of the night the phone rang and Jenny was awake instantly, heart pounding. She didn’t answer it, of course. She’d learnt not to do that. When the ringing stopped, she took the receiver off the hook and lay there listening to the dialling tone. On and on. The humming sound nearly drove her mad in the tiny bedroom of this horrid flat, so she unplugged the phone from the wall.
Michael had left a note on her car windscreen at work yesterday asking her to meet him for dinner to talk things over. He said he still cared for her and wanted her back in his life. She hadn’t replied to the note, didn’t want to speak to him or see him ever again.
Let’s face it, the rotten bastard had got her well and truly spooked. She didn’t dare go out now at night unless a friend picked her up and came back with her while she searched the flat. Not that that took very long. What was there to search? But it made her look such a wimp and she didn’t like that.
When the phone rang the following evening, Jenny looked at the clock. He didn’t usually ring this early. Taking a deep breath she picked up the phone. ‘Yes?’
‘Hello, love, how are you?’
‘Mum!’ Relief flooded through Jenny. ‘How are you getting on?’
‘I’m fine, though I’ve sprained my stupid ankle. Have I caught you at a good time for a chat?’
‘I’ve always time to talk to you, Mum. Goodness, I’m missing you.’ More than she’d expected to and not just because of this nastiness with Michael, either.
‘I’m missing you, too.’ They chatted for a few minutes, then Rosalind asked, ‘Look, could you do something for me, love? I don’t want to ask your gran because I think she’s got enough on her plate with Louise.’
Jenny rolled her eyes at the ceiling. Her mother didn’t know how right she was. Gran had more than enough on her plate. The last time she’d seen her sister, Louise had boasted about using her mother’s car and doing what she wanted with her life, in spite of being forced to live with an old lady who needed a reality implant. The two of them had had a big row about that, but Jenny hadn’t been able to make her sister see sense.
‘So, what can I do for you, Mum?’
‘I need some more of my embroideries sending over to England, and I want them air freighted here, however expensive it is. I know it’ll be a bit of trouble, but do you have time to go to the house and get them for me – and fairly quickly? It’s only a question of taking them to the same shipper as before. You don’t need to do the packing. These are unframed pieces.’
‘No problem. Is someone over there interested in them?’
‘Well, sort of. There’s this fête coming up in the village and I’ve promised to donate one.’ Besides, she missed her pieces. It had surprised her how much she missed them. At home, when Paul was away, she’d sometimes pull down the colour-matched prints that hung on the walls and put her embroideries up instead. ‘Do you have a pencil?’ She listed the pieces she wanted, knowing exactly where each was stored in the attic.
‘That’ll be easy. I’ll go over tomorrow after work and pick them up – oh no, I don’t have a key any more.’ Her father had taken her key when she moved out, saying it wasn’t good security to leave keys lying around in houses where no-hopers could get hold of them.
Her mother’s voice sounded happy and more confident than usual. ‘Borrow your gran’s key again. And Jenny—’
‘Mmm?’
‘Get one cut for yourself while you’re at it. I don’t happen to agree with your father about that.’
‘Oh. Well, all right. But don’t tell Dad or he’ll hit the roof.’
Rosalind chuckled. ‘What he doesn’t know won’t upset him, will it?’
‘You don’t usually go against his wishes.’
‘Well, maybe that’s going to change from now on.’
‘How are you managing on your own if you’ve hurt your ankle?’
‘Oh, it’s only a sprain and it’s getting better slowly. I’m developing a very elegant limp. And I’ve made some new friends because of the accident.’ She was also getting a lot of embroidery done – and seeing Jonathon regularly, so that he felt like a friend of many years’ standing by now.
She suspected he was lonely, too. What a lovely man! He’d taken her for a drive yesterday to Weymouth and back and they’d had a delightful afternoon out. She couldn’t believe how beautiful and unspoilt the Dorset countryside was. She realised her mind was wandering and pulled her attention back to what her daughter was saying.
‘I don’t know why you don’t put your pictures on the walls at home, Mum. They’re so beautiful. When I get somewhere proper to live, I’m going to beg one off you. I love them.’
‘You could have had some ages ago!’
‘I didn’t want to risk them when I was sharing with Michael.’
‘I’ll let you choose one when I get back.’ Rosalind took a deep breath. ‘And I agree. I’m definitely going to put some up permanently. I don’t know why I haven’t insisted before. Your father will just have to lump it.’
When Jenny put the phone down, she shook her head. Dad would find some way to stop her mother putting up the embroideries. He always got his own way. Though how anyone could call her mother’s work ‘amateur’, as he did, she didn’t know. The only word that did those pictures justice was ‘exquisite’.
On her way home from work the following day, Jenny called at her gran’s for the key, and of course had to stay for a cuppa. Louise was nowhere to be seen, thank goodness, and when she asked about her sister, Gran looked unhappy so things mustn’t have improved. Jenny had had it with Louise, absolutely had it.
After that, since it was late-night shopping, she stopped to get a key cut for herself and pick up a newspaper. She wanted to look at adverts for flats. She was thinking of moving – and of changing her phone number again. The trouble was, if Michael had found her once, he could keep on finding her.
On sheer impulse she bought herself a scratchie coupon – she never had any luck with them, beyond winning an occasional couple of dollars, but she liked having one in her purse. She always kept it for days, dreaming of what she would do with her winnings and waiting until she felt a lucky moment come upon her. Then she would scratch the coupon and examine the numbers. It was a fun thing to do, a licence to dream.
Her parents’ house seemed dark and menacing when she approached it at night on her own. She made absolutely certain no one was around before she got out of her car, glad when the movement sensors switched the outside lights on. Unlocking the front door as quickly as she could, she darted inside and slammed it shut behind her. It was the work of seconds to dial the correct number into the security system, but she still felt nervous.
How her mother had stood it here alone this past year – well, as alone as you got with Louise still living at home, which was pretty much alone – she didn’t know.
I’ve never really liked this house, Jenny decided as she walked up the stairs, switching lights on everywhere. The one where she’d grown up had been much more homelike. This place had too many big, echoing spaces.
She had to steel herself to slide the loft ladder down and go up into the roof storage area, which had only a couple of bare bulbs to light things up. They threw a lot of spooky shadows, but luckily, her mother had everything in pin-neat order and she found the embroideries immediately, sorting out the ones to send, then packing the others up carefully again.
Carrying them down to the kitchen, she hunted in vain for something padded to wrap them in, so went back up for a bath towel. She stopped for a moment to finger the top embroidery and admire the scene on it. Her mother seemed to get the essence of her subjects. Jenny had loved art herself when she was at school, been good at it, too, but of course, her father hadn’t let her study it in upper school.
As she was locking the front door carefully behind her, a voice said, ‘Hi, Jenny!’
She jerked round in horror. She should have realised that the outside lights being on meant someone was around. He was
standing there smiling, looking smug.
‘Michael!’ She tried not to show her fear, but it came slamming into her belly, grappling its way up into her lungs and making her feel short of air. She shot a quick glance around. There was no one in sight on the street – well, people in this district went everywhere by car, didn’t they? Would the neighbours even hear her if she yelled for help?
He was barring the way. ‘Why didn’t you answer my letter, Jen?’
‘We’d said all there was to say. Why do you keep phoning me, Michael?’
‘I don’t remember phoning you.’ His smile said he’d enjoyed doing it, just as he was enjoying tormenting her now.
She grew angry. ‘I know it was you, Michael. And there’s no way I’m getting back together with you. The sooner you accept that, the sooner we can both carry on with our lives.’
His smile slipped and he grabbed her shoulders, pulling her towards him. Although she twisted about and shoved at his chest, she couldn’t break his hold. ‘Let me go!’
In response, he dug his fingers more deeply into her shoulders.
‘You’re hurting. Let me go!’ She kicked his legs and he stopped smiling as he shook her so hard she bit her tongue.
‘Why are you doing this?’ she whispered when he stopped. ‘What do you want?’
‘I want to remind you how well we go together.’
She saw his intention in his eyes and froze for a moment. He was going to rape her! He pressed himself against her and she could feel his erection pressing into her. He was bigger than she was and much, much stronger. ‘Don’t, Michael!’ she pleaded. ‘Please don’t do this.’
‘That’s not what you used to say.’ He laughed then. ‘Now, we can do it the hard way, or—’
Just then the unlikely happened, the best miracle of her entire life. The woman next door looked over the fence. No warning, just a face suddenly appearing.
‘Oh, it’s only you, Jenny. I saw the lights and heard voices, and I knew Paul and Rosalind were away, so I—’
Before Michael could say or do anything to stop her, Jenny screamed out, ‘Call the police! This man’s threatening me.’
The neighbour took one look at Michael’s furious face, gaped in horror at the hand upraised to slap Jenny and yelled, ‘Stuart! There’s an intruder next door! Get the dog! Tommy! Here, boy!’ There was the sound of claws clicking on brick paving and human feet thumping as someone ran towards the gate.
Michael shoved Jenny away from him. ‘You’ll be sorry for this, you bitch! I know where you live and work. It’s only postponed.’
He strode out of the garden and Jenny collapsed against the car, sobbing in mingled relief and terror. Angela Coppin came rushing round, followed by her husband and their big Dobermann, woofing and pulling at its lead. There was the sound of tyres squealing and a car driving away.
Angela rushed to put an arm round Jenny, shushing her like a baby. ‘You’re all right now. He’s gone. How lucky I peeped over the fence to check who it was!’
‘Very l-lucky,’ Jenny managed, but she couldn’t stop shaking.
‘I’ll go and call the police,’ Stuart said. ‘I couldn’t see the number plate on his car, unfortunately.’
‘No, don’t call them!’ Jenny clung to Angela, still shuddering. ‘We won’t be able to prove anything. He’ll say I misunderstood what he wanted, that he was only trying to kiss me. He – he used to be my boyfriend, you see, and he can be a very convincing liar.’ As she knew to her cost. How she could have thought herself in love with someone like him, she would never know.
‘He’s stalking me,’ she admitted in a small, shamed voice.
‘But you can’t just let him get away with it,’ Stuart declared.
Angela looked at her husband and shook her head to stop him saying anything else. ‘Come into our house for a minute or two, Jenny. You’re still shivering.’
‘There’s my car. Oh, and I’ve dropped my mother’s embroideries.’ She bent to pick them up, relieved that they hadn’t been trampled on. ‘I couldn’t bear anything to happen to them.’ She clutched the unwieldy bundle to her breast, tears still rolling down her cheeks, wishing desperately that her mother were there. Or even her father.
Stuart held out his hand. ‘Let me have your car keys. I’ll put the embroideries on the back seat then drive it round to our place. You’re in no fit state to get behind the wheel.’
So she found herself sitting in their lounge, explaining what had been happening during the past few weeks and weeping again as she did so. She’d never had much to do with the Coppin family, and knew her father was rather scornful of them because they were into caring for the environment and were members of what he called ‘the brown rice brigade’, but they were being very kind to her now.
‘Haven’t you had anyone to talk to?’ Angela asked gently as the flood of confidences subsided.
‘Not really. It only started after Mum left.’
‘Well, if you want my opinion, you need to get away from Perth. Get right away for a while, somewhere he can’t find you, then he’ll turn elsewhere for his nasty pleasures. I read an article about stalkers.’
‘I can’t afford to go anywhere. I’m only a trainee manager and the pay’s lousy. Besides, I’m not due any holidays yet.’ Jenny tried to pull herself together. ‘Look, you’ve been very kind. I won’t let him catch me in a vulnerable spot again. I’d better go home now.’ But when she stood up she burst into tears again, afraid to drive off on her own, afraid to go into her flat even, in case he was there, waiting for her.
‘We’ll drive you back,’ Stuart said firmly, seeming to understand her fear without being told. ‘You can ride with Angela in our car and I’ll drive yours. We’ll see you safely inside your flat, too, and check that he’s not hanging around.’
‘But I can’t ask you to – it’s right across town.’
‘You didn’t ask. I’ve got daughters of my own. I wouldn’t like to think of them being so vulnerable.’ If he were on better terms with Paul Stevenson, he’d ring him up and tell him what was going on – but you couldn’t get close to someone who was never there. Funny sort of marriage that was, with the husband away all the time. Though Rosalind was pleasant enough.
When they had left her, Jenny fastened all the doors and windows in her flat and sat down in front of the TV. But she was too locked in her own thoughts to notice what was on the screen. She felt reasonably safe now because there were people within screaming distance. In fact, there was always someone moving about nearby until the small hours of the morning. The noise had driven her mad at first; tonight she was glad of it.
But if Michael had followed her once and caught her on her own, he could do it again. You couldn’t be on your guard every second of the day. You couldn’t stop going out, either – and you had to come home each day and worry about whether he was waiting for you.
What the hell was she going to do?
Jenny met her friend Carla after work the following day and they went for a drink, which led to a visit to a food hall for a quick, cheap meal. Afterwards they went back to her flat together, because she didn’t dare go home on her own.
‘You know, you really ought to call in the police, Jen,’ Carla said as they walked up the concrete stairs. She had been saying that ever since she found out about the attempted rape.
‘What can they do? I can’t prove what he was intending to do, can I?’ She hadn’t slept properly the previous night and today her supervisor at work had had a word with her about late nights and their effect on work performance. He clearly thought she was partying on. In your dreams, Mr Bennett! she thought sourly.
At the flat door, they both stopped dead and Jenny clutched her friend as terror cramped through her. ‘I didn’t leave the door open. I wouldn’t.’ She stared at it. ‘The lock’s broken. He’s smashed it.’ She hated to put it into words, but it had to be faced. ‘He – he may be waiting for me inside.’
‘You’d have thought someone would hear th
e noise.’ Carla glanced sideways.
‘Yes.’ Jenny’s arms and legs felt all stiff, as if they’d never move or bend again.
Her friend sucked in a breath, then whispered, ‘You peep inside and I’ll stay here, ready to scream for help.’
‘I don’t want to.’
‘You have to. We can’t stand out here all night. Go on! He can’t rape two of us and he can’t lock you inside, not now he’s smashed the door.’
Jenny gulped and forced herself to move. It took a huge effort to set one foot in front of the other. She was going to be sick. She felt faint. What if he jumped out at her? What if she was so scared she couldn’t scream?
Pushing the door fully open so that he couldn’t hide behind it, she waited a minute, listening, then exchanged glances with Carla before stepping inside. If Michael did pounce on her, she was sure she’d not be able to run away. Terror had already fused her knees into stiff unyielding lumps.
As she looked round and realised what had happened, a sob wrenched its way out.
From the doorway, Carla yelled, ‘What is it? What’s wrong?’
‘He’s wrecked the place.’ Jenny looked round the normally neat living area and burst into tears. All the furniture had been thrown about and her brightly coloured cushions had been slashed. In the kitchen area, food was scattered across the floor, margarine trampled into flour and sugar, with drinking chocolate powder scattered artistically across it all in a question mark. Broken eggs were lying in a slimy shell-strewn mess in one corner and some bananas had been ground into pulp at the other side. And there was a strong smell of urine.
Carla called from outside, ‘Jenny! Jenny! Are you all right?’
‘Yes.’ But her voice was only a hoarse whisper and it was a moment before she could get it to come out more loudly. ‘There’s no one in the living area. I’m going into the bedroom. Stand nearer the front door so you can hear me.’