by Dan Malakin
Rachel stuck on the radio, an old tunable one that had been in this kitchen when her mother was still alive, found a station that she supposed from the song playing – How Deep is Your Love? by the Bee Gees – to be Magic FM, then got eggs, milk, butter, and potatoes from the fridge. She whisked and sliced, whistling along, singing when she remembered the words, hoping that Lily would buy that this was just a normal morning, and not one where her mother’s old stalker was possibly back on the scene.
Eight years had passed since Alan Griffin went to prison, and yet here she was again, feeling hunted, watched, afraid. Living with the constant creeping fear of what would happen next. That was the worst of it, the waiting. The Snapchat photo wouldn’t be the end. She could feel it.
So what now? More than anything she wanted to skive work and lock down with Lily. But for a start they’d probably have a bank nurse filling in for Spence, and they always spent the first day on the ward wandering into the sluice room every time they needed new bed linen, and she cared too much about her patients to leave them short of experienced staff like that. Also, as it was Saturday, Lily was spending the day at Mark’s apartment, with its keypad entry system and CCTV in the foyer. And seeing as he wasn’t really a playground kind of dad – he preferred to build elaborate Lego kingdoms with Lily than push her on the swings – they weren’t liable to go out much either. She’d probably be safer there than anywhere else.
How about the police? If she dropped Lily off early, she might have time to go there and report what happened. But what would she tell them? Some bloke she knew sent her a dick pic. She had no evidence, not even a screen grab. Even if she’d taken one, what then? They take Pete in for questioning? But if this was Griffin trying to break her and Konrad up, then Pete was just a patsy, there to relay to her boyfriend what his slag of a girlfriend sent him.
She felt a surge of guilt at the thought that Griffin was behind Konrad being hurt. After he’d burst in, she’d been resolved: no matter what the circumstances, he had no right to push her over, to make her feel scared. She didn’t want to be involved with anyone who would do that. What would have happened if Spence hadn’t been there? Would Konrad have hit her? She didn’t think so, but she didn’t want to wait until next time to find out.
But that morning, missing him like crazy – she couldn’t just turn her feelings off – she longed to leap back a week, to the time before this whole thing began, to when they’d spend the day sending each other silly messages, and she could look forward to an evening wrapped in his arms. She, more than anyone, knew how Griffin messed with people. She kept thinking about Konrad crying by the door, sounding so heartbroken. If he’d been pushed right to the edge, and it was her fault that he’d got there, didn’t she owe it to him to at least make one more attempt to find out the full story?
She piled scrambled eggs and home fries onto a plate, put it on the table, and whispered conspiratorially to Lily, ‘We don’t have to be at Daddy’s for another two hours. If you can help me finish all of this, then perhaps we can get cosy on the sofa and watch Frozen.’
‘I eat it all up,’ Lily declared, and grabbed two fries.
Rachel forked some egg and lifted it, but her lips wouldn’t open. Something wasn’t right. No matter how many times she worked the pieces around in her mind, it didn’t complete the puzzle.
But what was it?
What was she missing?
Mark opened the door wearing a preppy brown V-neck over a collarless white shirt, and a pair of pressed beige chinos, clothes Rachel didn’t know he owned, let alone pictured him wearing. They were a world away from his standard wardrobe of contaminated tracksuit bottoms, and a T-shirt with a Star Wars pun or a coding joke she didn’t understand, even after he’d explained it for the billionth time.
‘Coffee?’ he asked, nonchalantly stepping out of the way so they could come in.
‘You look new, Daddy,’ said Lily, her mouth worried.
Mark hoisted her over his shoulders and blew a raspberry on her bare ankle. ‘I’ll take that as a compliment.’
He actually looked good, the shirt and jumper combo suiting his narrow frame. With his new hipster hairstyle, all traces of his previous dorkiness had been erased from his appearance. It was so unexpected. In all the time Rachel had known him, he’d never once willingly gone to buy clothes. On more than one occasion she’d picked him up some boxer shorts from Primark because it was easier than trying to convince him to replace the ratty eroded underwear drying on his radiator. Yet here he was, dressed like he’d strolled out of a Top Man catalogue.
‘I… I didn’t want to say anything,’ she said.
‘Why? Do I look stupid?’
‘No! You look nice. Really… nice.’
‘Try saying that without your eyebrows halfway up your forehead.’
She followed him into the kitchen and leaned on the stone counter as he loaded a pod into his Nespresso machine.
‘So how was the party?’ he asked, getting some cups off the tree. ‘Pretty wild, by the looks of you.’
‘If you must know, it was a chilled night. Couple of drinks. Some canapés…’
‘Ooh, I love canapés.’ He placed a cup under the spout and started the machine. ‘What canapés did you have?’ he shouted over the sound of grinding coffee beans.
‘You’d be mortified!’ she shouted back. ‘Iceland!’
‘Oh, Rachel.’
She shrugged. The grinding stopped and steam billowed as coffee came out.
Mark looked at the machine for a few seconds, then asked, ‘How’s Konrad?’
‘He’s… fine,’ she replied. She didn’t like the sharp way Mark was looking at her, like he was expecting her to lie and preparing to pounce.
‘Going okay is it?’
‘What is this, the third degree?’
‘It’s just… you’ve not mentioned him for a while. A few weeks ago it was Konrad this, Konrad that. We couldn’t have a conversation without you muscling him in. Now when I mention him, it’s like, Konrad who?’
Rachel straightened the lapel of her dress. Should she tell Mark the truth about yesterday, that her Snap account was hacked? Oh and by the way, Alan Griffin was out of prison and may be stalking her again? Mark had a right to know, not least of all so he could be prepared in case someone tried to hurt Lily. But now that she’d opened the door to the possibility of hearing Konrad’s side – and that was all it was, a possibility – it might be better if she held off.
Even Mark knowing what he did about Griffin, she could easily see him listen to what happened, think that Pete was behind it all, same as Spence had done, declare Konrad guilty by association, and demand that she cut all ties with him immediately. And that was before she mentioned him bursting in at the end of the night. The press of Mark’s eyebrows told her that part of him was waiting to be justified for all the times he’d told her that meathead wasn’t good enough. She couldn’t face that showdown.
Rather than get him into a panic, it was probably better to wait, at least until she’d got the truth out of Konrad, or given up on him for good. She was on top of it. She’d changed her passwords, reinstalled her phone. There’d be no clicking on attachments. No-one was going to fool this old broad twice.
‘Listen,’ she said. ‘I’m going to head off.’
‘But your coffee…’
‘I’ll get one at work,’ she said, stepping towards the hallway.
Mark moved round to block her. ‘Wait, listen. We need to talk.’ He looked at her expectantly, and when she didn’t reply, said, ‘You know what it’s about.’
‘We’ll talk about it later, promise.’
He glanced around, making sure Lily wasn’t loitering in the doorway, then leaned in. ‘This is serious. You could die.’
‘That’s a little melodramatic, don’t you think?’
Mark turned his head away, looking hurt. She needed to give him a break. This was their role for one another, as a confidant, a therapist, the one at the other
end of the line in moments of weakness or despair. And if it were the other way round, she’d be saying the same to him; more than that, she’d be dragging him by the ear to the eating disorder clinic.
That was where they’d first met. Back then he was so awkward around girls that he conducted their conversations in a state of near panic, wincing between words like someone was probing him in the back with a cattle prod, and looking anywhere but at her. In fact, it was because of his shyness they became friends. After the d0xing, she struggled to speak to boys, and their relationship helped her to trust them again. She liked to think he too benefited. He still didn’t have much interest in anything not powered by microchips, but he was a lot more confident around women. In no small part that was down to her.
People often asked Rachel why she and Mark weren’t together. Despite his geeky veneer, he was actually a catch. Smart, kind, funny, successful, and, if you liked the gawky type, quite cute. But she just didn’t look at him that way – and she was sure he felt the same. After what they’d been through together at the clinic, the physical conditions they’d seen one another in, there was no unseeing that.
He lifted his coffee from the machine and took a tentative sip. Still not looking at her, he said, ‘You know what you’re doing. Ask yourself if it’s worth it.’
He was right, she did know. Because the truth was, now this was happening, she needed the hunger. She needed it to cope. When the fear built up inside her, when she felt it suffocating her, the pain in her stomach was a distraction, a perverse comfort, a source of pride at her strength of will. To be starving and still deny yourself food, when it was all around you, how many people could do that? No, it wasn’t great to use it that way; an episode would strip your life of everything, if you let it. But she was only a week into it – days if she counted from her last proper meal – so the anorexia voice still wasn’t loud. It hadn’t yet taken root in her brain.
She still had time.
‘Hey,’ she said, shaking his arm. ‘Mark, Marky, Marky Mark – Mr Funky Bunch.’ When things were stressful between them, that always got a grin, the hilarity being that he shared the same first name with Mark Walhberg.
He shrugged her off. ‘This is the worst I’ve seen you for a long time.’
‘I had a huge breakfast.’
‘How much do you weigh?’
‘You grab the scales. I’ll nip out and fill my pockets with stones.’
‘This isn’t funny, Rach.’
‘I weighed myself two days ago. Nine stone, okay? This week’s been tough, but everyone has tough weeks. Even you, with your fancy new clothes.’ She smiled, hoping to end the conversation. ‘Let’s be friends, eh? I’ve got to get to work, you’ve got to iron more trousers, and–’
‘Stop with the jokes, okay?’ He paused and licked his lips. ‘I’ve been thinking that perhaps Lil can stay with me… Until you work things out.’
Rachel’s face went hot, her scalp prickled. What was he saying? That Lily should move in with him? She loved that they were close, and welcomed Lily having the kind of relationship with Mark that she’d never had with her dad, but there’d never been any question of her living with him.
‘Don’t look so panicked!’ he said. ‘It was just a suggestion.’
‘You’re not taking my daughter from me.’
‘What?’
‘She’s my daughter,’ Rachel said.
‘Actually,’ he replied. ‘She’s my daughter too.’
Chapter Fourteen
SecureID
There’d been times during her training when she had regretted her decision to become a nurse. Studying the ten billion medical suffixes, going on student nurse placements, as well as filling in the endless personal development admin – most of it while either being pregnant with Lily, or sharing that first sleepless year with her – drove Rachel into a string of mini-relapses. But she did it. She got through it. She qualified, and Lily’s teething subsided, and she was out the other side. For the first time, she felt pride at what she’d achieved. Her whole life, she’d always felt slightly ashamed, often without knowing why, so to not feel that way about something was a wonderful relief.
Her job was everything to her. No, it wasn’t helping troubled teens, as she’d originally intended, but the work she did was still valuable. It was heartbreaking to see how an elderly patient’s world would often be reduced to whether someone they loved bothered to show up for a visit that day, and in those times, to be the one to offer those people comfort, she knew she played an important role in the health system. In fact, the self-respect that being a nurse brought to her thought processes, which all too often seemed to revel in making everything seem as bad as possible, drove her through a day like today, when all she wanted to do was curl in a ball and wait for it to end.
Within minutes of stepping onto the ward, she was too busy to think about Konrad, that Snapchat photo, Pete’s stupid penis, Alan bloody Griffin, or anything. The lady in eight was ringing the alarm every two minutes because she’d been fitted with a nasogastric tube that made her think she was suffocating, and the new stroke patient had a fall going to the toilet during the night, so needed to be helped into a wheelchair every time he wanted to void his bladder, which, judging from the amount of times he had to go, couldn’t have been much bigger than a peanut. It didn’t help that a problem with the scheduling system meant Spence’s replacement wasn’t booked to start until Monday, so she and Cina, the health care assistant, were manning the crazy house on their own.
For a few, glorious hours, Rachel had no time to think at all.
Late afternoon, however, as Rachel was finishing a round of checks, the hunger that had been benignly probing her stomach began a pain that felt much like she was being knuckled in the solar plexus. She pressed her hand to her abdomen and blew out her breath. Jesus, what a baby. You used to be able to go days no problem without food. She shook her head. Stupid thought – she needed to eat. She’d had nothing but black coffee all day. Not good enough. Hannah, the student nurse, kept a box of Jaffa Cakes at the back of the cupboard under the kettle. She wouldn’t mind a few going to help a fellow nurse in need.
Rachel headed for the break room, getting out her phone to check the time. Almost four. Halfway through her shift, and still standing. She was about to put it away, but saw an envelope at the top of the screen. Her heart skipped – was that from Konrad? She sighed with disappointment when she opened the text. It was from the bank, saying her SecureID had been reset, and containing her new one.
She pulled up. Her what?
She checked the time the message was sent. Twenty past twelve. She’d only just started work when she’d received it, and was probably still on her first turn of the ward.
Maybe it was nothing, an automated message. She probably got the same one every six months and ignored it.
Could someone be trying to get into her bank account?
She pushed into the break room and called the bank, hunting in her bag while it connected, telling herself not to panic, that it was probably nothing. The electronic voice asked for her account number, but in her agitation she couldn’t find her purse, so pressed zero until she found herself listening to hold music, Justin Timberlake’s Rock Your Body. Saturday afternoon, was there a worse time to call?
What could he have done? Pretended to be her and reset her SecureID? What was it used for anyway? Phone banking? She couldn’t even remember the last time she’d used that service. All she ever did was check her account and pay back friends, and you could do that through the app. Even if her SecureID had been reset, how would they get the text? Every article she read said that doing a factory restore got rid of spyware, so there was no way anyone else would be able to read it.
Rock Your Body began from the start. She was now number eight hundred and fifty-seven thousand in the queue. Whoever was doing this would know, surely, that she’d reinstalled her phone. They’d know they wouldn’t be able to get the text from the bank. So was this
just a charade, a ploy to scare her, to mess with her head, to let her know someone was watching? That they wouldn’t leave–
An alarm sounded around the ward.
Moments later, Cina was calling her from the corridor – ‘Nurse? Nurse Rachel?’
She shook her phone, willing it to connect. Two minutes, that was all she needed, to make sure everything was okay with her account. Sorry, Agnes, if you could just hold off on your cardiac arrest for a moment more!
Cina rushed into the break room. Rachel could tell by her look of pure terror there was no holding on for anything.
She’d have to call back later. Maybe then she’d get to talk to a real human before Justin Timberlake did her stalker’s job for him, and sent her insane.
The rest of her shift was relentless. One heart attack (not Agnes), two new admissions, including a distraught old man straight out of surgery with an amputated foot who soiled the bed as soon as he lay down, and various other accidents and catastrophes later, Rachel headed out of the ward too weary to even lift her arm to wave goodbye to Bel, the night nurse.
A Sainsbury’s Metro was open near the hospital. She stumbled towards it, head fuzzed from the day. The two “b”s, that’s what she needed – bath and bed. She was shattered. And famished. Oh, and she still had to call the bank. Great! Come on, Justin, get that body ready for rocking!
The door to the supermarket swooshed open. Inside was so quiet she could hear herself groaning. She staggered down the aisle, feeling like an extra in a zombie flick, her eyes slipping off the food. Pancake mix? Nutella? No, nothing sweet. Fresh. A stir fry perhaps. That’d be quick as well. It was half eight, and she wanted to be in bed by ten. Get up early, get Lily from Mark’s, lockdown at home and take stock. That was the plan.
She picked a clove of garlic, a head of broccoli, a pack of baby sweetcorn. Chicken breast cubes from the meat fridge, and further along, from the dairy section, a low-cal chocolate mousse. A proper meal. Time to get this under control.