by Dan Malakin
‘She’s really beautiful – I mean really. And totally into tech.’ He gave Rachel a lobotomised grin. ‘I can’t quite believe it.’
I think you should go back to the clinic.
‘I was going to tell you,’ he said. ‘But I wanted to be sure.’
‘And… you’re sure?’
‘She might be moving in.’
She’s not safe with you.
It all made sense. Mark knew how to hack her phone. He knew about the photo sent from her Snap account. He got his girlfriend to call the bank, pretending to be her. He knew how to get onto the dark web, to hire thugs to take out Konrad, or hackers to break into the NHS and delete her patient records. She’d complained about the eMAR software to him plenty of times.
It was so obvious. Everything he’d been doing, sending that photo to Konrad’s mates, that text after they broke up, even coming here and trying to force her to eat his chilli – knowing that she’d refuse but wanting to send her hunger wild – had been designed to bring on an episode, and send her back to the hospital. He wanted to claim Lily for himself.
He had a new girlfriend, a ready-made family. There was no need for her anymore.
‘You,’ Rachel murmured.
‘Me what?’ he replied, like he didn’t know exactly what she was saying.
She shoved Mark in the chest and rushed into the lounge, tripping on a cable trailing from the stack of flashing routers on the dining table, almost falling to her knees, managing to grab the back of a chair to stay on her feet. Lily was on the sofa, colouring Queen Elsa’s face in crimson, while a minor politician murdered a quickstep on Strictly Come Dancing.
‘We’re going,’ Rachel said.
Lily ignored her, as if she wasn’t there.
Rachel hoisted her round the middle and carried her like lumber.
‘Mummy! Mummy! My book!’ Lily screeched, throwing her arms up, trying to squirm away.
‘Oh, so you do know who I am.’
Mark blocked the way. ‘Look at what you’re doing.’
‘Out of my way.’
Lily scrabbled against Rachel’s chest. ‘Put me down!’ She started a wail that became a shriek so loud it defied her tiny frame.
‘See what you’ve done?’ Rachel asked Mark.
His bewildered shake of the head suggested that no, he hadn’t the slightest idea.
She wasn’t falling for it. ‘Move. Now.’
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Becca
Rachel pushed Lily through the front door and upstairs for a bath, still cringing at flashes of her exchange with Mark. He was worried about her eating, so made her favourite meal – the monster! He was concerned about the safety of his daughter, so he suggested she stay with him – the animal! He had a girlfriend – the horror! How could Rachel think, even for a second, that he’d try to bring on an anorexic episode? They’d been through recovery together at the clinic, they’d even had their NEDA tattoos done together! He knew exactly the horror it brought to your life. And for what reason? Because he loved his daughter? Crazy!
Lily got to the fifth step and began picking at a frayed curl of carpet. Rachel tried to haul her up. But was it really all in her head? What did Mark say? She was so right about you. Clearly this girlfriend didn’t think much of her! Was it such a stretch to believe she’d poisoned Mark’s mind against her, and they’d concocted this plan together? He was so naïve with women, so easily influenced. Perhaps–
Pain flared on the back of her hand – Lily was biting her!
Rachel dragged her off by the hood of her coat. ‘What’s wrong with you?’
Lily went quiet. Her eyebrows crested in the middle, her bottom lip trembled, a reaction worse than any tantrum. Rachel pulled her close, amazed at how she could spot the crushing notes of guilt among the cacophony of her other emotions.
‘I’m sorry, sweetness,’ Rachel whispered in her ear. ‘I’m so, so sorry. Don’t bite Mummy, okay? Please don’t bite Mummy again.’
Rachel carried Lily the rest of the way, rubbing her back and kissing her neck. Mark was right. This was at a new level of paranoia, even for her. As soon as their daughter was in bed, she’d gather her thoughts and send him an e-mail, explaining everything in a logical manner. Once he’d read and digested it, she’d call him. Then they could work out what to do about Griffin together.
Someone banged on the front door, rattling it in the frame. Rachel lowered Lily to the floor. That couldn’t be Mark, he had keys. What if it was Griffin? Or the thugs he paid to beat up Konrad? She started Lily towards the bathroom, the only room with a lock, but then she heard Becca calling her from outside. Was she drunk again?
Rachel told Lily to stay there, raced down, and pulled open the door. Becca’s usually glossy hair was tugged into a shabby ponytail, her make-up smeared on her cheek where she’d wiped away tears.
‘Thank God,’ Rachel said. ‘I thought you were him.’
‘Him?’ Becca sneered. ‘Still on that, are you?’
What did she mean, still on that? Like she’d been boring people silly with her stalker talk. And there she was thinking it bad enough her best friend didn’t care enough to call, now she had to put up with her arriving unannounced, drunk again – that much was clear from the pub smell clinging to her – and having another go at her.
Rachel turned and saw Lily creeping down the steps. ‘Upstairs, angel. It’s only Auntie Becca.’
‘Only Auntie Becca.’
An uncomfortable feeling oozed through Rachel. Griffin had got to her.
‘Please, Becca,’ Rachel said. ‘Whatever you think I’ve done, it wasn’t me. It was Alan Griffin.’
‘The mysterious Mr Griffin. He harasses you for years, and then – ta da! He disappears.’
‘I never told you what–’
‘Grow up, Rach. Only children have imaginary friends.’
Upstairs, Lily was singing Old McDonald had a Farm, but sadly, as though she’d just seen the abattoir out back. Rachel could tell by the volume of her voice she was on the top step. Growing up, she’d sat there herself, listening to her parents argue.
‘Becca, please. I need to tell–’
‘You followed me around school for years,’ Becca cut in. ‘Always looming over my shoulder. Everyone said you were a fucking nut job, but I took pity on you. More fool me.’
Tears spilled from Rachel’s eyes so fast it took her by surprise. ‘Why – why are you saying this to me?’
Becca mockingly flapped her fingers at her chest. Two of the false nails on her left hand had come off, showing the chewed cuticle underneath. ‘Look at me. I’m such a victim. My life is always horrible! You were so bloody happy when those boys put that photo of you on the Internet. Finally, you had another reason for everyone to feel sorry for you.’
‘You don’t really believe that.’
‘Everyone forgot about your mum, so now you had some new misery.’
‘I can’t listen to this.’
‘You’re a vampire,’ Becca said, lifting her arms and sucking at her front teeth. ‘You drain the life from the people around you.’
‘Why are you being so mean to me?’
Becca looked down, her mouth twitching with the effort to hold back tears. She got out her iPhone. ‘You saying this had nothing to do with you?’
While she drunkenly swiped on the screen, Rachel glanced up the stairs. Everything had gone quiet. She hoped Lily had gone to her room and wasn’t listening to this in traumatised silence.
Becca held out her phone. On it was a photo of a woman messily sleeping on a sofa, her black camisole ridden up to her midriff, a muffin top spilling over her tight white jeans. It was taken from a bad angle, so that the part of her face you could see appeared to have multiple chins. Rachel gasped. It was her sofa. The person sleeping was Becca. Why would she–?
Rachel remembered. Spence had taken the photo the night the two of them came round, after Becca passed out drunk. Goosebumps prickled on Rachel’s neck. Sta
tic built in her brain, growing loud and agitated. How did Becca get hold of it? The photo had been on her phone, nowhere else, until she wiped it.
Then she saw the bottom of the screen, and realised it was so much worse.
42 likes
mobscene7How do u get a fat bird into bed? Piece of cake
tessamilliken You go girl, let it all hang out #effyourbeautystandards
daboyzzzzzI eat da fajita AAAALLL up!!!!!!
The photo wasn’t on her phone. It was on Instagram.
Rachel snatched it from Becca, pressed the back key. Oh no. No, no, no. How was that possible?
The picture had been uploaded from her account.
‘I didn’t post this,’ Rachel said. ‘I would never–’
‘You’re trying to get back at me ’cos I didn’t believe you about sending that photo to Konrad’s mate?’
‘That wasn’t me!’
‘Course it was.’
‘You’ve no idea what Griffin’s been doing to me. He stole my wages. He got me suspended from work. Konrad… he…’ Rachel trailed off. She could see from Becca’s pushed-out lips and sarcastic nods that her best friend didn’t believe a word. ‘Why would I make this up?’
She twisted her finger viciously by her temple. ‘’Cos you’re messed up. ’Cos you’re bored. ’Cos you love the drama. ’Cos you can’t be happy unless other people are pitying you. Unless everyone’s going, poor Rachel, better not say anything mean to her in case she starves herself again.’
Something in Rachel’s head cracked; it felt like the bedrock of her sanity breaking apart. ‘Stop saying that. I can’t take it.’
Becca started to sob. ‘Why’d you post that photo, Rachel? Why’d you want to humiliate me? You’ve no idea what I’ve been going through. Since I got fired from Orchid–’
‘Fired? You told me you quit!’
‘Why would I quit? It was my dream job.’
‘Why didn’t you tell me?’
‘Embarrassed, I guess.’ She squeezed the bridge of her nose and sniffed back tears. ‘I totally messed up, left my computer unlocked. Someone sent an e-mail from my desk to all our clients, slagging off Melinda Rodgers, saying she was a dumb bitch who wouldn’t know good PR if she woke to find it shitting in her mouth.’
Melinda Rodgers was Becca’s boss and darling of the PR world, with clients as cool and prestigious as Kate Moss.
‘That’s awful,’ Rachel said. ‘You should–’
‘Don’t pretend you give a shit,’ Becca snapped. ‘If you did, you’d know I’d never quit that job.’
An e-mail sent from her work account? It couldn’t have been… he would still have been in prison. But why not? Perhaps he’d paid a hacker to log into Orchid’s systems?
‘It was Griffin,’ Rachel said. The words sounded strange as they came out of her mouth, as though they were being spoken by someone else. ‘He hacked into your work. He sent–’
‘Stop it!’
‘I know it’s him.’
‘You’re crazy. You’re an absolute lunatic.’
‘On my life. On Lily’s–’
‘Don’t say it! Don’t you dare swear on your daughter’s life.’ Becca leaned towards Rachel, her eyes red and intense. ‘Remember, I checked when I got home from the gym. You can’t be logged into Snap from two places at once. I logged in on my pad, and it threw me out on my phone.’ She pulled back, nodding. ‘I caught you red-handed. You’re a liar. A fucked-up psycho liar.’
‘It’s not true,’ Rachel said, reaching to her.
Becca jumped back as though Rachel was coming at her with a knife. ‘Stay away from me. I mean it – stay out of my life. And take the fucking photo down. What are you waiting for? Do it right now!’
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Password
The door slammed so hard, Lily’s coat leapt off the hook beside it. Rachel stared at the space where Becca had been. This couldn’t be happening. Any second she was going to come back, apologise for the horrible things she’d said. She’d stay while Lily went to bed, then they’d have a coffee and she’d say, Of course I believe you about Alan Griffin. I called you a psycho to be cruel.
Becca had always been a bit of a mean drunk, liable to lash out at any perceived slight once she was a few shooters down. And this was as bad as it got. She lived online, posting on Insta multiple times a day. She would be horrified about that photo. Where was her phone? Rachel had to take it down before–
Rhythmic thumps started above her head.
Lily!
She hurried upstairs. Her daughter was outside the bathroom, lying on her back, drumming her heels. When she saw her mother, she stopped and made a show of sighing. ‘I’m bored.’
‘Come on,’ Rachel said. ‘Bath time.’
Lily didn’t move from the landing. ‘What you and Auntie Becca talking about?’
Rachel didn’t want another struggle like on the stairs, so instead she stepped over her and went into the bathroom. ‘Come on, sweetness.’
‘Were you fighting?’
How did Griffin do it? She hadn’t reinstalled her phone until after Spence took the photo, so that explained how Griffin got it – he would’ve had access to her camera folder, at least until later that night. But she’d changed her Instagram password on her laptop, not her phone, and she hadn’t logged into it since. There’d been no more dodgy e-mails. So how did he get her password? Her brain felt coated in hard, slick plastic, and her thoughts kept slipping off. She couldn’t work it out.
Lily banged her heels, slower and louder than before, interspersing each thud with a call of, ‘Mummy!’
Mummy – thud – Mummy – thud – Mummy – thud.
‘Stop it!’ Rachel cried.
Mummy – thud – Mummy – thud.
Rachel lurched out the bathroom and pulled her daughter up by the arm. ‘I told you to stop that.’
‘Off me!’ Lily shrieked, pulling away.
‘Clothes, now. It’s bath time.’
‘I want my daddy.’
‘You’re staying here.’
‘I go bed now,’ Lily said, heading to her room.
Rachel covered her face, gulping back a sob. She’d wanted so much to create only happy memories for her daughter, to give her the childhood she never had, to not let her down the way her own parents had done. But what if all this was damaging Lily already? Was she ruining her daughter’s life before it had even really begun?
Rachel tried to coax Lily down for dinner, offering peanut butter on toast, Snapchat filter photos, even a whole showing of Frozen. Nothing worked. Her daughter stayed in the corner of her bedroom, flipping through one of her Elmer books, focusing on the colourful elephant with the intensity of a surgeon making an incision. Rachel didn’t have the energy to drag her. Besides, Lily had just heard Auntie Becca call Mummy a psycho, and she was loathed to do anything more to prove her right. One trauma at a time, please!
‘Okay, angel,’ she said, kissing her on the head. ‘I’m downstairs if you need me.’
At the door, she glanced round, but Lily didn’t look up. Ah well, Rachel thought, smiling grimly to herself, she’ll be with her new family soon. She’ll probably be happier there.
She drifted into the kitchen, opened the fridge, and leaned into the shelves. The cold air prickled her skin; the smell of the food curdled in her lungs. Was that really such a joke? Say Mark and this woman had something special. Say they bought a family home, a spacious five-bed in the suburbs, with great schools and safe parks, where you could look out of a window and see something other than kids in hoodies and overflowing recycle bins. Wouldn’t Lily be happier with them? Maybe with some brothers and sisters? Better that than staying with her, becoming yet another lonely anxious messed-up anorexic. Like it was some kind of fucking family profession. If you love someone, let them go. Isn’t that what people always said?
Retching, Rachel pulled her head out of the fridge and staggered back into a chair, starving but too stressed to eat,
exhausted but too scared to sleep, desperate for the day to end, but terrified of what was waiting on the other side of the dawn. And guilty too, about Lily. That was one thing about eating – the guilt sat in her chest, feasting on her heart.
The photo of Becca, it was still on Insta. What was it she said? Looming over her shoulder. Guess she’d been right all along, that’s how everyone saw her, even her oldest friend. A freak. A giant freak. Maybe she should leave it up, out of spite. She sighed and reached for her phone – she just wasn’t that person, more fool her. Perhaps the best thing would be to bludgeon all the birds with one giant stone and delete herself from social media. At least then it couldn’t be used as a weapon.
She logged into the app, pleased to have set the password to something she could remember – gotohellgriffin – and paused. How did he get the password? She’d reset it on the sofa, using the laptop.
She went through to the living room. The window was behind where she’d been sitting… but she’d shut the curtains by then. No way he’d been watching her from outside.
What if it wasn’t from outside?
Rachel froze. She cast her eyes around the living room, carefully, like she was trying to detect the source of a faint noise. The decor hadn’t changed much since her mum had passed away. The flocked wallpaper, the blue fleur-de-lis patterned carpets, the faded mahogany corner cabinet and the TV stand with the drawer that opened half way, had been part of this house for as long as Rachel could remember. She’d never had the time or the money to change it, though she longed to freshen up the place, to have a modern easy-to-clean home that didn’t sprout fresh mess whenever her back was turned.
Something else that had always been in the living room, probably for longer than she’d been alive, was a set of wall-mounted gold lamp fittings, tarnished, triangular things that went through candle bulbs so fast she’d long given up changing them when they burnt out. She was so used to seeing them on the wall, she didn’t notice them. Until now.