The Fear

by C. L. Taylor

  ‘But I need Wi-Fi to do my schoolwork and—’

  ‘Three weeks. Anything else you want to say?’

  Kirsteen shakes her head, then turns to look at Chloe.

  She hates me, Chloe thinks. And I don’t blame her. If I hadn’t called her, none of this would have happened.

  ‘Please, Mrs Crowley, don’t blame Kirst. She hasn’t done anything wrong. I lied to her on the phone and—’

  Rebecca Crowley holds up a hand. ‘Save it for when your dad gets here. Now, downstairs please. Kirsteen, turn off the TV and go to bed. You’ve got school in the morning.’

  For ten agonising minutes Chloe sits in an armchair in the Crowleys’ front room and picks at her cuticles as Kirsteen’s mum drinks tea and watches some kind of cop show. She told her her dad would be round to pick her up in twenty minutes and ever since she sat down she’s been staring at the clock above the fireplace willing the hands to move slower or stop. The clock paid her no attention and now her cuticles are ragged and bleeding. If her mum was on her way to pick her up it would be okay. She could bear the disappointment in her mum’s eyes and her soft sighs of frustration all the way home. But her dad … he’d probably lay into her before she even left the house. He’d embarrass her in front of Mrs Crowley and Kirsteen would hear every word from upstairs. It’s bad enough knowing that Kirsteen will tell Eva and Freya everything that happened at school the next day without her repeating all the horrible names her dad will invariably call her.

  No, she can’t take it. And she won’t.

  She reaches into her school bag and pulls out her phone. She presses the button on the side and holds her breath as the phone flashes to life. A second later the screen goes black again. Shit. Even if Mike has replied to her text messages she can’t read them.

  ‘Mrs Crowley,’ she says softly. ‘Can I go to the toilet please?’

  Kirsteen’s mum nods her head, her eyes not leaving the screen. Chloe stands up and hooks her bag over her shoulder. If she asks why I’m taking my bag to the loo, she thinks as she crosses the living room, I’ll tell her I’m on my period.

  But Rebecca Crowley doesn’t say a word as Chloe walks out of the living room, turns left in the hall and lets herself out of the front door.

  Chapter 15

  Lou

  I barely slept last night. After I caught Mike staring at me from across the room I kept my eyes tightly closed. Then I started to cry silently, the tears rolling down my cheeks and wetting the pillow. Our first argument and I’d never felt more alone. All I wanted was for Mike to crawl into bed with me, put his arms around me, pull me close and tell me everything was going to be okay. But he wouldn’t. I’d seen how stubborn and ruthless he could be in the dojo – sending kids out of class for failing to bow when they came back from the toilet and not backing down when their parents complained. I knew he was waiting for me to apologise, but why should I? He was the one who’d left me alone all day so he could go out drinking.

  When I woke up just now Mike was still in the chair on the other side of the room, watching me. I don’t know what to say to him, so I say nothing. Instead I sit up and rub my hands over my face, stalling for time to allow him to speak. He doesn’t. Instead he gets up and disappears into the bathroom. So that’s how it’s going to be then – we’re going to ignore each other all the way back to England? Are we over? Have I lost him because of one stupid argument?

  My throat tightens with tears again. As a tear rolls down my cheek, Mike walks out of the bathroom carrying a tray. I tense as he approaches the bed and lays it down on my lap. On it is a single red rose, three croissants arranged on a split paper bag, a glass of orange juice and a small black box.

  ‘What’s this for?’

  ‘For you.’ He perches on the end of the bed. There are dark circles under his eyes.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because I love you. And I’m sorry.’

  ‘What for?’

  ‘Losing my temper last night. You had every right to be pissed off with me.’

  I should say that it’s fine. This is what I wanted after all, for him to apologise to me. But it doesn’t change the fact that we’re going back to England today and this has been the shittest romantic weekend in the world.

  ‘Are we going anywhere today?’ I say. ‘Before we go back to England?’

  ‘We’re not going back to England.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘That’s why I was gone so long yesterday. I was trying to find us an apartment to rent. That was the surprise.’

  An apartment? Why would we need an apartment when we’ve got a hotel room? I don’t know what he’s on about. Can you even rent an apartment for one night? Mum is expecting me back this evening. And I’ve got school tomorrow. She’ll be really pissed off with Mike if he doesn’t take me home when he said he would, even if he does come up with a good excuse. ‘When are we going back?’

  Mike shuffles closer and takes my hand. ‘We’re not.’

  I snatch my hand away. ‘Ever?’

  ‘Aren’t you pleased? Isn’t this what you said you wanted? To spend the rest of your life with me? We can’t do that in England – there are too many complications – but we can do that here. No one knows who we are and no one cares.’ Before I can reply, he swipes the black box from the tray, slips off the bed and gets down on one knee. ‘Louise Wandsworth,’ he says as he opens the box to reveal a silver ring with a tiny silver diamond in the centre. ‘Will you marry me?’

  I didn’t intend to lock Mike in the barn but I’m not going to let him out until I come up with a way to stop him from grooming Chloe. My phone might not have any reception out here but Mike’s does. Between 6.52 and 7.45 p.m. six messages flashed up on his mobile, each one more frantic than the last. The phone was locked so I wasn’t able to read them all but I could see snippets.

  How long do u think ull be?

  Is everything ok, u sounded a bit stressed when

  Sorry if I said anything to upset u but I needed to

  R u still comin?

  Am waiting where I said. U comin?

  Pls msg me asap.

  The messages stopped after that. They were flagged as belonging to ‘Jim’ but it was obvious that they were from Chloe – from the way they were spelled and the fact she’d rung him in the barn. With any luck, she got fed up of waiting for Mike and went home. Good. Maybe a text would arrive later, after she’d stewed for a while, telling him she didn’t want to see him anymore. That was wishful thinking. Of course she wouldn’t end things with him. He’d stood me up and let me down dozens of times when we were together and each time I forgave him. I fell for his lies, his apologies and his tears.

  I could never hurt you, Lou. Not intentionally. I want to spend the rest of my life making you happy.

  I shudder and tuck Mike’s phone back into my pocket. Chloe might not want to end things with Mike but she’ll have to if I can gather enough evidence to give to the police. All I need is the code to get into his phone. And a torch.

  It’s after 10 p.m. and the only light outside is from the half-moon in the sky, a scattering of stars and the dull glow of the light from the kitchen. If I thought the house was cluttered, the garage is a hoarder’s delight. There’s a wheel-less car in the centre, propped up on bricks and surrounded with boxes, bin bags and clutter.

  I feel my way around the shelves that line the walls, but there’s no torch amongst the drills, trowels, tools and plastic plant pots. I find two toolboxes and carry them outside and into the pool of light cast by the kitchen window. There’s no torch in the first box but I find one in the second. I press the button and … nothing. The batteries are dead. As I bend over to put it back in the box there’s a clattering sound as the phones – mine and Mike’s – slip out of my back pocket and drop to the floor. What am I looking for a torch for? I could use one of the phones to light the way through the garden to the yard. Or I could drive up the track. Even with the headlights on full beam, no one will see them. I don�
��t have any neighbours for miles. And I’ll be able to see into the barn.

  As I turn to go, I spot a cardboard box with my handwriting on the side and feel a sharp pang of regret.

  Louise’s stuff.

  Dad kept it after I moved to London with Mum. Was he hoping I’d come back and collect it? He didn’t bother getting in touch with me, but maybe he was waiting for me to make the first move?

  I turn on the torch app on my phone and peel back the lid. There are clothes on the top – jumpers, jeans, T-shirts. My skin crawls as I pull out a black and white polka dot halter-neck dress. Once, after karate, Mike said how much he’d like to see me in a dress – I was always in my gi or tracksuit bottoms and trainers – so I bought it to wear the first time we stayed in a hotel. I hurl it away, then look back at the box. What else did I keep?

  I put my phone in my mouth, grab the edges of the box and tip it to one side, then upend it completely. Clothes, books, jewellery and ornaments slide out and then I see it, the small wooden box I kept my diary in. I tuck it under my arm and leave the garage. Opening it can wait, I need to get back to the barn.

  With my headlights on full beam, I can see straight into Mike’s van. There has to be evidence in here that he’s been grooming Chloe. The keys are still in the ignition, there’s a coat on the passenger seat and a bag in the footwell. I pull them out of the van and drop them onto the ground, then dig around in the glove compartment and the pockets in the doors. It’s mostly crap: sausage roll wrappers, flattened sandwich boxes and empty cans of drink. There’s not much more in the glove compartment: a couple of CDs, more cans, some documentation relating to the van, a list of addresses, some business cards and a bunch of keys. I look under both seats next, then behind the sun visors, but there’s nothing. If any evidence exists that Mike’s been grooming young girls it’s probably in his bag or coat but I check the back of the van anyway. Nothing there apart from a couple of dirty rugs and some of those elasticated ropes you use to secure furniture to stop it rolling around.

  I return to the coat and the bag. Nothing in the pockets of the coat and nothing incriminating in the bag either.

  ‘Help!’ Mike’s shout rings out from the barn. ‘Police! Help!’

  I drop the bag as his voice echoes around the yard. I might not have any neighbours for miles but dog walkers and cyclists use the main road. I can’t risk anyone hearing him.

  I’ve just run down the track to the main road and you can’t hear a peep. Mike’s cries for help faded away by the time I drew level with the house. I turn and run back up the track to the yard. He can shout all he wants. No one’s going to hear him.

  ‘Thank god,’ he breathes, shielding his eyes against the full beam of the car’s headlights as I open the barn door. ‘Thank god.’

  The hopeful expression on his face vanishes as I step closer and he lets out a low groan.

  ‘C’mon, Lou.’ He rests his forearms on the bars, his eyes weary. ‘Enough’s enough. Whatever point you were trying to prove by locking me in here, you’ve done it. Okay? I’m sorry if I scared you. I didn’t mean to. Just … please … open the door.’

  ‘I could do that,’ I begin and Mike looks up hopefully. ‘But you need to do something for me in return.’

  ‘Anything.’

  I reach into my back pocket. ‘Give me the code to unlock your phone.’

  Mike doesn’t move a muscle. He doesn’t even look as though he’s breathing, he’s staring so intently at the mobile in my hand.

  ‘Why?’ he says.

  ‘Because I want to send Chloe a message.’

  ‘Saying what?’

  ‘That you don’t want to see her again. That it’s over.’

  ‘I told you, I’m not …’ he tails off. He knows as well as I do that if I look at the texts on his phone they’ll prove his guilt. And that’s what I need to give to the police, hard evidence. The CPS would have to prosecute him then. But I can’t give the phone to the police with Mike still locked in my barn. I could end up on a kidnapping charge. If I unlock the padlock how do I get from the barn to my car without Mike catching up with me? He might be seventeen years older than me and lame in one leg, but he flew at me like a man thirty years younger. I could throw the key into the cage and leave it to him to undo the lock. That might buy me enough of a head start.

  ‘How do I know you’ll let me out if I give you my code?’ Mike asks.

  ‘You don’t.’

  He stares at me, indecision and frustration written all over his face, then he sinks down to his knees and rests his forehead against his clenched hands.

  ‘Could I have some water please?’

  ‘No. Give me the code.’

  ‘Please. I’m thirsty. And a blanket or something. It’s fucking freezing.’

  I ignore him and start sorting through all the crap piled up next to the armchair. I examine the paint pots first, prising off the rusty lids with my car key. There’s nothing inside. I feel around the lawnmower, then shift the bales to one side. But what I’m looking for isn’t here. There’s no key to the lock on Mike’s cage. I could turn Dad’s house and garden upside down looking for it, but the chances of finding it are slim. No one’s used these cages for years.

  I unhook one of the open locks from an empty cage and turn it over in my hands. Do all these locks have the same key? Even if they do, I doubt B&Q still stock them. The only way to let Mike out would be to give him some kind of saw or some bolt cutters. Either way, I’m not letting him out tonight. He needs to sweat it out a bit longer. Let’s see how he enjoys being a prisoner.

  I put the lock in my pocket and approach Mike’s cage, making sure I stay far enough back that he can’t grab me through the bars. ‘Are you going to give me the code to your phone or not?’

  He shakes his head. ‘Not. I’ve told you, Lou. I haven’t done anything wrong. You can’t keep me locked up forever. Sooner or later someone’s going to realise I’m missing and the police will come straight here.’

  ‘Why’s that?’

  ‘Because you tried to fit me up. They’ll put two and two together.’

  ‘They might, if I hadn’t given them a false surname and address.’

  Mike seems to shrink before my eyes.

  ‘I’ll go and get you that water. And a blanket,’ I say. ‘You might want to reconsider giving me the code while I’m gone.’

  Chapter 16

  Wendy

  Tuesday 1st May 2007

  ‘Oh for goodness sake!’ Wendy Harrison throws the duvet away from her and sits up in bed. She twists onto her knees and pounds her fists against the wall she shares with her neighbour. ‘Will … you … please … be … QUIET!’

  It’s 2.34 a.m. and she has only had an hour’s sleep. When she turned off her bedside lamp, a little after eleven, she heard someone shouting and laughing outside. It was her neighbour, Jason Marsons, with a cackling blonde on his arm. They were returning, Wendy assumed from the way they swayed down the street, from the pub. Ten minutes later the music started up. A thumping electronic beat that shook her house. She went round immediately, with Monty in tow, and knocked on the flaking red door of number 31. Her neighbour, a young man in his mid to late twenties, opened the door with a gleeful look on his face. He took one look at Wendy, then his expression changed.

  ‘You again, seriously?’

  ‘It’s nearly twelve o’clock.’ Wendy glanced at her watch to prove her point. ‘And this isn’t the first time you’ve kept me awake with your noise.’

  The man shrugged. ‘It doesn’t seem to bother the neighbour on the other side.’

  ‘That’s because he’s deaf,’ Wendy snapped. ‘And I, certainly, am not.’

  ‘Jay, where are you?’ a blonde woman called from behind him. A second later she hurtled down the hallway, knocking into the walls like a bowling ball thrown by a pre-schooler. ‘Oh, there you are.’ She looped her arm around his neck and peered out at Wendy through red-rimmed eyes. ‘Who are you?’

  Wendy tr
ied very hard not to sigh. The woman was obviously drunk and, from the look of her grubby feet, she’d walked barefoot back from the pub. ‘I’m Jason’s next-door neighbour. I’d like you to turn the noise down please. I can’t sleep.’

  ‘But it’s his birthday,’ the woman wailed before she pressed her smudged lips against the side of his neck. ‘Don’t be an old killjoy.’

  ‘I’m not an old anything,’ Wendy said tightly. ‘But I’ve got work in the morning and I suggest you save your partying for the weekend.’

  Jay sighed. ‘We’ll turn it down.’

  ‘And spoil your birthday? No chance!’ The blonde waggled a hand in Wendy’s face. ‘You need to go home and have sex with your husband. It might loosen you up a bit.’

  ‘Lisa!’ Jay tried to extricate himself from her octopus-like grip. ‘You can’t talk to her like that. Sorry,’ he said over his shoulder to Wendy as he attempted to wrangle Lisa back down the hallway. ‘She’s a bit of a livewire.’

  ‘I’d rather be a livewire than a dried-up prune,’ Lisa shouted up at him. ‘I don’t want to get old. Not if I end up like her. Will you shoot me if I do, please?’

  ‘You’ll never be like her.’

  Wendy reached forward and tugged on the door handle of the open front door. The glass in the top panel shook as she slammed it shut.

  I want to smash something, Wendy thought as she stepped into her kitchen. I want to whirl round like a dervish, knocking cups and plates to the floor, throwing plant pots against the walls and smashing everything I can lay my hands on.

  She eyed the potted orchid on the windowsill. She’d rescued it, half dead and sorry-looking, from her sister’s conservatory. To send it tumbling to the floor would be a travesty. And very unfair on the plant that had finally flourished under her care. The mug then, on the washing-up rack. If Jay and the stupid blonde woman heard that smashing against their shared wall they might think twice about messing with her again. But the mug was part of a set of six she’d bought at a car-boot sale. They were vintage Laura Ashley.