The Fear

by C. L. Taylor

  ‘Is it worth it?’ he said. ‘Insulting me when all I’m trying to do is make you happy?’

  I shook my head dumbly.

  ‘I only want what’s best for you, Lou. I’m the only person who does. You need to trust me to make the right decisions. You trust me, don’t you?’

  ‘Of course I do,’ I said between sobs.

  I cried some more when he put an arm around me and pulled me into his chest. His silence was the worst possible punishment. Although he was sitting right next to me, I’d felt utterly alone and abandoned.

  ‘It’s not going to work,’ I say now. ‘Giving me the silent treatment. I’m not fourteen.’

  Mike continues to stare, but I can see by the rise and fall of his chest that he’s breathing deeply. Is he trying to keep his temper? I need to keep doing what I’m doing. Eventually he’ll snap.

  ‘You know Chloe sent you some texts last night?’

  His lips part. Of course he didn’t. He hides his interest quickly but I saw it. It was there.

  ‘Yeah,’ I say. ‘You’ve got her in your phone as Jim, but it was obviously her. She sounded worried. She was waiting for you to pick her up. I hope you didn’t arrange to meet her somewhere public. She might have gone off with some other pervert.’

  ‘Give me that!’ Mike throws himself against the bars, but I’m too far away for him to grab the phone.

  ‘Oh,’ I feign surprise, ‘are you worried about her? Give me the number and I’ll call her to check she’s okay.’

  ‘Jesus Christ.’ He sinks to his knees and rests his head against the bars. ‘Why are you doing this?’

  ‘Because I don’t want you to hurt Chloe like you hurt me.’

  ‘I loved you.’

  ‘You groomed me.’

  ‘No.’ He shakes his head but he doesn’t look at me. His jawline and top lip are dark with stubble and, despite his tanned arms and neck, his face looks wan in the early morning light. ‘No, I didn’t. I fell in love with you. The same way you fell in love with me. I didn’t leer over you like some dirty old man. I didn’t put my hand up your top and make you cry. I didn’t force you to do anything. I never would have let myself love you if I thought you didn’t love me back.’

  ‘I was vulnerable and you took advantage of me.’

  ‘I tried to help you!’ He raises his head and looks straight at me. ‘Your dad was the worst kind of bastard. When you came to me for karate lessons your confidence was destroyed. You couldn’t look me in the eye for the first six months. I thought you were shy. A lot of the kids were, particularly the girls, but I saw the startled look in your eyes when he came to pick you up.’

  ‘Stop justifying—’

  ‘The first time I spoke to him, I could smell the booze on his breath. I tried to make light of it, said that if he’d had a couple in the pub maybe he should leave the car behind and get a lift back with me. He laughed in my face, then told you to hurry up and get your shoes on. I barely slept that night for worrying about you.’

  ‘That’s not true.’

  ‘Of course it’s bloody true! He smelt like a brewery. He could have killed you both.’

  Now it’s my turn to fall silent. He’s right, about Dad drink-driving. When Mum would pull him up on it, he’d say, ‘Everyone does it in the countryside. We know the roads, it’s fine.’ That didn’t stop me being utterly terrified each time I got into the car with him.

  I look back at Mike. ‘You can’t use my dad as an excuse for what you did to me.’

  He holds his hands out, palm up. ‘Lou, what happened between us would have been perfectly legal eighteen months later. Yeah, so there would still have been a seventeen-year age gap, but who cares. No one bats an eyelid if a thirty-year-old goes out with a forty-seven-year-old.’

  ‘But I wasn’t thirty. Or sixteen. I was fourteen and what you did—’

  I break off and look towards the door. There’s a strange noise outside. A dull chopping sound. Mike hears it too and a slow smile spreads across his face.

  ‘Helicopter,’ he says. ‘A police helicopter,’ he adds as I move towards the door.

  It’s definitely a helicopter, speeding over the trees near the back field, but it’s so far away I can’t tell if it’s a police helicopter. Not that I know what one looks like. Do they say Police on the side like the cars?

  I press a hand to my chest and try and calm my breathing. It can’t have been a police helicopter. It’s only been twelve hours, thirteen tops, since Mike got here and I’m pretty certain that the police don’t launch a missing persons enquiry unless someone’s been missing for at least twenty-four hours or they’re vulnerable or a child. And they certainly wouldn’t send a helicopter out to look for a forty-nine-year-old man in a white van. They’d start by triangulating the location of his phone and—

  I stare at the mobile in my hand. It’s Mike’s.

  Shit.

  Shit.

  Shit.

  I open the back and slide out the battery and SIM card but it’s too late. The last call Mike received was in the barn. As soon as the police start looking for him they’ll trace him here. I need him to give me the code to the phone. I don’t have much time.

  Chapter 18

  Chloe

  Chloe’s lungs are burning and her legs are so weak she stumbles every dozen or so steps, but she forces herself to keep running.

  When she left Kirsteen’s house she headed for the centre of Malvern. She felt conspicuous in her school blazer and knee-length skirt as cars zoomed past so took off her blazer and tie. The wind bit at her skin through her thin cotton shirt as she continued to walk, her head down, her hair whipping around her face. Town was quiet but there were still a few people around, standing outside pubs and restaurants puffing on cigarettes and vapes and, although she received a few concerned glances – mostly from older women – she was largely ignored. That changed when the pubs kicked out. Suddenly groups of men roamed the streets, laughing, shouting and weaving back and forth on the pavement. ‘Lost your boyfriend have you love?’ shouted one man. When she’d turned to look at him, hopeful that he’d help her find Mike, he said, ‘I’ll be your new boyfriend if you want!’ and nudged his friend. She’d quickened her pace, tears pricking at her eyes, as their laughter followed her.

  If the high street was scary then the park was worse. Tucked away from the road, the only light was the dull glow of the theatre but, as Chloe ventured further in, darkness wrapped her like a shroud. She gripped her dead phone to her chest as she passed the abandoned swings and slides and then sprinted across a stretch of lawn. As she reached a dark clump of trees and bushes she dropped to her knees and began to crawl, brushing sharp branches, nettles and brambles away from her face. For a worrying couple of seconds she feared she was in the wrong place, it wasn’t the secret hideout she’d shared with her best friend Martha when they were eight, but the foliage gradually parted to reveal a small hollow, four foot high by four foot wide with a tree trunk in the centre. Finally hidden from the world, she started to cry.

  It was all her fault. Everything that had happened was down to her. Mike had been on at her for a while, asking her to come back to his after work or one afternoon after school. He said he wanted them to have some alone time, away from the prying eyes of the world, but she knew what he really wanted. He wanted to sleep with her. She might be stupid but she wasn’t that stupid. She’d told him that she wasn’t ready, when the truth was she was worried that he’d lose interest in her after they’d had sex. She’d seen it happen to a few girls at school. Their boyfriends told them they loved them and made out like they were really into them and then dumped them after a couple of shags. Sometimes they made out it was because the girl got really clingy afterwards. The really cruel ones spread rumours that the girl was shit at blow jobs or they didn’t want to go out with her because she was a slut. Chloe was pretty certain Mike wouldn’t call her a slut but she might be shit in bed. She’d watched videos on her phone, to learn how to do stuff, but he wa
s forty-nine years old. How could she possibly compare to the other women he’d been with? He told her he’d only slept with seven people. Six girlfriends and his wife. He said he hadn’t loved any of them the way he loved her. They had so much baggage. They were bitter and twisted from the other relationships they’d been in and they’d taken it out on him. They weren’t like her – so optimistic and hopeful, so kind and so loving. He kept telling her he wished he could rewind time or be born again so he could be thirteen too and they could lose their virginity to each other. He said he wished she could have met him when he was thirteen. He was really good-looking back then, with a flat stomach and jet-black hair. Secretly she’d wished that too, even though she told him that he was still good-looking for his age. It was weird, the first time, kissing a man who was older than her dad, but he was so kind to her. So gentle and so understanding. And he made her feel safe. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt like that.

  But he hadn’t turned up to meet her. He’d told her over and over again not to ring or text his work phone unless it was an emergency and she’d promised him that she wouldn’t. But he’d ignored his other phone and it had been urgent. She’d done everything else he’d asked. She’d listed his secret phone as Liam in her mobile and made sure she deleted his messages the second she read them. Maybe he was ignoring her because she wouldn’t sleep with him yet. Maybe she’d pushed his patience too far and he’d lost interest in her. The thought made her cry harder.

  ‘I’ll sleep with you,’ she whispered as she laid her head down on her school bag and pulled her jacket over her shaking shoulders, ‘just please, please come and find me.’

  But Mike wasn’t there when she woke up. She was still alone: cold, stiff and soaking wet, buried in the heart of a bush. Rain wasn’t the only thing that had seeped through her clothes as she slept. Despair had too. Mike wouldn’t save her. He wouldn’t stand between her and her dad and stop him from screaming at her. He wouldn’t drag her mum out of bed or heal her never-ending migraines. He wouldn’t jump to her defence when she was called a loser or a freak at school. Life was shit and it was going to continue getting shitter. And now she had to deal with it alone, just like she had to deal with everything. Or not deal with it at all.

  I don’t care, she thought as she scrabbled back out of the bushes and started to run. I don’t care anymore. I just don’t care.

  There is a light on in the front room as Chloe walks down the garden path but she doesn’t falter or slow her pace. Instead she turns the front door handle and walks into the living room. She doesn’t react as her mum leaps off the sofa, screams, ‘Oh thank god!’ and throws her arms around her. She doesn’t blink as her Auntie Meg, who is standing by the window, snatches up her phone and shouts down it, ‘Mum, she’s here. She’s back. She’s just this second walked in.’ And when her dad bursts in, fifteen minutes later, and hugs her, then shakes her and screams in her face that she’s a bloody stupid girl and does she even know how worried they all were, she looks him in the eye and doesn’t cry.

  ‘Why?’ he shouts at her. ‘Why did you do this to us? First stealing, then running away. I give up. I absolutely give up. Give me your phone.’ He holds out a hand.

  Chloe reaches into her pocket, pulls out her mobile and gives it to him. She waits for a twang of pain or regret to pull at her heart. But there’s nothing.

  ‘I’m cancelling your contract. And you’re grounded,’ her dad says. ‘You’re not going out for a month and I’m going to pick you up from school every day. You’re lucky Greensleeves decided not to press charges or you’d have a criminal record to your name. At thirteen! How fucking stupid are you?’

  Chloe doesn’t reply. She knows exactly how stupid her dad thinks she is.

  ‘And I’m cancelling the holiday to Majorca,’ he adds.

  ‘No!’ her mum whines from the sofa. ‘Oh Alan, that’s not fair. Jamie’s been so looking forward to it. I have too.’

  ‘Well …’ he pauses. ‘We’ll see about the holiday. But you’re not going anywhere.’ He prods Chloe on the cold, clammy skin of her chest, just below her collarbone.

  Chloe doesn’t react. She feels as though a transparent film has formed around her, separating her from the rest of the world. Nothing can touch her anymore and nobody can hurt her. For thirteen years she’s lived for ‘if only’. If only I had a nice boyfriend I’d be happy. If only my dad stopped being an arsehole I’d be happy. If only I was clever/beautiful/thin I’d be happy. All along the solution to her misery was right there in front of her but she’d never seen it. The only cure for unhappiness is to stop caring.

  She looks from her dad to her mum to her aunt. They think they’re still in control. They think I’m upset. They think I give a shit. But none of them know that on the inside I’m dead.

  Chapter 19

  Lou

  Last night Mike really scared me. He’d been out all day, looking for somewhere for us to stay. He locked me in the hotel room again, saying I’d get bored, traipsing around looking at apartments. When I told him I’d be bored staying behind on my own, he kissed me on the nose and told me be patient. We had the rest of our lives to spend together.

  I knew it hadn’t gone well, the second he walked back into the room. He was all sweaty round his temples and his blue eyes looked dark. I didn’t ask him how it went. Instead I patted the space beside me on the bed and give him a sympathetic smile. He slumped beside me, crossed his hands under his head and stared up at the ceiling. His bad mood was like a black cloud that covered both of us.

  ‘I fucking hate French people.’

  ‘So why did we come here?’ The words were out of my mouth before I could take them back and I tensed, waiting for him to snap.

  ‘Because I love France. But I hate the people.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because they’re up their own arses. Arrogant pricks. Everyone I tried to talk to in French acted like they couldn’t understand me and the only person I could find who spoke English laughed when I told him what our budget was.’

  ‘Maybe he—’

  ‘He fucking laughed at me. I should have taken his head off. Fuck it. Maybe we should leave Rouen and go somewhere else.’

  I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t want him to snap at me if I said the wrong thing and if I said nothing he’d think I didn’t care.

  ‘Why don’t we …’ I slid my hand over his stomach and wriggled it under the waistband of his jeans.

  ‘Don’t.’ He grabbed my wrist and threw it away from him. ‘I’m not in the mood.’

  Neither of us said anything for the longest time. Mike continued to stare at the ceiling while I lay curled up on my side, watching his face. It was horrible and awkward and I wished I could magic myself out of that cold, boxy little room and back into my bedroom with my warm duvet, my TV and all my stuff. I even missed Mum shouting at me to stop messing about and do my homework.

  ‘Maybe …’ my voice sounded small and weak. ‘Maybe we should go back to England?’

  ‘What?’ Mike turned his head to look at me, lightning fast. I’d said the wrong thing.

  ‘You … you don’t … you don’t seem very happy.’

  ‘And why’s that then, do you think?’

  ‘I don’t know … the French … the Frenchman. You didn’t—’

  ‘Has it ever occurred to you, Louise …’ Mike propped himself up on one elbow and looked down at me. ‘That perhaps you’re part of the reason why I’m not happy?’

  ‘Me?’

  ‘Ever since we’ve got here you’ve done nothing but bitch and moan about how bored you are, how there’s no TV, how you want to ring your mum. You’ve thrown things at me, you’ve shouted at me and you’ve insulted me. I did this for YOU, Louise. I did it because you told me that I was all you ever wanted. That you loved me. That you wanted to spend the rest of your life with me. I have given up everything for you. EVERYTHING. My home, my marriage, my club. And how do you repay me? You ask if we can go back to
England?’

  ‘Mike I’m sorry.’ I burst into tears and threw myself at him, burying my face in his chest, wrapping him with my arms and legs. ‘I didn’t mean … I’m sorry … I just, I just … I just want to make you happy.’

  He flipped me onto my back and sat astride me, pinning my arms either side of my head. He was red in the face, eyes gleaming.

  ‘You are everything to me, everything. Don’t you get it?’

  I nodded dumbly.

  ‘You need to trust me, Louise. I keep telling you. You need to start trusting me.’

  ‘I do. Mike I really do.’

  He shifted off me, pulled at his belt buckle and took off his jeans and boxers. He flipped up my dress – the one he bought me on Monday – and pulled down my knickers.

  ‘Prove it,’ he said as he sat astride me. ‘Prove how much you trust me.’

  ‘How?’ Tears rolled down my cheeks as I reached up and touched his face.

  He gently moved my hand from his face and laid it on the pillow by my head, then he wrapped his hand round my throat. I instinctively tried to pull his hand away but he shook his head.

  ‘You need to trust me, Louise. Remember? I’m not going to hurt you. I’m going to do something to you that’s going to feel amazing. You’ll feel giddy, light-headed and more pleasure than you’ve ever felt in your life. It might scare you but I will … not … hurt … you. I promise. This is your opportunity to prove how much you trust me. Do you?’

  As I nodded my head he shoved himself inside me and tightened his grip on my neck.

  Wednesday 2nd May 2007

  I speed round the supermarket, chucking bread, milk, ham and cheese into my basket. It’s Wednesday morning and the second time I’ve phoned in sick at work. Mike has been in the barn since Monday early evening. He’s still refusing to give me the code to his phone. Yesterday, after my freak-out about the helicopter, I drove around until my phone picked up 4G, then I googled how to unlock a phone. I spent hours following different YouTube videos, and read through pages and pages of forums, but none of the suggested hacks worked. There’s only one more thing I can try – one of those phone stalls that unlock phones and replace screens. There aren’t any in Bromyard but I’m pretty sure I’ll find one in Worcester.