DON’T PUSH ME
Ewan McGregor
There’s only so much one woman can take…
Copyright (c) Ewan McGregor 2019
The moral right of Ewan McGregor to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All the characters in this book are fictitious, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is purely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of the publisher, nor to be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is being published without a similar condition, including this condition, being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
Formatting by Polgarus Studio
For Tricia
Table of Contents
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
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71
Acknowledgements
1
Kat Matthews had just finished another hellish shift at the bank where she worked.
She was looking forward to getting home. Not that she had much to look forward to when she got there, though the bottle of rosé chilling in the fridge would surely improve her mood.
Kat took the lift down to the underground car park; it was three flights of stairs, after all. She was the only one in the tiny lift, which was a blessing on a day like today. The last thing she needed right now was having to make small talk with one of her inane colleagues.
Kat had an uneasy feeling as she slowly descended. She couldn’t quite put her finger on it. The rickety lift was unreliable at the best of times, and if it broke down now, it would cap the day off perfectly.
The lift shuddered as it reached the ground floor. The doors didn’t open. Stuck in a lift with no one around. Surely her luck couldn’t be that lousy? Thankfully, after a few tense moments and a few choice words, the doors ceded and slowly creaked apart.
Kat stepped out into the bank’s car park, where the uneasy feeling didn’t subside. If anything it was worse. There was always something creepy about underground car parks, especially when there was not another soul around. To make matters worse, the already dim lighting had started to annoyingly flicker on and off. The bank made millions every quarter but couldn’t even replace a few dodgy bulbs? It summed them up really.
Kat had a horrible feeling that someone was lurking there. Or, at the very least, she was being watched. Her heart rate had increased and her stomach was churning. Beads of sweat had formed on her forehead and upper lip. The poorly lit car park had CCTV, and she knew a security guard was stationed near the exit, but that didn’t reassure her. It just meant they would be able to watch her being bludgeoned to death at a later date. She moved slowly towards the spot where she had parked her car that morning.
Someone was watching her. She could sense it. She could feel it. Her heart was going like the clappers—
Suddenly, there was a loud bang. Kat almost jumped out of her skin. Someone scuttled away – just out of her eyeline.
She froze, then wiped the sweat from her head and lip with the back of her hand.
As she turned to where the noise had come from she saw, to her relief, a small fox. It must have knocked over one of the bins in its search for scraps.
Kat was a nervous wreck; her heart was racing and she was sweating more than any normal human should. She reached into her bag and fumbled for her keys, then quickly moved to the car.
That’s when she noticed the glass glistening on the ground.
Kat moved to assess the damage. Someone had put a half brick through her driver’s-side window, and there was a huge score down the driver’s door.
What a shitty thing to do.
Kat burst into tears. It was frustration more than anything. She would have to speak to the security guard and see if he had seen anything or if the CCTV had picked it up. Then it was the hassle of dealing with the damage and the insurance. There went her no-claims bonus.
Just as Kat was beginning to clear up the glass on the front seat, a message came through on her mobile. She fished it out of her pocket.
Watch you don’t cut yourself on the glass. Safe journey home xxx
It was them.
Why could they not leave her alone?
2
Kat lived alone in a nice quaint flat in Glasgow’s West End. Well, not completely alone – her cat, Kiddles, kept her company.
The flat was a couple of minutes’ walk to the underground station at Kelvinbridge. Kat had stayed there since she left her mum’s twenty odd years ago and had never envisaged moving. It was a lovely quiet area, plus it was handy for her morning commute to work in the city centre. However, she had to admit that, more often than not these days, she was being lazy and taking the car to work. No wonder she had stopped losing weight again.
Kat tried to park the damaged car outside her flat but someone had stolen her space. Again. The lovely new silver Mercedes had taken her space on numerous occasions now, even though it was clearly marked. Why was she such a pushover? There was a young guy wearing a flash suit exiting the car parked in Kat’s designated space.
‘Excuse me. Is there any chance of moving your car? You’re in my space.’ Kat wouldn’t normally have said anything; she would just have found another space, no doubt a good distance from her flat. Today though, she felt the need to say something.
‘Fuck off,’ the young man replied. He laughed at Kat and walked on without a care in the world.
Kat did what she always did. She drove on and parked further down the street, internally scolding herself for letting people walk all over her. She locked the door and assessed the patch-up job she had carried out on the beaten-up Mini. The cardboard and bin bag would have to do for now. There was nothing of value in the car so, hopefully, it would be left alone overnight. She would get it repaired in the morning – no doubt at significant cost.
The bottle of wine was at the forefront of Kat’s mind – she needed a drink to settle her nerves. She needed a drink to try to forget about everything.
As she started to walk towards her flat, the heavens opened and the rain came down in sheets. Kat didn’t even have an umbrella with her. Great.
Kat’s hair was matted to her head as she hurriedly opened the door to get in out of the rain. She was immediately greeted by her faithful
companion Kiddles, who nuzzled into her leg. She could always rely on the cat to cheer her up. He would never let her down.
‘What would I do without you, Kiddles?’ Kat said, stroking the cat.
Kat didn’t bother to take off her shoes or jacket, even though she was soaking wet. She lumbered over the ever growing pile of mail on the floor – no doubt more bills her ex-husband had racked up – and moved to the fridge, then poured herself a healthy glass of wine. Kat knocked back a good part of the glass in one go, and then struggled out of her wet clothes before decamping to the couch, bottle in hand. Kiddles followed and curled up next to her. She didn’t bother turning the television on. Sitting in the tranquillity of the flat, listening to the rain hammering down outside, her mind was working overtime, turning things over and over. How had it come to this?
Kat used to love working at the bank – that’s what made it all the more infuriating. She even enjoyed working weekends when overtime was being offered. Now, she tried to spend as little time there as possible without putting her job in jeopardy. Most of her friends had left or retired over the past few years, which meant she had no support or anyone to confide in. Now she woke up with dread every morning at the thought of going into the office. It was making her unwell, and she knew she was drinking far too much. It was as if she was trying to blank it all out. Kid herself on that she wasn’t allowing this to happen.
Bullying. That’s what it was – plain and simple. There were two main culprits, Rachel and Kirsty, but lots of others in the office were complicit. They had made her life a misery for around six months now, which was far too long in anyone’s book. Kat’s confidence had been completely destroyed.
Kat had worked at the bank for the best part of two decades without any problems whatsoever, but then Rachel had started working there and shortly afterwards the bullying had begun. She had no idea what she had said or done to have upset Rachel so much; she had no clue why she, and no one else, was being picked on.
She had tried to nip it in the bud right at the beginning – she had gone to see her manager and told him what was going on. A problem shared is a problem halved, is that not what they say? Not when you had a manager like Tony. To say he was inept would be to do a huge disservice to inept people. He was absolutely bloody hopeless, and it was around this time that things took a turn for the worse.
The bullying had increased worryingly since her chat with management. She felt sure her ‘private’ conversation with Tony had been anything but. That’s also when the text messages had started. Kat had wondered how they had got hold of her mobile number, but she had a feeling – in fact she was absolutely one hundred per cent certain – that Tony had something to do with it.
Now they were targeting her car as well. Where would it stop?
The rosé wine had disappeared rapidly. Kat hadn’t even registered the taste. She poured herself another generous measure from the bottle positioned handily at her feet and tried to calm down. Tried to think through the options which were available to her. She could, and probably should, take her concerns further up the ladder to higher management or HR, but she was worried about what might happen and she hated making a fuss. She should show them the text messages – show them her damaged car. There was plenty of evidence. She should also complain about Tony and the way he had dealt with her complaint. Nobody likes a grass though, do they?
She could go off on the sick, but why should she stop working because of silly young girls? And that’s just what they were. Girls. They were young enough to be her daughter. Plus, going off on the sick would just delay the problem; it wouldn’t make it go away. It was just pushing it further down the road. Or she could grow a set and actually sort the bullies out once and for all. A smile crossed her lips. How good would that be? She knew deep down though that it wouldn’t happen – she didn’t have it in her. It wasn’t in her make-up but it was nice to dream about it.
Kat’s head was thumping now. She grabbed a couple of painkillers from the kitchen cupboard and washed them down with yet more wine.
Kat knew things couldn’t go on like this. Something had to give.
Something had to change.
3
The fat cow doesn’t know what’s going to hit her.
Last night it was her banger of a car but that was nothing. Who’s she trying to kid anyway? A Mini for someone as fat as that? She must be wedged in tight. A wee brick through the window and a scratch on the paintwork wasn’t my finest work, but it sends her a message. Lets her know we’re not going away. Keeps her on her toes. She could do with the exercise. It’ll be a hassle trying to sort it out, plus it’ll hopefully cost her a few quid. Not like she can’t afford it.
She should count herself lucky. It might be someone she cares about next.
I could get Jason to batter that son of hers no bother at all. Jason would do it as well – he does anything I want. Daft as a brush but he has his uses and his name carries some weight. Well, his family’s name does – people are shit scared of his family, as he keeps on telling anyone stupid enough to listen.
I’ve heard Fat Kat’s mum’s not got long left either so I could even put her out of her misery, but then again, I’m not that cruel. Or am I?
I’ve waited years for the chance to get to the fat bitch and I’m not going to waste the opportunity now.
The first few months I had to tread carefully, but now I’m more liked in work than she ever was and I’ve got most people turned against her. Tony’s the manager, after all, and he’s eating out the palm of my hand. Men are so easy to manipulate.
It’s going to start for real now.
Thinks she can treat us like that and get away with it? No chance.
She doesn’t even know who she’s dealing with, that’s the best part. She probably thinks it’s nothing personal. Little does she know. She’ll find out soon enough – I’m going to make damn sure of that.
Sitting there in her expensive posh flat in the West End while we struggled. How is that fair? Bet she didn’t even give it a moment’s thought.
Fat bitch has been lucky so far but her luck has well and truly run out. No more playing games and having fun with her; no more kid’s stuff – the real pain’s going to start now.
I’m going to enjoy every last minute of it.
4
Kat woke with a start. She had fallen asleep on the couch again. She looked at her watch. It showed 3 a.m. How long had she been out?
Her mouth was as dry as a sandpit and her head was still pounding.
She stood and nearly tripped over the two empty wine bottles and wine glass which had been discarded at her feet. At least she knew the reason behind the headache. This had happened far too often lately. Kat had never been a big drinker until the bullying had escalated. She had never really drunk any alcohol at home, bar the odd glass of wine with dinner if she had any friends round. When she used to have friends round. She hadn’t seen any of them in months; she just didn’t feel like meeting anyone for fear of them finding out how miserable she was. For fear of them finding out she was being bullied. She didn’t think she could deal with the embarrassment. She hardly even spoke to them nowadays.
Kat picked the bottles up from the living-room floor and stumbled into the kitchen. That’s where the painkillers were. She deposited the bottles in the bin and opened the cupboard, then sank three painkillers with a glass of water – two would not be enough; not after two bottles – and made to go to bed. It was a good job she had the next morning off work. Her hangover was going to be a good one. She could feel it already, plus she had to put her car into the garage and visit her mother at the nursing home.
As she entered her bedroom, Kat noticed her phone lying on the bed. It was illuminated. She had several notifications, which was unusual. She slid her finger across the handset. There was a message from them.
You didn’t tell us you were on a dating website? You filthy, desperate cow! xxx
There was a link and, reluctantly, Kat presse
d it.
It was as bad as she feared. They had Photoshopped her head onto a younger, thinner, scantily clad woman and signed her up for a dating site. And not one of the fancy ones. Kat felt her head pulsing. Some of the things they had written. Some of the things they had said she was into. Kat didn’t understand half of it. Disgusting little witches.
Kat read with horror, bile rising in her stomach. Colour had risen to her cheeks and she felt sick. Why were they targeting her? What had she done to deserve all of this? Why was it only her? It was getting worse.
There were also two notifications from the dating site informing her that she had two new contacts who liked her profile. I’ll bet they did, filthy sods.
Kat’s headache was getting worse the more she read. A mixture of the wine and the sheer anger at these bloody girls who wouldn’t leave her alone. They were making her life a misery for no reason whatsoever.
Enough was enough. Something had to be done about this.
Kat hurled the phone across the room, dropped onto her bed and cried herself to sleep.
5
‘How are you feeling, Mum?’ Kat asked.
She hoped this visit to the nursing home would be pleasant; her hangover couldn’t cope with any of her mother’s ‘episodes’ today. Plus, she had a busy morning planned before she had to head for work.
Kat’s mother sat in her usual swinging chair, staring out the window. She turned at the sound of Kat’s voice.
‘Somebody’s stole ma teeth,’ Maureen Matthews said, opening her mouth wide so Kat could see the lack of dentures.
‘Oh, I don’t think so, Mum; they’ve maybe just been misplaced.’
‘I’m telling ye, somebody’s got them. They probably don’t even fit in their mouth. My nice big teeth in somebody’s small mouth. It’s bloody disgusting.’
Kat tried not to laugh. However, she was going to have to speak to one of the carers. Her mum looked and sounded terrible without her teeth in, and even if somebody hadn’t stolen them, they were still missing.
Don't Push Me Page 1