Look Behind You

by Sibel Hodge

  I meet her gaze in the mirror. ‘Can you do it like yours? A chin-length bob? And a lot lighter in colour.’

  ‘Do you want it all coloured or just highlights? A whole head of colour will be quite drastic. Highlights will be more subtle.’

  ‘A whole head, please.’

  ‘No problem. And it’s your lucky day.’ She smiles. ‘We’ve got a sale on at the moment. You get a free cut and blow dry with every colour.’

  Lucky? That almost makes me laugh hysterically.

  An hour and a half later, I don’t recognize myself. I walk past the shop windows, catching glimpses of the new me as the air breathes on the back of my bare neck. Liam will hate it. He likes my hair long and kept down. Thinks it looks more feminine. Well, fuck him.

  My stomach’s shouting in hunger by the time I arrive home, but the thought of eating makes me nauseous. I open the fridge door. It’s almost empty, and I only have five pounds left over from what Liam gave me to get some food. I close the door again and look at the fruit basket. A lone apple and two bananas stare back at me. I bite into the apple and ring Sara again. No answer. I wonder what she’s doing. Knowing her, she’s probably trekking in the mountains or white water rafting.

  As I throw the apple core into the bin under the kitchen sink, I notice it’s full. I tie the ends of the black bin liner together and heave it from the metal casing before going out the kitchen door and round the side path to the front of the house where the wheelie bin is. Since the refuse collectors still haven’t been, it’s stuffed full, the lid pushed up and gaping half open, as if it’s laughing at me. I put the bin bag on the ground next to it, and as I’m walking away, a thought strikes me. The plate that Liam told Summers we’d rowed about. The one he said I smashed. If that really happened, the remnants of broken crockery would be in one of these bin bags.

  I pick up the bag I’ve just put down in one hand and take the top one from the wheelie bin in the other, carrying them both into the back garden. I retrieve the final two bags and deposit them next to the others. Then I hear a mangled, melodic sound, like a dying bird. Even though it’s distorted, I know exactly what it is.

  It’s the ringtone from my missing mobile phone, and it’s coming from inside one of the bags.

  18

  My fingers shake as I undo the knot on the first bag, the one I’ve just taken from the kitchen. The ringing has stopped now, so I don’t know which one it’s in. I dump the contents out onto the lawn and frantically pick through. If Summers could see me now, he’d definitely think I’d lost the plot. I let out a snort just thinking about it as I pick up soggy used tissues, kitchen waste, discarded post, empty shampoo and ketchup bottles, the mug I dropped that Liam wrapped up in newspaper, the red dress I had on when I was found, which the hospital must’ve given to Liam. It’s now ripped and torn, and I don’t know why they thought I’d want it back.

  Disgusting muck covers my hands when I finish putting the contents back in the bag and start on the next one.

  That’s where I find it.

  The glass face of the phone is cracked so much I can’t read the screen anymore, and filth covers it. It looks like it’s been thrown or stamped on. Did I do that? Did Liam? I leave it on the grass and check through the rest of the bin bags for the remnants of the smashed plate. There’s no sign of it, which means it never happened.

  I’m not going mad. I didn’t act out of character and throw the plate at him. It’s yet another lie Liam’s told that makes me look irrational and crazy. I replace all the rubbish back in the bin then go into the kitchen. I wash my hands and wipe the phone repeatedly with antibacterial wipes until it’s clean.

  It’s useless. I can’t read a thing through the damaged screen. But it must be working if it was ringing, so maybe the SIM card will still be OK. I need to get another phone so I can try it out. It’s not likely I can buy a phone with five pounds, which means I’ll have to get some more money from Liam. If I ask for more, he’ll want to know what it’s for, and he can’t suspect I know things.

  I’ll steal it from his wallet then. Yes, that’s it.

  Another thought bursts into my head then. The sleeping tablets. I haven’t noticed them in the house, and they certainly weren’t in the bin. If I’d really taken them, they’d be somewhere around here. I search everywhere, starting in one of the kitchen cupboards where we keep a plastic container of medicine. I pull everything out one by one: plasters, bandages, earwax removal drops, Optrex, ibuprofen, paracetamol, Anadin Extra, some out of date antibiotics Liam had for a tooth abscess, vitamin C tablets, laxatives. I search the bathroom cabinets and all the drawers in the bedroom.

  No sleeping tablets.

  ~~~~

  ‘What the fuck have you done to your hair?’ Liam’s eyes widen when he walks into the kitchen. A red flush creeps up his neck, a sure sign he’s getting angry. I know all the signs now. I’ve lived with them for too long. I don’t want him to smash a hole in one of the doors or walls again, so I ignore the harsh tone of his voice. With a placid smile on my face, I stop stirring the spaghetti sauce I’d found in the freezer.

  ‘I…I just fancied something different, that’s all.’ Instinctively, I reach a hand up to touch my hair, or lack of it.

  ‘It looks bloody awful! You don’t look anything like yourself anymore. Why on earth would you do that?’ His hand goes to his hip. ‘Honestly, Chloe, sometimes you’re just so stupid. When I said get your hair cut, we agreed on a trim, but you’re practically bald!’

  ‘I just—’

  ‘This is what I mean.’ He points a finger at me, disapproval thick in his voice. ‘You’re just acting irrationally all the time. I’m going to ring Dr Drew tomorrow and express my concerns. Again.’

  ‘How is cutting my hair irrational?’ I dare to challenge him, suddenly brave.

  ‘Because you don’t usually do these kinds of things.’ His tone is coaxing, as if he’s trying to convince a child out of a tantrum.

  ‘What things? Cut my hair? That’s ridiculous!’ I shake my head, but I know exactly what he means. He means I don’t usually go against what he wants.

  He strides towards me, picks up a tuft of hair, and tugs hard on the end.

  ‘Ouch!’ I reach for his hand. ‘That hurts!’

  ‘You’ve completely lost it, and you can’t even see it.’ He drops his hand, turns, and storms out of the room and up the stairs. When he’s gone, I stick my tongue out at the space he’s left. A pathetic gesture, I know, but I’m fighting now. Fighting for my sanity.

  And I’m not stupid. If I were, I would never have managed to escape.

  As I’m draining the pasta through a colander at the sink, the doorbell rings, scaring me senseless. I spill boiling water over my wrist and gasp.

  I hear Liam opening the door and talking to a man. The door closes, and a few minutes later Liam walks into the kitchen with a bouquet of flowers in one hand and a small envelope that’s been torn open in the other. He holds them out to me with an amused smile on his face. ‘I thought you had a secret admirer at first, but they’re just from Theresa.’

  ‘Yes, I meant to tell you someone tried to deliver them earlier, but I didn’t want to open the door. I arranged for them to come back when you’d be home.’ I wipe my hands on a dishcloth and take the flowers.

  They’re lovely. Lush lilies and bright roses, all interspersed with green leaves and red ribbon. I slide out the card from the envelope that Liam’s already opened.

  Wishing you a speedy recovery.

  Best Wishes

  Theresa (and all the staff at Downham College)

  A speedy recovery? How do you recover from being kidnapped and left for dead? How do you recover from someone trying to make you go mad?

  I wonder what Liam has told her and whether Summers has been to see her asking questions. Did they both paint me as a lunatic who’s tried to kill herself? I risk a glance at Liam, who has a smug grin on his face.

  ‘Shall I put them in water for you, darling?�
�� He takes the bouquet from my hand and busies himself finding a glass vase and filling it with water. I plate up the spaghetti and pour sauce on top neatly as Liam arranges the flowers.

  We sit down at the table, but eating is almost impossible for me. I chew my food slowly and thoroughly to get it past my throat, which feels like it’s closed up.

  After I clear the dinner plates and clean the kitchen, Liam retreats to the dining room to use the computer. I pour a glass of red wine then grab a cigarette and lighter and go out into the garden. Hiding on the path round the side of the house, I light up and inhale, taking drags in between big gulps of alcohol. Both the cigarette and wine burn my throat, but it feels great. If I can feel pain, it means I’m still alive. When this is all over, I’ll quit again. I don’t care about getting lung cancer when my death could be imminent.

  I stub out the cigarette and throw it over the fence in case Liam finds it. Then I walk to the end of the garden and turn around, looking at the house that feels like a prison.

  Liam’s standing at our bedroom window watching me, but I can’t make out his expression from this far away. I exhale a weary, defeated sigh and head back into the house.

  Quickly washing up the wine glass and putting it back in the cupboard, I chew on a polo mint to take away the smoky smell. As I finish cleaning the kitchen, Liam’s coming down the stairs. I turn around and he’s there, right behind of me. He pulls me towards him, holding me gently, and I have to wrestle hard with myself to keep the scream deep inside.

  ‘I’m sorry for moaning about your hair. It’s just that I love you so much, I’m worried about you.’ He strokes my back.

  My muscles tense. ‘You don’t have to worry. I’m fine.’ Or maybe that’s what he’s worried about, that I am actually fine and not either dead or in the loony bin, and he’s not free to do whatever he wants.

  ‘Everything you’ve been doing lately is so out of character. I think those drugs affected you more than we first thought. Something’s happening to you.’

  Shut up! You keep saying that! Is it me you’re trying to convince or yourself?

  ‘I don’t want to have the doctors intervene, but you must see that you’re not acting like yourself.’

  No. I don’t see! I don’t, I don’t, I don’t! You’re trying to destroy me. Send me bloody insane!

  I bite back what I really want to say. ‘Cutting my hair doesn’t mean I’m not acting like myself. I like it. It’s more manageable this length.’ I sniff into his shoulder.

  He pulls back, blue eyes searching mine. ‘Well, I suppose it will grow again,’ he huffs. ‘But don’t cut it anymore.’

  ‘No. I won’t.’

  ‘Good girl. Now, let me make you a cup of tea. You sit down and relax. This is all taking its toll on you, I can tell.’ He kisses the top of my head and switches on the kettle, humming to himself. I watch his stiff back as I sit nervously at the table, wondering what he’s going to do next. When he finishes the tea, he brings it over and sets it in front of me. ‘There you are. When you’ve drunk that, we can watch a film together. Snuggle up on the sofa, eh?’

  The thought makes my stomach bubble. ‘That would be nice.’ I smile, hoping he doesn’t notice it wobble on my face, and bide my time.

  19

  I steal sixty-five pounds from Liam’s wallet when he’s having his morning shower and tuck it inside my pillowcase. I’m getting dressed in a black sundress he likes when he comes out of the bathroom, towel wrapped round his waist, hair still damp.

  ‘Sleep well?’ He tilts his head, a very slight smile on his face.

  ‘Mmm, like a log.’ It’s a lie, of course. How can I sleep?

  ‘Maybe that’s what you need, just some good old rest.’ He folds the used towel up and puts it on top of the dressing table, then pulls on some boxers he’s already laid out neatly on the bed.

  My gaze flicks to his body. A body I loved in the beginning.

  Now I hate it.

  I wonder how he’d feel if I criticized him. If I told him I could see the grey filtering through the blond at his temples. How the hard lines of his abs are filling out now with a slight paunch. How the definition of his jaw has changed with the first appearance of loose skin, and there are puffy bags under his eyes.

  He catches me looking and mistakes my expression for interest. ‘I have a little time before I go to work.’ He raises his eyebrows and walks towards me. He runs his fingertips down the side of my neck, over my collarbone, along the swell of my breast. I want to jerk away from him, but I clench the horrified shiver deep inside.

  One corner of his lips lifts in a sultry smile as he undresses me slowly. I swallow back the repulsion, unsure how I actually hold it together without clawing at him. But I’m used to acting now, and this time it might save my life. So I roam my hands over his body as his piercing gaze holds mine.

  He picks me up and carries me to the bed gently. I wrap my legs round his waist and angle my hips up to meet him, acting like I can’t wait. A chill sinks into my bones, as if someone’s just walked over my grave.

  ‘No one will ever love you as much as me.’ His hot breath fans across the shell of my ear when he thrusts inside me deeply. I bite back the cry of pain. He moves to his own rhythm, and I’m so convincing in my moans and groans of ecstasy that even I almost believe it.

  After he leaves, I take a shower, trying to rid myself of his smell and touch on my skin. I scrub until the water runs cold, but I still don’t feel clean.

  I brush my teeth hard, making my gums bleed, then go downstairs and have a coffee and a cigarette, my hands shaking so hard I spill the coffee on the patio table. I rinse my cup and put it in the dishwasher, then put on my big sunglasses and study myself in the mirror. Everything looks different. I’m not Chloe Benson anymore. I don’t know who I am.

  I leave the house and walk towards town. The streets are eerily quiet, but I keep my eyes alert for anyone who might be suspicious. A feeling creeps chillingly up my spine that I’m not alone. It’s as though someone’s eyes are boring into my back.

  Someone is behind me. I know it.

  Every muscle tenses, and I force myself to look over my shoulder. A man’s walking about twenty-five metres behind. He’s big and bulky, wearing black jeans, trainers, and a baggy grey hoodie pulled over his head, casting a dark shadow so it’s impossible to see his face properly.

  My heartbeat slams in my chest as I increase my pace. I’m on a residential street, but I’m still terrified. Flynn said no one wants to get involved these days. A crime could be happening right in front of someone’s nose, and they’d probably keep their head down and walk past.

  His footsteps speed up.

  I don’t know whether to run. Or would that just let him know I’m scared and make him chase me? I cross to the other side of the road and keep walking, looking back to see where he is.

  He turns his head towards me, but I still can’t make out his face.

  It could be him. The person who took me. But I don’t know how could he possibly recognize me now.

  I clamp my lips together to stop from screaming out and walk faster still. I can’t hear his footsteps now over the sound of my heartbeat pounding in my ears. Fighting to keep my breathing calm, I wonder whether to stop at someone’s house and ring their doorbell, but anyone could be inside, and all I can see in the windows are bright reflections of the street where the sunlight bounces off the glass.

  Then I hear him again. Louder now, his footsteps close behind me, keeping in time with mine, and I’m pretty much power walking. Sweat trickles between my shoulder blades.

  Someone shouts, ‘Dave!’ and I spin my head around once more.

  The man in the hoodie has stopped, waiting for another man who jogs up to join him. They do some weird kind of handshake and stand there, talking.

  I exhale a ragged breath of relief and carry on down the street, not letting up my pace, just in case. By the time I arrive in town, it feels like I’m about to have a heart attack, so
I sit on a bench in the middle of town until the chaos in my head subsides. Then I square my shoulders and get up.

  There are five mobile phone shops to choose from, but I go to the one that is my existing service provider. I push the door open, take off my sunglasses, and browse through the phones, looking for the cheapest pay-as-you-go. There’s one for £20. That will do.

  ‘Can I help you?’ A salesman that looks about the same age as my students appears beside me.

  ‘Yes, is this phone unlocked?’

  ‘They’re all unlocked here. You can use any SIM card in them. But you can’t take photos on this one, and there’s no Internet access.’

  ‘That’s OK. I’ll take it.’

  He gives me an odd look, as if I’ve just sprouted another head. ‘Are you sure? We have a better model over here with the works on it.’ He points to something bigger with a touch screen.

  ‘No, this will be perfect.’

  I pay quickly and rush home, my eyes scanning the streets for signs of possible danger. The ominous feeling I’m being watched makes my skin crawl, but the only people I see on the way home are two mums walking three noisy children down the street, an old man walking an even older-looking dog, and a woman getting out of a cab at the side of the road.

  When I get inside, I tear at the phone’s packaging, which I hide in the bottom of the kitchen bin. Then I insert the battery in the phone, plug it in, and let it charge. Sitting at the kitchen table, I watch the phone on the worktop as I rock back and forth, sliding my earring round and round in its pierced hole, waiting.

  A ringing noise makes me jump, and at first, I think it’s the mobile, but it’s not.

  ‘Hello?’ I pick up the house phone, expecting it to be Liam checking up on me.

  ‘Ah, is that Chloe? It’s Dr Drew here.’