‘Okay. See you.’
‘Sooner than you think.’
Stepping off the bus, he took a big gulp of fresh air, shuddering at the memory of that woman’s awful stench and hoping it hadn’t passed to him.
Ben’s nerves returned with a vengeance – like an iron fist to his stomach – as it dawned on him how close he was to his destination. He’d be there on foot in a matter of minutes. He gulped. Then a loud banging noise from behind caught his attention.
CHAPTER 18
NOW
Monday, 23 July 2018
The third key Lisa tried was the correct one. It turned in the lock and the outside door swung open, letting them inside the shared entrance hall of Aunt Jenny’s flat. It felt a little strange that she thought of her by that name, when she was Mike’s aunt rather than hers, but as he’d always referred to her that way, Lisa had fallen into the habit of doing the same.
They’d spent a couple of hours with Aunt Jenny at the hospital that morning. Now they were calling in at her home to pick up a few things she’d requested, which they would take to her when they visited again that afternoon.
Eyeing the concrete steps up to the second floor, where the flat was located, Lisa winced at the thought of her falling down them. No wonder she was so black and blue. They didn’t look very forgiving. If anything, she was lucky to have only broken her arm and not something else. The cuts and bruises she’d suffered looked awful but would heal soon enough; the break would take some time to mend. An arm was better than a leg, in terms of self-sufficiency, but it was still serious in someone elderly – and Aunt Jenny was seventy-six.
They weren’t showing any sign of wanting to discharge her from hospital yet, for which Lisa was thankful. Just as well the injury had happened in summer rather than winter, when beds were always in far higher demand. Then she might not have been so lucky.
Mike made for the stairs.
‘Hang on a minute,’ Lisa told him. ‘I promised to empty her mailbox. Let me do that now before I forget.’
She waved the big bunch of keys in his face. ‘Any idea which one it is?’
Mike shrugged. ‘Not a clue. Why does she have so many keys? She lives in a two-bedroom flat. How many locks can there be?’
It took a couple of minutes to identify the right one and to pull out the post, which was dominated by colourful leaflets advertising double glazing and takeaways. Mike grabbed the lot and she followed him up to the flat.
‘How did she fall again?’ Lisa asked.
‘She lost her footing, apparently, and missed a step. She was probably busy chatting to one of her neighbours and not paying attention to what she was doing.’
Lisa frowned. ‘That’s not very nice, love.’
‘I’m only joking, although you know I’m probably right.’
Aunt Jenny certainly was a chatterbox. She had been when her husband was still alive, but she’d grown even more so since his death. She could happily gab away to anyone about anything – and usually did whenever she got the chance. She enjoyed company, which was understandable considering she lived alone nowadays.
So it hadn’t been a surprise to find her bending a young cleaner’s ear when they’d arrived at her bedside earlier, recounting stories of her own time as a hospital midwife in days gone by. The cleaner had looked as relieved to see them as she was, darting off as soon as they arrived.
Lisa for one had always enjoyed talking to her. She was such a vibrant, positive person. It was a shame that she didn’t have more family living nearby. But like Mike, she was originally from the Milton Keynes area, where most of their relatives still lived. She and her late husband hadn’t been able to have children; they’d retired to Harrogate having fallen in love with the town on their honeymoon decades earlier. Now she refused to move away.
Lisa had expected the flat to be in a mess, bearing in mind Aunt Jenny’s sudden, unexpected departure and the fact she’d more or less begged her to run the vacuum around. In fact it was pretty tidy apart from a few unwashed cups, plates and cutlery next to the kitchen sink. It was a typical elderly woman’s flat: carpet throughout, apart from the kitchen and bathroom, which had tiled floors; floral wallpaper with several framed photos and paintings; plenty of houseplants and trinkets.
Pulling out the list she’d made of items to take back to the hospital, Lisa asked Mike: ‘Could you wash up those few things while I gather her stuff?’
He nodded, starting to run the hot water. He hadn’t had much to say since the car journey. Something appeared to be on his mind, although that was pretty much par for the course with Mike. Maybe she shouldn’t have cut him short when he’d started recounting what he’d heard in the pub about her and Elliot as kids, but it was such exaggerated claptrap. She hadn’t been in the mood. She was still annoyed by the fact that he’d gone there in the first place: slipping out on their guest after being rude to him, then wasting money they didn’t have on unnecessary alcohol. And all that so soon after their romantic meal from hell last Friday. So much for making it up to her.
She had considered not coming today as a result, but it hadn’t seemed right to punish Aunt Jenny for Mike’s bad behaviour. Lisa cared for her and didn’t want her to think otherwise. Plus, she wasn’t confident in her husband’s ability to get his aunt everything she needed, such as clothes and underwear. Some things were best done yourself.
Mike peered in the fridge and pulled out a milk bottle, eyeing the expiration date before giving it a sniff. ‘Fancy a brew? The milk went off yesterday, but I think we can get away with it.’
‘Make yourself at home.’
‘What? It’s only going to go in the bin otherwise, Lise. Aunt Jenny’s not going to mind, is she? Not after we’ve come to help her.’
‘Not for me.’
‘Suit yourself.’
Once she’d gathered Aunt Jenny’s things together and vacuumed while Mike watered the plants, Lisa was ready to return to the hospital.
‘I’m a bit peckish,’ Mike said, ‘but the only bread she has is in the freezer.’
‘Stop rooting around. We can grab a sandwich on the way.’
‘What? I thought we could save a couple of quid by making something here.’
‘With someone else’s food? If you wanted to save money, you should have stayed away from the pub last night.’
Mike sighed, running a hand through his hair. ‘Not this again. Can we go?’
‘Where? To the pub?’ Lisa asked. Before she could stop herself, she added: ‘Need a drink already, do you?’
She regretted saying this even before the thunderous look had swept across Mike’s face. But by then it was already too late.
‘Bloody hell, Lisa!’ he shouted, slamming his open palm down on to the kitchen worktop. ‘Why are you trying to wind me up? I’m not a damn alcoholic! I’m just a guy having a hard time of it, trying to cope. Do I like a drink? Yes, I do, because it helps me to forget how messed up my life is. Do you see me swigging a bottle of whisky at ten in the morning? No, you don’t. Because I’m not an alcoholic. So stop suggesting that I am.
‘You want to know why I went to the pub yesterday? Fine, I’ll tell you. It was to get away from the Elliot love-in. Yes, Lisa, we can all see how brilliant he is; what great shape he and his business are both in; what a fantastic catch he is. Well, guess what? As a guy who’s messed up not one but two jobs and finds himself washed-up and ready for the scrapheap before he’s even hit forty, that’s hard to watch.’
Lisa, standing in the doorway of the small kitchen, hadn’t uttered a sound as Mike was speaking. His voice had gradually trailed away from the initial angry bellow to a hobbling near whisper. Once he stopped, all she could hear was the sound of his heavy breathing. Both of his hands were now gripping the edge of the worktop, white knuckles on display like he was holding on for dear life.
She moved towards him, keen to offer some comfort, to let him know that things weren’t as bleak as they felt.
‘Don’t,’ he gro
wled, stopping her in her tracks.
‘I’m sorry, Mike. I didn’t—’
‘Don’t,’ he repeated. After several long seconds of cavernous silence, he announced that he was going outside for some air.
‘Can I get past, please?’ he said without emotion.
‘Sure,’ she replied, moving back into the hallway, unsure what else to do or say.
‘I’ll meet you at the car in fifteen minutes,’ he added.
And then he was gone.
Still reeling from the dramatic scene that she had unwittingly sparked, Lisa poured herself a glass of tap water and took a seat in the lounge.
She knew she shouldn’t have wound Mike up like that – and yet she was genuinely concerned that he was drinking too much. The fact he’d admitted to using alcohol as a crutch proved she was right to worry. He had put weight on too and, as her husband and father of her two children, she was concerned for his health – both physical and mental. How could she not be when her own father, who was overweight and drank too much, had died from a heart attack? And boozing hadn’t even been his major addiction. That had been gambling, the selfish legacy of which had been to leave his family without any financial safety net when he died. And boy could Lisa have done with a safety net now.
But how could she help Mike? He was usually so closed. It was rare to see such an outpouring of emotion from him, which was no doubt why he’d gone to cool down alone. In a way, she was glad of it. Sometimes these things needed to come out – to be said rather than thought. But it concerned her to see how much anger and frustration there was bubbling away under the surface – especially so soon after his public display of fury in the restaurant. And no surprise that alcohol was at the heart of both incidents.
She did understand what Mike had said about Elliot. She could well imagine how she’d feel if the shoe was on the other foot and a good-looking, successful female friend from his past turned up when things weren’t going well for her. But what was she supposed to do: turn her old pal away?
The fact was that a small part of Lisa was envious of Elliot too. The foundation of their friendship as kids and then teenagers had always been that she was the more fortunate, popular one, there to rescue him when he got into trouble. She’d enjoyed that and the way he’d always doted on her as a result. Now things were different. Elliot was the fortunate one, while she had grumpy children who didn’t even seem to like her, plus a depressed husband with no job and a burgeoning alcohol problem. Oh yeah, and without Mike’s salary, an impending financial black hole that regularly gave her sleepless nights.
When Lisa went down to the car, Aunt Jenny’s bag of things slung over one shoulder, Mike was already behind the wheel.
He didn’t say a word as she put the holdall on the back seat and then got into the front passenger side. But once she was sitting down and had her seatbelt on, he announced that there were two pre-packed sandwiches in the glovebox.
‘There’s a tuna mayo and a ploughman’s,’ he said, looking straight ahead rather than at her. ‘I’m happy with either. Take your pick.’
Lisa smiled, appreciating her husband’s gesture. ‘Thanks, love. Where did you get them?’
‘There’s a corner shop a couple of streets away. I probably should have got us a drink too, but—’
‘No, this is perfect. I had a glass of water inside.’
Taking the sandwiches out, Lisa suggested: ‘Why don’t we each have half-half? I can feed you bits while you drive, if you like. Aunt Jenny will be wondering where we got to.’
Mike, who still hadn’t met her eye, nodded his agreement and started the engine. He’d switched the stereo back to Radio 2, Lisa noticed, but as soon as it came on, he turned it off again, opting for silence.
Having passed him a chunk of sandwich and waited until he’d popped it into his mouth, she placed a hand on his lap and said: ‘I love you, Mike. That’s the reason I said what I did in there. It’s because I worry about your health. I want you to be around long enough to enjoy your grandchildren – unlike my father.’
She looked across at her husband, who was still chewing his sandwich. Eventually, he glanced away from the road and met her gaze for a brief moment. There was a subtle nod.
She fed him another bite before continuing: ‘Elliot’s an old friend, nothing more. I’ve already told you that. I look at him in the same way I look at Jamie, like a brother. It hadn’t even occurred to me to compare the two of you, so you shouldn’t either. He’s come a long way since I first met him and he’s earned everything that he has. I’m pleased for him; proud of him. But he doesn’t have what we do: two great kids and each other.
‘Remember that next time you feel washed-up or ready for the scrapheap, because you’re neither of those things. I have faith in you, even if you don’t. That’s why I married you. And I know you’ll bounce back soon enough, stronger than ever. You just need to put all the crap that’s happened behind you and start believing in yourself again.’
She was sure that Mike swallowed a few times more than was strictly necessary to finish his piece of sandwich. Then, pulling up at a red traffic light, he turned to her, hands still tight on the wheel, and said: ‘Thank you for saying that, Lisa.’
‘You’re welcome,’ she replied, giving his left leg a firm squeeze before handing him some more of his lunch and then digging in herself.
That was a good speech, she thought. It was what Mike needed to hear, even if it wasn’t entirely truthful. She desperately wanted to believe in him, but he wasn’t making it easy for her. And could she hand on heart say that she didn’t fancy the new-look Elliot even a little bit? Hmm. She was only human …
‘I wonder how the kids are getting on at home,’ she said. ‘I hope they’re not squabbling or doing anything they shouldn’t be. I think I’ll give them a quick call to check.’
Reaching into her handbag for her mobile, she dialled the home phone. ‘No answer,’ she announced eventually.
‘They’re probably in the garden,’ Mike said, already sounding more cheery. ‘Or more likely too busy doing other things to bother answering the phone.’
Lisa’s finger hung over the touchscreen. ‘Shall I try one of their mobiles or send a text?’
‘No, don’t bother, love. No news is good news. Leave them to it.’
She put the phone down and, flashing him a smile, turned back to eating her sandwich. ‘You’re probably right.’
CHAPTER 19
NOW
Monday, 23 July 2018
Chloe was brushing her teeth for the second time that day when the front doorbell sounded; then the home phone started ringing too.
The two sounds were unexpected and, coming at the same time, they shocked her. She dropped her toothbrush into the sink and crept to the top of the stairs so she could see the door.
Lines of sunlight streamed through the obscured glass on to the oak-effect laminate of the hallway, the cream walls and the light beige carpet that ran up towards her. She could see the rough shape of the figure standing there. They appeared to be wearing a navy top, but that was all she could make out.
She felt her heart rate quicken; her breaths were fast and shallow. Who was it? What did they want? And why was the phone ringing too?
It didn’t help that a few minutes earlier she’d received another nasty text message.
There had been six in total now since the first had arrived on Saturday night, warning her that she was being watched. Three more had arrived yesterday:
It must really suck to be you!
Still watching you. How does it feel to be such a loser?
What’s it like to look in the mirror and see a pig staring back at you? Oink, oink!
There had been another this morning, soon after Ben had left:
You’re disgusting. Thinking about you makes me want to puke.
She’d tried to ignore this, keeping busy by watching some TV, rooting around Ben’s bedroom for non-existent clues about where he’d gone, and trying on som
e of her mum’s jewellery.
Then the latest message – the worst so far – had landed about half an hour ago:
There’s no magic potion to stop you being a lonely loser with slimy yellow teeth.
For the first time the sender had attached a photo, showing Chloe doing a science experiment at an open day. It had appeared in the last school newsletter. She was wearing a pair of protective goggles and holding up a smoking test tube, but this version of the picture had been altered, so there was a big red ‘L’ on her forehead and her teeth had been coloured in bright yellow.
This had felt so targeted and malicious that it had tipped Chloe over the edge. The comment about her teeth had preyed on her insecurity that they weren’t perfectly white. Not like the ones everyone had on TV and in movies. She brushed them as best as she could, even convincing her mum to let her try some whitening toothpastes, although they made little difference. The dentist had told her they were perfectly healthy; that her natural colour just wasn’t as white as some. But to have that anxiety paraded in front of her like this by some anonymous bully was horrible.
That was why she’d been brushing her teeth for the second time that day, tears running down her face in frustration and fury, when the phone and doorbell had started up.
Cowering now at the top of the stairs, she was terrified it might be the sender, here to goad her – or worse – in person. She felt so vulnerable, wishing she’d never said anything about being old enough to stay home alone. Bloody Ben and his mysterious outing. Why had she ever agreed to go along with it?
The phone finally stopped ringing, thank goodness, only for the front doorbell to sound again. Shit.
Chloe didn’t know what to do. Part of her thought it best to ignore whoever was there; to wait it out until they went away. But what if they didn’t go away?
She’d been through a similar dilemma regarding the nasty messages. She’d thought several times about blocking the number on her phone, but for some reason, she hadn’t done so. She hated receiving them; knowing someone hated her enough to send them made her miserable. But somehow she felt more in control this way. If she did block them, Chloe had a feeling she’d only be wondering if any more had been sent and what they might say. Now at least she was on top of them. And if they got too much, she could always change her mind.
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