by A J Waines
I picked up my wet handbag, followed by the bundle of soggy fabric, and ran back to the busy street – my sole aim being to blend in and disappear, just in case he came after me. What if he thought I’d seen his face? What if he decided to find me and finish the job?
I went through the first open door I could find – an off-licence – and feigned interest in Chilean wines, waiting for my heartbeat to subside.
Only it didn’t.
I ran out, knowing I was in difficulty, my breathing all over the place. I couldn’t swallow. There was a brick lodged in my throat, jagged, crushing. Then the anxiety gathered steam and developed into a full-blown attack. I didn’t know what it was at the time. All of a sudden the light was too bright, the pavement was sliding away from me.
I was in the middle of the market, green and white striped awnings flapping everywhere. My legs didn’t belong to me anymore, but I couldn’t afford to collapse in front of all these strangers; I had to get away, get home, get help.
The street before me suddenly dipped sharply to the right and I reached out for something to grab hold of. I felt my arms close around a wastepaper bin. My mind was rapidly filling up with sand, my focus chipped and fragmented, like I was looking at the world through a smashed windscreen. A cyclist became a post-box, a car blended into a tree. I hadn’t a clue how I was supposed to deal with what was happening to me. I held on to the black bin and felt the street lurch the other way.
I felt a touch on my arm and shot round, thinking it was him. A black woman in her fifties was saying something to me. Her face came and went, backwards and forward as if she was on a swing. A mustard- coloured hat, torn gloves, the tassels on a scarf. I couldn’t put her words together.
‘Bus stop…darlin’…alright...?’
Then she was gone.
I tried to get a grip. Everything’s okay now. He’s got your purse – that’s all – you can cancel your cards, no one’s hurt.
I wanted to run, but my feet were embedded into the pavement. I watched women at the stalls press their thumbs into mangos and weigh out shallots with their eyes. They made life look so ordinary. So safe. I didn’t know what to do. I patted my pocket. I still had the Oyster card – thank God. It was fine. Everything was fine. Just breathe. Wait for the world to straighten itself out again.
I joined the queue at the bus stop, my head down against the internal blizzard, trusting I would find my way out. I waited.
The roar of the outdoors hit me when I got off the bus, but I knew I’d done it. Got away. Now all I had to do was find my way home. I heard my heels hit the pavement, so I knew I must be moving. Click, clack, click, clack. I turned a corner and the road ahead looked vaguely familiar. I hung on to a telegraph pole, but didn’t want to stop. A corner shop, the deli – yes, this looks right. The white gate, the black gate – then I was there.
I fell inside the hall and let myself sink to the floor, clutching the front-door key to my chest. Exhausted, but triumphant.
Thank goodness Mum and Dad were both out. I didn’t want anyone to see me like this. I got to my knees and grabbed hold of the newel post, waiting for my breathing to settle to a regular judder. Inch by inch, I pulled myself up to my feet, still wobbly and disoriented. My head was throbbing, but it felt more like a severe headache than anything else. Normal. I could cope with that.
I felt my way into the kitchen, opened a drawer beside the sink and took out three paracetamols. Cupping my hand under the cold tap, I took several sips and washed them down.
Mum came back soon afterwards having given a talk at the local library, rattling on about how much sugar should go into a vat of jam. I let her talk. She asked for the curtain material. She asked why it was soaking wet. Then she realised something was wrong. I told her. Only the details about the mugging, though, not about the panic attack that followed. I’ve never mentioned those to anyone except my GP and therapist.
Mum’s reaction was to get onto the police straight away. It all had to go through the official channels, she said. I knew we had to report him, but also that it was hopeless.
I told the police everything I could, but the mugger had been bent over when I first heard him crying out, then suddenly he was behind me with the knife at my neck, so I didn’t see his face. His hood was up, so I wasn’t even sure of the colour of his hair. All I could tell them was that he was white – and a man. I wouldn’t have been able to pick him out in a line-up even if the police had gone that far.
Dad came back from a chess game later to prepare for his prayer group. I didn’t want to tell him – I didn’t want to worry him – but Mum insisted. His immediate reaction was to fling his arms around me. He’d hardly ever done that before and it made me burst into tears.
‘My dearest Pumpkin – what a terrible nightmare it must have been for you. My poor little girl.’
I withdrew, trying to contain two conflicting emotions. Gratitude, that Dad actually seemed to care about me, but disappointed that he’d ended up making me feel so pathetic. That’s how Dad – and everyone else always saw me. Hapless, wretched, pitiable.
Chapter 16
Alice seems to have a man in tow!
I heard a car engine chugging outside my bedroom window, just after I got into bed and wondered who on earth it was. I peeped out and a guy was coming to the door, looking dapper and sophisticated. Then they both went out together. Very chummy. I didn’t see this one coming!
When Alice first came along at Uni, she reminded me of the girls at boarding school. Immature, gullible and eager to please.
My days at St Cecilia’s were a great training ground for my future. It was so easy to get girls like that to do what I wanted. They were all lost causes desperate for someone to look up to, someone to protect them. Being pretty and smart helped, of course, but I learnt how to turn on the sweetness and light to get my own way.
I get better and better at it! Why not? You have to use whatever you can to get on in this world – if my dad taught me anything, it was that.
Jodie used to be so naff at hiding how she felt about Alice at Leeds; she seems less nasty with her now. I remember I had to keep telling her, back then, that she mustn’t make it obvious that we were using her, but Jodie couldn’t bear her.
Alice wasn’t that bad. She was terribly appreciative and sincere. Only problem with her being so clingy was that I could never be sure she wasn’t lurking around the next corner waiting for me. Dicey or what?! Didn’t want to give her any ammunition that could have caused havoc. A girl needs to have secrets, after all. Just like now.
I must hold my nerve for the next step.
Chapter 17
Stuart pulled up behind Karen’s car – the others were back – and walked me right to the door.
‘Thank you,’ I said, turning to him.
‘You were quiet on the drive home,’ he said. ‘Are you okay?’
‘I’m fine. Just tired,’ I said, refusing to allow the memory to suck me under. I had to remember that what happened in September was merely a blip in my mission towards becoming a more self-assured and impressive woman. I’d done a lot of work to shake off that old skin and I wouldn’t let an incident like that drag me down. ‘I really enjoyed the drink,’ I added, giving him my best smile.
‘Me, too – you’re very good company.’ He took in the whole of my face like he was appraising a portrait. ‘I hope they’ve got something exciting lined up for you, tomorrow.’
Karen, Mark and Jodie were all in the kitchen drinking coffee when I went down the following morning. Karen was joking with Mark; she sounded in high spirits, so I dared to ask the obvious question.
‘Is Melanie alright?’
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I’m just going to change her, then I’ll bring her down. Come up if you want.’
I nodded and followed her upstairs.
Once we were out of earshot of the others, I asked the question that had been bugging me. ‘Everything in the linen cupboard belongs to the cottage, does it?’ I’d gone for as innocent a t
one as I could manage.
She thought for a moment. Karen tended to keep her room dark, so I waited in the doorway as she snapped the poppers of Melanie’s fleecy all-in-one over the fresh nappy and picked her up, wrapping her in a blanket.
‘I brought extra towels for Mel, but most of the stuff is Mrs Ellington’s,’ she said.
‘You haven’t got anything else of yours in there? Like luggage, or anything?’
‘No – why?’ she eyed me quizzically, straightening up.
A sound alerted me. Jodie was standing in the doorway. ‘I’m not interrupting am I?’
Karen shook her head.
‘Only I wanted to try holding her again,’ said Jodie.
‘Wanna cuddle from Jodie?’ Karen asked Melanie in a sing-song voice, rubbing her nose against the child’s. Melanie stuck her arm out and Karen passed her over.
‘She looks just like you,’ said Jodie, stroking the girl’s cheek. It was hard to see how she could make that assessment, given that the pink hat had slipped down over Melanie’s eyes and the blanket was pulled up almost to her nose.
‘Everyone always says that,’ Mark chipped in from the landing. ‘It’s bullshit.’
‘Mark!’ snapped Jodie. ‘Don’t be so rude.’
‘Well, it’s true. All babies look the same.’ He came into the room and shrugged at Karen. ‘Sorry – no offense.’
Melanie called out a word that sounded like ‘dada’ and we all laughed.
‘Dada ain’t here, Babe,’ said Mark cuttingly, holding out his finger so Melanie could squeeze it. Jodie told him to shut up. ‘By the way, someone’s at the door, for Alice,’ he added. I eased past them and went downstairs.
Stuart was standing in the hall. He was holding a bunch of roses.
‘Happy birthday!’ he said, handing them over. ‘Just a little something – I know it’s early, but I wanted to catch you before you went off somewhere.’ Once more there was a moment between us; the air expanding then shrinking back again.
The others had appeared at the top of the stairs.
‘Thank you,’ I exclaimed, burying my face in the petals. I gave him a brief, self-conscious hug. ‘What a lovely thought. Come and join us.’
I took Stuart’s wax jacket and hung it in the hall, pressing his gloves into his pockets. One by one we all trooped into the kitchen. Karen put Melanie in the highchair.
‘Who’s Stuart?’ grunted Mark rudely, as he opened the back door, a roll-up between his fingers. He glanced over at us, then shut the door behind him without waiting for a reply.
‘Indeed – and flowers already?’ said Jodie coyly, looking Stuart up and down. ‘Alice must have made quite an impression on you.’ I took a breath that swelled to fill the room.
Stuart looked as relaxed as ever. He winked at her, ‘You’re right there.’
‘We met when I was out for my walk,’ I said pulling out a chair for him. ‘He was the one who rescued me yesterday when my ankle got stuck.’
Karen emerged from the scullery with a huge cake smothered in glossy chocolate and flaming candles. The message on the icing read Happy Birthday, Alice. I sucked in a gasp.
‘I know it’s not even elevenses,’ she said, ‘but, as we’re all here…’ She put the cake down in the centre of the table and led the others in a rendition of the birthday song. Mark came back in, covered in specks of snow, shivering, looking like he was afraid he might be missing something.
‘I’m Jodie and that’s Mark.’ Jodie nodded towards Mark as he shuffled his weight from one foot to the other.
‘Happy birthday,’ said Jodie, reaching over and giving me an air-kiss.
‘And there’s this,’ said Karen, handing over an envelope. I pulled out a silver-edged card.
‘A one-day spa experience in Mayfair…wow, thank you,’ I stuttered, folding my arms around her.
Karen introduced herself to Stuart. She lifted Melanie out of her highchair and held out her hand so Stuart could take it. ‘This is my daughter, Melanie.’
‘Alice told me,’ he said with sympathy. ‘I hope everything is going well.’
I blew out the candles to a raucous cheer. ‘I hope no one has had breakfast,’ I said as I cut the cake. ‘You didn’t make this yourself did you, Karen?’ I handed round thick sumptuous slices.
She looked bashful. ‘I did, actually – the day before we arrived. I’m sorry the icing’s a bit wonky – it got bashed about a bit in the car.’
‘It’s perfect,’ I whispered, a tremble creeping into my voice. No one had ever made a cake for me like this before. When I was little, Mum used to buy a plain Victoria sponge and pin a silver plastic cake-topper with Happy Birthday on to it, but the ritual stopped suddenly when I was sixteen. No one had ever gone as far as icing a cake with my name on it.
Not only that, it was delicious. How come she was amazing at everything? I watched Karen as she dipped her little finger into the chocolate coating and let Melanie have a taste. She was going to be a brilliant mother – so thoughtful and competent.
‘Did you hear the news?’ said Stuart eventually, licking his lips.
‘We haven’t had the radio on today,’ I replied. ‘What’s happened?’
‘Perhaps I shouldn’t say – I don’t want to spoil your special day.’
‘You can’t do that,’ said Mark. ‘Half say it, then bottle out.’
‘Don’t mind Mark,’ said Karen. ‘He’s a bit forward.’ Deep down I admired his upfront approach – it was refreshing when the timing was right.
Stuart wiped his fingers on the napkin. ‘I probably should tell you, actually. It’s a local thing – a little boy has been abducted. From near here, just over the other side of the Loch.’
‘Really?’ said Karen. ‘When?’
‘Yesterday – early evening, apparently. The police are making house-to-house enquiries. You need to expect them – I’m sure they’ll cover all the holiday cottages.’
‘How awful…’ I said.
Karen had her hand over her mouth, looking like the world had just come to an end.
Chapter 18
‘How did you find out about the boy?’ I asked.
‘The village store,’ said Stuart. ‘The police were there this morning.’
Stuart and I went for a short walk after the breakfast celebrations. The news of the abduction had somewhat flattened the birthday mood, but he’d been right to tell us.
‘Do you know what happened exactly?’
‘There’s a group of cottages over the other side of Loch Tierney in a hamlet called Ockley.’ He pointed across the trees. ‘See the chimney smoke just through there?’
I was forced to stand close to him to follow the line of his arm and didn’t want to move away. I spotted a tiny waft of grey smoke blending into the skyline. ‘There’s a farmer, Harry Minter, who lives at Cleve Cottage with his family. He was out securing the barns at sundown and his wife was preparing the evening meal. Someone must have got in through the back door and snatched the child. No one saw a thing.’
‘His poor mother must be beside herself,’ I said.
‘The child actually lives next door; the kids have always been in and out of each other’s houses and there’s never been a problem before. The woman was just babysitting.’
‘Mrs Minter must feel terrible that someone else’s child went missing on her watch.’
He sank his hands into his pockets.
‘We should go back, really,’ I said. ‘Be ready when the police turn up.’
I tripped over a rock disguised by the snow and Stuart offered me his arm. I refused to let go all the way back and he didn’t find a reason to pull away. I felt torn. He seemed such a gentle and kind man and yet his life was established at the opposite end of the country from mine. If something did happen between us – and that was a big if – we’d only have to say goodbye in a week or so’s time and I’d be left with heartache.
A whirlwind romance had been the last thing on my mind when I came here, yet the i
dea of being close to Stuart thrilled me. Was this merely holiday chivalry or did our meeting mean more to him? I didn’t know if he was genuinely attracted to me, but there was something about him that made me want to make the most of every moment I spent with him.
Karen was playing with Melanie in the sitting room when we got back. Melanie was dressed in cute pink dungarees, putting coloured bricks into a plastic bucket and then tipping them out onto the floor. She chuckled behind the clumsy oxygen mask as the bricks clustered on the carpet and my heart quivered. Karen looked like she was in seventh heaven, but it wasn’t long before the child was grizzling. Stuart and I crept out as Karen tried to placate her.
The sounds of doors and cupboards slamming shut came from Jodie and Mark’s room. Then Mark came down for a cigarette. He gave us a passing grunt as he came through. After that, he buttered several slices of white bread and smothered them with jam, before disappearing upstairs with them. He hadn’t said a word.
The unsettled atmosphere he left behind him triggered a memory that I’d completely forgotten from our first year at Uni. I’d gone to the communal bathroom one evening before bed. The lock didn’t slide across on my cubicle, but I’d used the loo anyway and was just about to leave when I heard Karen’s voice.
‘Have you ever had the feeling when you meet someone and just know you loath them right from the start?’ she said. She must have thought the place was empty. I stayed still, not making a sound.
‘Yeah, it’s a psychological thing, I’ve read stuff about it – it happens because you’re too similar to the other person.’ Karen was talking to Natalie, one of her ‘inner circle’. ‘You kind of become instant rivals, because you’re “twins”’, she added.
‘Is that so?’ Karen didn’t sound convinced. ‘I’ve never ever felt like this with anyone before now,’ she went on. ‘There’s a guy in our kitchen and as soon as he walks in, he makes my skin crawl. He doesn’t even have to do anything or open his mouth – it’s just his entire being.’