‘But there’s nothing you can do about it if they’re broken, right?’
‘Well, no, but–’
‘So, there’s no point.’ I sighed. ‘I just want to go home and rest. So, please,’ I said as he let out a long breath and sat at his desk. He typed quickly, pausing occasionally to think before going back to the keyboard. I wondered what he was writing but didn’t care too much as long as I got what I came for.
‘It’s for a week,’ he said. ‘Come back and see me after that.’
‘Fine,’ I said and took the note from him, leaving without another word.
I called work and told Janet I’d been assaulted and would be off the rest of the week. She asked a million questions, and I could hear the others in the background, desperate to know too, but in the end I told her I needed to go, that the police were waiting and hung up.
I went home, careful to check the street for Jacob before going to the house, although I knew he wouldn’t be brave enough to risk coming and getting caught by the police. I knew I had nothing to worry about once I was inside the house.
I made myself a cup of tea and took a packet of biscuits into the living room. The kitchen was still a mess from the night before, but I was too tired and sore to do anything about it. I didn’t even move the cups the police had left on the table, which were now crusted with dried tea. I didn’t care about any of that, I just wanted to sit and rest and enjoy my new home.
I spent the day watching endless reality TV shows about junk and cooking and coach trips and sick animals. I knew it was pathetic, that I should be doing something, cleaning or getting rid of junk, but I felt like I was on holiday, so I tried to push all the should do thoughts to the back of my mind and focus on recuperating.
I’d barely moved by the time the clock struck four p.m., and I wondered if I should call the home and tell them I wouldn’t be in for a while. But Mum had been vacant last time I was there, so she probably wouldn’t know or care whether I visited, and the staff probably wouldn’t notice, except for Cathy, who couldn’t keep her nose out of anything.
In the evening, my eyes were blurring either from my injuries or from watching TV all day, so I turned it off and lay back on the settee, thinking about what I needed to do, what my next steps would be. I wondered if the police were going to be a problem, whether they’d keep showing up at the door, updating me on their case. Or if they did find Jacob, what he’d tell them and whether they’d believe any of it, whether they’d have to dig into our affairs to show they were looking into things properly, and if they did, if they’d find anything suspicious. Part of me hoped they didn’t find Jacob. I knew the threat of being arrested would be enough to keep him away and that was all I needed really.
After I’d had something else to eat and a few more painkillers, I sent Kimberley a text telling her I was moving out of the flat, that I’d be collecting my things when I could. She mentioned the rent, but when I told her I’d been attacked, she dropped it.
I fell asleep on the settee that night and slept well again, even if I did have a crick in my neck the next morning to add to my injuries. But I was feeling better, my eye had opened up, my bruises were changing colour, and my ribs didn’t hurt so much when I moved. I doubted they were broken at all. Jacob couldn’t even get that right.
By mid-morning, I was bored of TV and sitting around, so I walked to the corner shop for some supplies, ignoring the stares from people in the shop and strangers on the street. I went home, dumping the food in the kitchen before calling a taxi and picking up some of the money Jacob had brought back.
The driver was friendly, too friendly really, wanting to chat constantly, asking me if I was all right, and wanting to know the details of what happened to me. I was annoyed to start with but found it cathartic somehow to be able to tell someone, someone who didn’t matter. I told him about Jacob hurting me and that I was going to get my things from the flat so I could move to a friend’s house where I’d be safe. The driver looked suitably shocked and said if he ever ran into Jacob, he’d break his neck.
Once we got to the flat, I asked him to wait, said I’d probably be a while coming up and down with my things, but that I had money, as long as it wasn’t more than fifty quid. The driver shook his head and waved the money away.
‘This one’s on the house,’ he said, and offered to come up with me, to help cart my things down to the car. Thankfully, Sasha and Kimberley were out, so I didn’t have to explain anything, didn’t have to try and match up the things I’d told the driver to the things I wanted them to know.
We found some bin bags in the kitchen and tossed everything from my room into them, and he’d take them down to the car a few at a time while I packed more up. There was some junk I no longer wanted, so I left that for the girls as they’d probably need it more than I did, and then, I went into the kitchen and found bits and pieces that belonged to me in there.
I threw the last few things in a bag, and the driver came up and took it from me. ‘All set?’ he asked as I looked around the flat. I didn’t feel anything, really. I knew I wouldn’t miss the place. I was moving on.
‘That’s it,’ I said, and we went to the door. He started down the stairs, but I had a thought and went back, opening the fridge. I piled a few of the better items into a carrier and took them with me, saving me a job of shopping for a day or two. Besides, Sasha was always wanting to lose weight, so really I was doing her a favour. Then, I left, taking the keys with me in case I needed to come back for anything else.
The driver dropped me back at home and kindly helped me take my things inside. When he was done, he stood there with his hands on his hips as if he was waiting for something. The money, I thought, his ‘it’s on the house’ was rubbish.
‘Here,’ I said, taking the money from my pocket, but he shook his head again and held up his hands.
‘No, I told you. It’s on the house.’ He smiled at me, and I wondered if he wanted something else. If he was some kind of pervert, that I’d been fooled into thinking he was a nice guy. But then he nodded and turned to the door. ‘I hope things work out for you,’ he said. ‘And if you’re ever stuck, call the taxi number and ask for Kev. I’ll make sure you’re all right.’ He walked to his taxi and got in, waving as he drove away.
I went back inside and looked around at the mess, the piles of bin bags with all my things in, the cups and plates littered about the place. And, of course, the blood and broken things. I had a lot to do, but I was happy. Because I finally had a place of my own.
52
I didn’t go out much over the next few days, what with having the sick note letting me off work, and I knew I should spend the time sorting things out in the house. I started scrubbing and cleaning. Tearing at wallpaper, pulling at carpets, trying to see what was underneath. I filled endless bin bags with junk. I tossed all of Jacob’s trains into bags and put them by the bin, but then changed my mind. There was probably some poor kid out there who’d love them.
Sasha had called a few times, but I ignored her. In the end, I decided to change my number and get a new phone. Not because of Sasha, but because Jacob had started calling, and it was starting to get on my nerves.
The first call had been the day after he’d left. I hadn’t answered, and he didn’t leave a message. He didn’t bother for a day after that, but then, he’d tried again, this time letting it go to voicemail. But instead of speaking, of telling me he was sorry or even threatening me, he just let it play out, just breathing down the phone like a lunatic. I didn’t know if that was meant to be some sort of intimidation or if he was just too dense to realise it was recording, but either way, it was just irritating rather than upsetting. But after he’d called a dozen times, a few times simply shouting my name down the phone, I decided I had to make a fresh start.
So, I went to town, found the cheapest phone I could get and dumped the old one. It wasn’t worth anything, so I didn’t care too much. And really, who else was going to try and call me on that number? W
ho in the world had my number that I actually cared about?
When I came back from the shops with my new phone, I decided to do a bit more cleaning, a bit more putting things away, but it was a long process. I had to empty cupboards and drawers of Jacob’s things, even some of his mum’s things were still hanging around. It didn’t seem to matter how much I threw away, I always found more hiding in corners and clogging up space.
I was thankful for the furniture, for the white goods, even if a lot of them were filthy. At least I didn’t have to buy my own, what with paying Jacob some money and the locksmith, I was low on funds and knew I’d have to make do for a while.
I thought about the money I’d been sending to Jacob and wondered if I should send some more to keep up appearances in case anyone came asking. But after what’d happened, I didn’t want to give him anything and figured that if anyone asked, I could always say I forgot after the incident or that because of the incident, I was planning to leave and forget about the deal, I just needed to find somewhere else to go. But what I was really hoping for was that no one would do anything. And if I kept my head down, maybe that would be possible.
I sat on a chair in the kitchen, exhausted from cleaning. I was feeling better, even if the external signs of Jacob’s anger were still visible. And I was getting bored of being in the house all the time. I only had a day left on my sick note but knew I wouldn’t return to Doctor Turner for another. I’d go back to work the day after next and let them see for themselves what’d happened, let a little sympathy brew because it could come in handy later on.
I made a cup of tea and decided to call it a night with the cleaning and sorting. I needed to give myself a break. I was working too hard. I went through to the living room and lay back on the settee, thinking about the house, my plans. I thought about Mum and how I hadn’t visited for a little while. But I looked at the clock and realised visiting hours were almost over, and it would have to wait.
I got up and went to the window, seeing it was dark, so closed the curtains. The whiff of stale smoke made me nauseous, and I noted that new curtains should be top of my list.
And then, I saw him.
He was standing across the street, smoking. His face was in the shadows, but it had to be him. Didn’t it?
I squinted, trying to see, trying to work out where his eyes were pointed. Was he looking at me? At the house? He moved slightly, and I knew he’d seen me. I ducked behind the curtain.
He wouldn’t come back, would he? He wasn’t that stupid. He had to know the police would be looking for him. I could call them easily, tell them where he was. He had to know that. So why was he here?
I took a breath and realised that I had the upper hand. I was the one in the house. I was the one with the keys. I was the one who the police believed.
I wasn’t afraid of him.
I moved back in front of the window and stared across the street, defiant. I wasn’t afraid of him. I wanted him to know that. I wasn’t afraid and never would be. I stared across the street, and he slowly moved from the shadows, his cigarette glowing in the dark.
And then, he walked away.
Fuck you, I thought. I win.
53
‘All right, Polly, time to go,’ Phil says. ‘I think she’s learnt her lesson, haven’t you?’
‘What’re you doing?’ Jacob asks.
‘She’s had enough,’ Phil says. ‘She’s gonna go. Aren’t you?’ I nod and rub my wrists where they were bound. ‘And you’re not gonna go to the police, are you?’
I shake my head, and Jacob looks at Phil and then at me and something comes over his face, a dawning realisation of what he’s done, of what he’s got himself into. Hadn’t he thought about the consequences? That as soon as I walked out that door, I could go to the police and tell them what these monsters did to me? Or wasn’t he concerned with that? Did he just think they’d have a laugh, mess with me a little and that would be it? Then, he and Phil could just move in and live happily ever after?
‘I won’t. I promise. Just let me go,’ I say, but Jacob doesn’t look convinced, and now Phil is looking like he has doubts too.
‘So what? You think we should kill her?’ Phil says, grinning. He wipes sweat away from his forehead, wiping it on his jeans. I notice the knife in his hand and wonder if I could try and get it.
‘You said yourself she hadn’t got anyone, that she’s a miserable cow nobody likes. So, who’s going to come looking for her? Especially here? Eh?’ Phil laughs and turns the knife in his hand. I don’t know if he’s joking, and worse, I can’t tell if Jacob knows, either.
He hands Jacob the knife, and he stares at it as if he’s never seen a knife before, as if he doesn’t know what to do with it.
‘Put it down, Jacob,’ I say. ‘This isn’t you. Just put it down and I promise I’ll go, and I won’t tell anyone what happened. You’ll never see me again.’
Phil leans close to Jacob and whispers something, something I can’t hear, but I can see Jacob’s face change, and I’m desperate to know what he said.
‘Please, Jacob,’ I say. ‘Just let me go. Don’t listen to him.’
I can hear Jacob’s breath even above my own. I’m trying to judge the distance between here and the door. Maybe I should just go for it. I should at least try to get away. I can scream and run and make a scene, and someone will help me. Someone out there will hear me and come rushing in and find these bastards, and they’ll be locked up forever.
I don’t know if it’s me or Jacob who moves first, but I’m on my feet, and Jacob is in front of me. I can hear him but not the words. I don’t know what he’s saying, it’s all a blur, just noise. But I can hear something else too, a knocking from somewhere. Phil is looking at the door, his face drops.
And the knife is there, in my eye line, and I’m reaching out for it. I can feel the cold blade, it slices my hand. And then, the hot handle, warmed by Jacob’s hand.
I can hear shouting, maybe from me, maybe from Jacob, maybe from Phil. Maybe from all of us.
I have the knife in my hand, and Phil is lurching forward, and Jacob is standing there.
I have the knife.
I can feel the warm liquid seeping over my hand, and I think I’ve really hurt myself by grabbing it, but it’s better than the alternative.
I can still hear knocking, though I can’t tell where it’s coming from.
And then, it feels like my hands are full of blood, and I look down and there’s so much of it, but it doesn’t seem to hurt as much as it should. It doesn’t seem to hurt at all.
54
Jacob slumps to the floor, the blood is coming from him, somewhere in his guts. He’s still alive, I can hear gurgling, can see blood coming out of his mouth. He looks small and fragile, and I think I can’t have done this. I can’t have. I wouldn’t do something like this.
I look at Phil. He looks smaller too. His face is frozen in horror, his eyes glued to Jacob. He knows this is his fault. He was the one who brought Jacob here, who started all this. He hurt me. He started waving the knife about. He killed Jacob.
Except he’s not dead. He’s not dead.
He has hold of Phil’s arm, pulling him down, grabbing at him for help or to keep him there so he can be punished for what he’s done.
There’s a noise at the window, a scream, and I see the back of someone running towards the door.
I drop the knife and look at my hands, covered in blood, mine, his, who knows. I look back to Phil. He’s trying to help Jacob now, pressing his hands into his exposed insides, his blood covering him too.
‘Help me,’ Jacob gasps and looks at me. I can see the life going out of him, the light in his eyes dimming.
‘Do something,’ I shout at Phil, but he just sits there, his hands inside his so-called friend.
And then, the door opens, slamming into the wall. Phil looks at me. I look at him. Someone can help us. Can help Jacob.
‘Help me,’ I scream at the top of my lungs. ‘He’s killed him.�
�
Phil lets go of Jacob and stands up, looks around the room like a trapped animal. He runs out to the kitchen and tries the back door, but it’s locked. I’m still screaming, begging for help as Cathy comes in, her face pale before she’s even got to Jacob.
‘He killed him,’ I say again, and Phil runs back from the kitchen, almost into Cathy, knowing it’s too late, and he’s trying to blame me, telling her it was me, over and over.
Cathy looks down at Jacob, kneeling over him, looking for a pulse. Then, she has her phone in her hand.
She’s going to call the police.
‘Cathy, look at me. You saw him, didn’t you? You saw what happened?’
Cathy stares at Jacob’s lifeless body before turning to me, her eyes brimming with tears. ‘I saw,’ she says quietly, and Phil lunges at her, grabbing her arm.
‘Liar!’ he shouts, and Cathy cowers, her eyes still fixed on me.
‘I saw you,’ she says, her chin trembling. ‘I saw you. I know what you did.’
Phil lets go of her arm, and Cathy comes towards me but thinks better of it and steps back, phone in hand.
‘I know what you did, Polly,’ she says, and I shake my head.
‘It wasn’t me. It wasn’t my fault,’ I say.
‘You killed him. You did it to him, like you did to her,’ she says.
‘I didn’t do anything,’ I say, moving towards her.
‘She did it,’ Phil says from behind Cathy, but she seems to have forgotten he’s there.
‘I know what you did,’ she says, tears streaming, spit flying. ‘All for a fucking house!’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘She told me. She told me what you did. About the fire.’
No Place Like Home_a gripping psychological thriller Page 20