I splashed water on my hot face, dried it on a paper towel and took a few deep breaths before heading back to the table with what I hoped was a calm, controlled look on my face. I wasn’t hungry any more, but didn’t want the others to sense my discomfort. I forced my food past the brick in my throat, keeping my face as neutral as possible.
After we finished our meal, Kathy kept up a chirpy, falsetto conversation. Matt was completely oblivious to the depth of trouble he had stirred up, and Simon sat smouldering, silence sitting between us like a wet blanket.
We climbed into the car at the end of the evening, doors clunking on the strained space of our proximity. As we fastened our seatbelts, I could tell he was dying to explode. He stabbed the key into the ignition, missing on the first shot, and I closed my eyes in preparation for the onslaught, Marie-Antoinette waiting for the blade.
‘What the hell is going on, Alice?’ Simon’s voice was dangerously raised in the confines of the car, anger coming off him like knives. His use of my full name betrayed the extent of his rage. ‘There seems to be a lot you haven’t told me. He’s been in our house? Come on, this doesn’t just involve you any more. Jesus, it’s our home he’s somehow defiled. Why didn’t you tell me the whole story? What possible motive did you have to keep this from me? Like some kind of intellectual deception.’
I felt like I was looking up at that guillotine.
‘Well… I don’t know for sure, Simon. There was a photo. It was on our sideboard in the living room. And I had this feeling when we came back from the Maldives that he’d been in the house. The flowers … I know you’ve always been confused as to why I brought him back to the house before taking him to the hospital, but I never imagined he would come into the house again later. I never invited him in, Simon.’ My face reddened as I remembered our meeting at the café. ‘I wanted to help him. I obviously hadn’t thought the whole thing through.’
Briefly, I covered my face with my hands.
‘Simon, I’m so sorry. I don’t know what to say. I thought initially I was helping. I thought he was clinging to me because I had given him something to believe in and live for. Then it was confirmed that he had a photo of us, so he must have been into the house and taken it.’
‘How exactly? Who confirmed it?’ Simon’s eyes narrowed.
‘His son. I went to see where he used to live. His son gave it back to me.’
‘What on earth have you got yourself mixed up in, Alice? This sounds suspiciously ironic. What were you thinking? Stalking the stalker!’
‘There are many things I didn’t know back then. And I wish I could turn back the clock. If I’d known then what I know now… I’m so sorry.’ My voice sounded pathetic.
‘Sorry, sorry, sorry. That’s not going to make the problem go away, Alice. Something needs to be done about this,’ Simon continued. ‘Jesus! Look, I don’t want to talk about this any more tonight. I need to think about what’s going on. We’ll talk tomorrow evening after work when I’ve got my head round a few things.’
The menace in his voice frightened me. What did he need to get his head around exactly? This felt like a threat from the inside, something he was suddenly considering about me, not Manfred. I so wished I could turn back the clock.
The run. The bridge. That first glance up.
I should have let him jump.
Chapter Thirty-Five
As the doctor took the bandage off the ankle, his hands eased my foot to the floor. Even without any weight on it I could feel my pulse thumping through the swollen, yellowing injury. I could do nothing to control the tears that suddenly came in great gulping sobs, and the GP looked at me horrified.
He rocked back on his heels and pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose.
‘It is not so bad, Mrs Reed. Please don’t cry. Are you in bad pain?’ I shrugged. ‘You will be running again within a few months. But you must understand it will take time. You still have a lifetime of running ahead of you.’
I sniffed loudly. He handed me a tissue from his desk.
‘It… it’s not this,’ I said, waving my hand vaguely at my foot. ‘Well, it is this… but it’s not the fact I c… can’t run.’
In reality, I was beginning to wish I could run away from it all.
And out came the whole sorry story. As I recounted everything to the family doctor I wondered why I hadn’t thought to come to him before. He’d been our family doctor since we first moved to the village. I’d originally chosen him because he was the only doctor in the valley who spoke good English. We didn’t require his services very often, but he probably knew the boys’ medical history better than me, speaking to them in his native Swiss German when they needed vaccinations or treatments for minor ailments.
It was likely his semi-professional status made it easier for me to talk. I hoped he wasn’t going to suggest I see a psychologist. Although I knew it might have been at the back of Simon’s mind.
‘It sounds like you’ve been under a lot of pressure, what with this person’s unusual behaviour, and now this injury.’
‘The worst of it is… it’s affecting my relationship with my husband. It’s driving us apart somehow.’
‘I can see this is very stressful for you. You have obvious symptoms of anxiety. Now you’re not training for the race, I could give you something to calm you a little, help you sleep better at night. It’s amazing how a solid night’s sleep can make you see things differently in the day. But this would not be something long term.’
I shook my head. I wouldn’t stoop to medication. Then everyone might seriously consider me a headcase.
‘Oh, and I was supposed to bring back the tablets the medics gave me at the race.’
‘What did they give you?’ the doctor asked.
‘I think it was Co-Dafalgan.’
‘That’s a mild painkiller and anti-inflammatory, like paracetamol, for headaches, period pains, that kind of thing. If the date is still valid, there’s no reason for you to bring them in. Are you still taking them for the pain?’
I shook my head.
‘The swelling is down now. You only need to do some gentle massage and little movements to continue the healing process. I’ll also give you some Kytta Salbe. It contains Wallwurz – I think you call it comfrey. The salve also contains arnica, and will help with the healing.’
He gently moved my ankle in small circles. The pain wasn’t so bad any more. And it was good to have shared some of my mental concerns. But it would only alleviate them for so long.
The smell of the salve the doctor had used on my ankle nauseated me. Each waft of menthol reminded me of my failed marathon. When I got home, I stepped into the shower and washed the aroma away. This was the only place in the house where I didn’t feel so suffocated, despite the rapidly thickening steam. I kept hoping the needles of hot water would somehow wash all my troubles away.
I reflected how I had stopped answering phone calls. I couldn’t face talking to Simon. And I couldn’t face hearing any accusations or excuses from Kathy. I’d hurt her feelings by not supporting her in the hardest thing she’d probably ever done in her life, and I couldn’t help thinking Matt’s slip of the tongue about the photo in the restaurant was some kind of reverse karma. I deserved all this. And it was pathetic that the only person I could talk to was my Swiss family GP.
I stepped out of the shower, towelling my hair. Squeaking a space clear on the fogged-up mirror, I pulled my fingers through damp locks, and inspected my reflection. My mouth looked tight, and my eyes tired, with lines around them that hadn’t been there at the beginning of the year. My hair was darkened with the dampness from the shower, but I knew there were strands of grey in there. Twisting the towel around my head, I exited the bathroom with a cloud of steam, and wandered into the bedroom. Coming to an abrupt halt, I gasped.
What the…?
Manfred stood in front of my open wardrobe, tentatively touching one of my long-unworn cocktail dresses.
Stunned, I remained roote
d to the spot, mute with horror. Heat flooded my face as I remembered I was naked. I tugged the damp towel from my turbaned hair. Fumbling, I covered my torso. I hadn’t heard him enter the house, but I was sure I had locked the door behind me. I hadn’t heard the familiar creak on the fourth stair. He surely heard my heart pounding.
The silk of the skirt slipped through his fingers.
I could almost see the reflection of my own naked image burning in his eyes.
Chapter Thirty-Six
‘What the fuck are you doing here?’ I shrilled.
Manfred jumped at my tone as he turned to fully face me. I found it hard to read his expression. Guilt? Wonder? Satisfaction? Certainly now confusion, as he heard the angst in my voice.
‘I can explain. Don’t panic so, Alice. You should know it’s important for me to find something constant. Your life, it’s so steady, so normal. It is something I strive for.’
‘Jesus, Manfred! Riffling through my bloody wardrobe in my bedroom is hardly normal! Get out! Go downstairs! Get the fuck out of my bedroom. This is… this is… Go!’
My body went into a spasm of shivering. The sudden change of temperature from the steamy bathroom to the bedroom combined with the sickening realisation that Manfred wasn’t at all stable. Thoughts battled in my mind. Even if he felt observing some domestic normality would help, this was totally unacceptable. In my bedroom.
Clutching the towel securely to my chest, my wide eyes willed him out of my space. I walked to the top of the stairs and scooped the air downwards. I swallowed as he slowly descended. The skin of his palm rasping down the banister was the only sound in the now-silent house apart from the blood beating in my head.
‘Get out!’ I shouted, and halfway down the stairs he turned to look at me.
I felt the cold chill of something out of control.
Because in that split second Manfred’s eyes had fallen on my body in my bedroom, I realised I’d seen something more than desperation in his eyes. There was a flicker of lust. And for the first time I wondered how far he intended to go to achieve his goal. How far would he go to have me?
As he reached the bottom of the stairs, he turned left down the hallway instead of right towards the front door, and my heart beat harder in my throat.
‘No! No! No! You must leave!’
I rushed back to the bedroom and ran between the drawers and wardrobe. I quickly pulled on underwear, jeans and a sweatshirt. The skirt of the dress he had touched still protruded from the jumble of hangers at an angle. I felt sick. Tugging my wet hair roughly up through the neck of the shirt, I hobbled barefoot down the stairs, not wanting to leave Manfred alone for a moment longer in my home.
He stood in the living room, studying several photos of my boys on the shelf. He gave each picture frame the same amount of attention before moving to the next. He reached the photo of me and the boys I had put back in its place after visiting Gerry. Manfred raised his eyebrows and turned enquiringly towards me. I would not give him the satisfaction of learning how I had got it back.
I wanted his eyes off them all, wanted him to step away from my precious children, as though he would defile their images with his look. My feeling of charity for this man had long since worn off. Nervousness spread its gnawing fingers from the pit of my stomach.
My eyes flickered to the phone behind Manfred on the shelf. I didn’t want to get anywhere close to him. I couldn’t think where I’d left my mobile.
‘You’ve got to leave now, Manfred. Please leave my home.’
He turned to look at me and held up one palm. He could see the sparking anxiety in my eyes.
‘I’m so sorry, Alice. I’m so sorry for this misunderstanding. I don’t know what came over me. Look, I’m leaving. I see I’ve shocked you. Please don’t…’
I made as though to dart past him, to get the phone from the shelf. He blocked me, must have known it was there, and we began a strange dance. He moved towards the door and I stepped aside so he would not have to come anywhere near me. I held my arms tightly to my sides so he couldn’t see me shaking.
‘I’ll call you. When you have calmed down. I see you’re not ready for this. But you will come round. You’ll see we are meant to be together.’
There was no desperation in his voice. But his menacing tone reaffirmed his absolute belief that we would be together.
‘No, Manfred. There’ll be no more calling. You must leave us alone now. Simon, my husband… I can’t predict what he will do if you keep bothering me. You must stay away. You must seek medical help. Go. Now. Please.’
Manfred finally moved down the hallway towards the front door, opened it and exited. He stood momentarily on the landing outside our apartment before closing the door behind him. I heard his footsteps on the stairs leading to the building’s main entrance. The familiar sound of the main door closing on its latch told me he was finally out of our home.
Heart still thumping, I leaned against the apartment door, turned the lock, and pressed my palms against the wood. Three involuntary sobs escaped my throat. I rushed to the lounge window and banged my head on the pane, trying to see where he was, then I ran to the kitchen, knocking over a chair on the way, to do the same there. Manfred walked along our driveway, making his way to the main road. He wasn’t going back to his lookout post; he must have been going home. I breathed a shaky sigh of relief before looking frantically at the clock. It was okay. The boys would still be in school. I didn’t want him passing them on the way.
He saw me naked in my bedroom!
I wondered what his true intention had been. How did he think he could make his belief a reality? I was sure I didn’t want to know the answer. This was more than a reciprocal house visit. Our calling cards could not have been more different.
But I couldn’t forget I had also barged into his home recently.
I could just imagine how that conversation with the police would go.
As I tidied the clothes strewn around the bedroom and picked up the wet towel I had dropped on the floor, my glance fell on the half-open door of my wardrobe. The dress still protruded from among my clothes. When I closed my eyes I could see Manfred’s fingers sifting the skirt between his fingers.
He saw me naked.
I ripped the offending article off its hanger with a clack. Bundling up the dress, I jogged downstairs to the basement, unlocking our apartment door on the way. I shoved the dress into the washing machine and heaped an extra measure of detergent into the soap compartment. To cure it from the virus of his touch.
I knew I should tell Simon, but I couldn’t face any more of his vitriol.
With a chill I realised I should have challenged Manfred about a key. Now I was sure he had been here, how had he gained access?
And voicing my stupidity to Simon about the way this whole thing had unravelled wouldn’t take Manfred’s fingerprints off my chiffon or cancel the memory of his eyes on my body.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Back from work that evening, Simon slung his briefcase onto the bench, and shrugged out of his jacket. He had looked unusually smart in his suit that morning, worn specially for a business meeting. His life seemed to be currently one long string of meetings, hopping from one country to another. But this evening he looked dishevelled. He was breathing heavily, distraught.
‘Well, I’ve had a good go at the bastard now. Let’s hope he doesn’t show his face around here again. I think the farmer thought I was off my rocker. He drove past me in his tractor as I was apparently yelling at a cow in the field. But I saw him, Alice.’
‘He’s always there, Simon,’ I said miserably. ‘He’s like a sentry at that plum tree. You’ve just never seen him before. Perhaps it’s because you’re back earlier than usual. From what I’ve read about people with his psychological profile, though, we shouldn’t be displaying anger or upsetting him in any way. He could be unpredictable.’
He saw me naked.
I stood at the sink, facing the window, and was surprised to feel Simo
n’s arms slip around my waist, his body leaning into me. It felt strange after the asperity following our restaurant outing. I didn’t know whether to melt into him or brace myself. The signals were confusing.
‘I wish you were around more,’ I heard myself whining again.
Simon had one hand around my waist, and put his chin on my shoulder. I glanced sideways at him. He was looking for Manfred through the window. I turned my head, followed his gaze, my eyes searching the twilight outside. Without thinking, I slapped his hand away.
‘No, Alice, let him see. Why are you scared of showing that you don’t belong to him?’ Simon held me a little harder.
This new rancour, the jealousy I had picked up on at the bar in the Maldives, disturbed me. He was displaying emotions I did not recognise.
‘I… I don’t know, Simon. It just seems so sordid. Like some peep show or something.’
I wriggled free from his arms, slunk away from the sink in front of the window. Simon was becoming more waspish.
‘Alice, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re protecting him in some way. Do you like it? That he’s always here for you? Is that what this is about?’
Simon’s outburst at the bar on holiday seemed ready to repeat itself. Except this time he was sober.
‘No! It’s not that…’ I was at a loss for words.
‘Then what is it? This guy needs to be stopped. Please don’t give him the satisfaction of thinking he’s winning you over somehow. He’s a creep. His focus is on you. He needs major help. But despite your qualifications, you’re definitely not the one to give it.’
I was shocked his desperate frustration had finally manifested itself. I was still reeling from the fact that he was hurting in his own way too. God knew what Simon would do if he found out Manfred had seen me coming out of the shower.
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