Our Song

by Dani Atkins

  What I really wanted was to be curled up on the settee at home, with a plateful of something far too full of carbs to be good for me. Too late I remembered there was nothing in the fridge except for a stale loaf of bread, some mouldy cheese and a whole load of beer. That was one of the problems with living in a house of men: shopping was never very high on anyone’s list of priorities.

  There was a twenty-four-hour supermarket not far from campus, but going there would put me on the ‘wrong’ side of town, in every meaning of the phrase. Making a snap decision, I turned around on the path leading to the bus stop and headed instead down a narrow footpath which led off campus. I’d only been to this store once before, and that had been in broad daylight, but I was pretty certain I could remember the way to the small industrial estate by the railway lines, where it was located. It wasn’t far.

  That was my first mistake.

  I walked quickly, head down against the wind, the heels of my boots clattering like tiny percussion instruments on the paving slabs. I crossed a footbridge over the train tracks and it was almost as though I’d passed through border control from one country to another. This was the area of town that boasted the cheapest – and shabbiest – student accommodation, the dodgiest pubs and the highest crime rate. Despite the orange orbs of light from the street lamps, glowing like giant struck matches in the darkness, I didn’t feel comfortable crossing the exposed expanse of the practically deserted car park. I didn’t relax until I saw the familiar blue-and-white lit fascia of a well-known supermarket chain, in the far corner of the industrial estate.

  There is something eerie about being in a supermarket late at night. Perhaps it’s the lack of mums pushing trolleys with noisy toddlers sitting in them, or the scarcity of staff milling around filling shelves. Whatever the reason, the supermarket felt weird bereft of meandering customers and employees. Only one of the tills was currently manned, and as I walked past the small queue of shoppers waiting to pay for their goods, a young man with a closely shaven head and an ear full of piercings joined the back of the line. Something about him was vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t place where I’d seen him before. I passed behind him, my nose wrinkling slightly at the smell of alcohol which hung around him like an invisible fog. He called out something to an unseen companion in one of the nearby aisles, and then belched unpleasantly. He seemed to find this ridiculously funny.

  I was halfway up the frozen goods aisle when I realised where I knew him from. My footsteps faltered, and I stopped in front of one of the cabinets and looked back towards the tills. Yes, I was positive. He’d been one of the group who’d gate-crashed our party and caused all the damage. The group the guys had eventually thrown out. As I stood watching, his companion emerged from the direction of the alcohol section, carrying two hefty twelve-packs of beer.

  Him, I knew instantly. I needed no time for the penny to drop, or for any other type of prompt to place him. The last time I’d seen him, he’d been trying to stick his tongue down my throat, and I don’t think his invasion plans had ended there. Neither of them had noticed me, and there was absolutely no reason why they would, or even recognise me, come to that. After all, I had been dressed and made-up like a vampire the last time our paths had crossed. Nevertheless, a small warning voice started whispering in my head, a voice I refused to listen to.

  That was my second mistake.

  I should have gone right then, when they hadn’t yet seen me. I could easily have slipped unseen from the store and they’d have been none the wiser that I was ever there, and the night would have ended in a completely different way. But it’s easy to be wise in hindsight, isn’t it?

  Like a small animal transfixed by a cobra, I kept looking in his direction. His first glance was just passing, cursorily checking me out, like he probably did to every single female who crossed his path. Something about me must have tripped the ‘she’ll do’ switch in his brain, because he looked back with greater interest. I turned quickly, heading up the aisle, but it was too late. I’d already seen the dawning recognition in his eyes. He’d remembered exactly who I was.

  It’s virtually impossible to elude someone in a neon-lit supermarket; all I could hope for was that he wasn’t interested enough to pursue me. I ping-ponged up and down a few aisles, like a silver ball in a bagatelle machine, before my luck ran out. I’d just convinced myself that I had massively overreacted, and that he’d probably paid for his beers and gone, when he stepped out in front of me. He leaned an arm against a concrete pillar, effectively blocking my way.

  I decided ignorance might be my best course of action. If nothing else, it would put us on a more level playing field. ‘Excuse me,’ I said, not making eye contact. He didn’t budge. I tried again. ‘Sorry, do you mind if I get past, please.’

  ‘Well, here’s the thing, gorgeous. I think I do mind, actually. How have you been, beautiful? You do remember me, don’t you?’

  Playtime was over. I raised my head slowly, pleased that I sounded so calm as I finally met his eyes. ‘Yes, I do.’

  He reached out a hand as though he was intending to touch my face, but I stepped back and brought the metal shopping basket I was holding between us, to form a barrier.

  ‘Ooh, you weren’t so standoffish last time we met,’ he protested, taking a step towards me, so that the basket butted against his ribcage. ‘Still I’m glad you remember me, because I certainly haven’t forgotten you. In fact I’ve been having some pretty vivid dreams about you.’ He breached the basket barrier by grabbing hold of it and pushing it to one side. ‘Want to hear about them?’ he asked on a leer.

  ‘Not particularly,’ I replied, taking a step to one side. The aisle was too wide for him to totally obstruct it, but I really wasn’t expecting him to reach out and grab my wrist as I went to leave.

  ‘Hey, where are you off to in such a hurry? You and I never got to finish our little date, did we?’

  I looked up at him coolly, glad the scarf round my throat effectively hid the pulse I could feel pounding at its base. ‘Yes we did. We’re all done.’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ he contradicted. ‘You can’t just go thrusting those titties at me one minute and then acting like you think you’re somehow better than me the next.’

  There was so much wrong with his perception of what had happened on the night of the party, it was hard to know which bit to correct first. ‘I wasn’t thrusting or offering you anything. You crashed our party without an invitation. We had one dance and then you were asked to leave.’ I conveniently managed to feign amnesia about the kiss, which I hadn’t exactly repelled. Well, at least not initially.

  His eyes narrowed nastily, and for the first time I wondered if I might actually be in trouble here. ‘You little—’

  Fortunately I never got to hear his opinion of my character, because just then his pierced friend came up, staggering under the weight of the two packs of beer. ‘Where the fuck did you get to?’ he challenged his companion. ‘You left me at the bleedin’ checkout, but you’ve got all the bloody money.’ He turned then, as though he had only just noticed that they weren’t alone. I guess observational powers didn’t rank high on his particular skill set. ‘Who’s this?’

  ‘It’s the posh bird from the Hallowe’en party. The one who got us chucked out. Remember?’

  I considered pointing out that actually they’d done that all by themselves, but it really wasn’t a dialogue I wanted to get into. His friend shook his head vaguely, either dismissing me, or truly unable to remember anything that had happened any longer than five minutes ago.

  ‘She and I were just getting reacquainted here,’ the straggly blond told his friend.

  ‘No, we weren’t,’ I corrected firmly, seizing the moment to squeeze past them both. ‘We’re all done.’

  I strode away, adrenaline propelling me onwards. I could hear them muttering behind me, and although I couldn’t make out precisely what they were saying, I did hear the pierced one tell his friend, ‘For Christ’s sake, let it g
o. She doesn’t want to know. Forget it.’

  It was good advice. It’s just a shame he didn’t take it.

  But that one was his mistake, not mine.

  I re-wrote what happened next many times over the years. In most edits I didn’t scurry like a terrified rabbit out of the supermarket into the dark night. In many versions, I chose to report the man to the duty manager in the store. In some, I called a cab to take me home. In a few, I miraculously gained a black belt in karate, and kicked his ass in the car park, in a truly spectacular fashion.

  The reality was somewhat different.

  It’s hard to say when I first realised I was being followed. I was nervous crossing the deserted car park, but I’m pretty certain no one was pursuing me then. When I set out on the path beside the train track, there was still no one behind me. As much as I hated to admit it, the encounter with the blond guy in the supermarket had left me rattled. I was fairly good at deflecting unwanted male attention, but there was something bitter and angry motivating his interest in me. This pursuit wasn’t about attraction or desire; it was more a need for retribution.

  Despite the height of my heels, I walked speedily to the footbridge. My breath billowed from my mouth like empty speech bubbles in a cartoon, and my chest rose and fell beneath my jacket, although that could just as easily have been from nerves as exertion. Knowing that beyond the bridge I still faced a ten-minute walk before I’d be back on campus ensured my pace never slackened.

  I tucked my chin firmly into the folds of my scarf and began to climb the metal treads of the footbridge. Taking this route alone and in the dark had been a stupid and reckless decision, I could see that now. I’d always been amazed at how irresponsible some people were about personal safety. I thought I was more sensible than that; I thought I had a better in-built sense of self-preservation. I thought wrong.

  I was halfway up the staircase when I heard the echo of a sound ricocheting through the darkness. It came from the direction of the path I had just travelled. I froze. From my elevated position I had an excellent view of the path. If anyone was approaching the bridge, I should be able to see them clearly in the street lamps’ orange pools of light.

  I stared into the darkness for a full minute, but it felt more like ten. I was positive I hadn’t imagined the sound, but where was the person who’d made it? I felt adrenaline coursing through my veins in readiness. If it came down to a question of fight or flight, I knew which one I was going to choose. Despite the fact that every tread on the metal staircase was covered with slick patches of black ice, I miraculously managed to avoid each invisible hazard, as I ran up one side of the bridge and down the other.

  I leapt from the last step and hurried down the path, stopping only when the street lamps did. How had I failed to notice this stretch of path was unlit on my journey in? The only illumination now came from a cloud-covered moon and a sprinkling of stars, scattered like diamonds across the black velvet sky.

  I was moving cautiously forward when a new sound carried through the night. A dull metallic sound. The kind of sound made when something heavy (heavy like a boot) connects with a metal step. My phone was in my hand and my fingers were flying over the screen before I had time to consider my actions. Later, I questioned why it was his number I had dialled, and not 999? In all honesty, I simply didn’t know. The instinctive need to reach out to him in a moment of crisis surprised even me.

  David answered on the first ring, and just hearing his voice calmed me a little, but my own still shook as I whispered hurriedly into my phone.

  ‘What do you mean, “someone’s following you”? Who? Can you see them now? Where the hell are you, anyway?’

  I peered into the darkness. ‘No, I can’t see anyone at the moment. But it’s pretty dark here. Perhaps there’s no one there, after all,’ I finished lamely, starting to feel foolish that I’d created a huge melodrama about nothing. Then I heard another metallic clang through the darkness. ‘Someone might be on the bridge,’ I whispered.

  ‘Charlotte, you’re making no sense. What bridge? Where the hell are you? I thought you went to the library this evening.’

  ‘I did. But now I’m on that path by the railway line, near the footbridge.’

  ‘What the hell are you doing there?’ There was no mistaking the anger in his tone. ‘I wouldn’t even walk there alone at night.’

  Great, thanks for that, David. Very helpful, I thought.

  ‘Where are your car keys?’ David asked urgently.

  He clearly hadn’t been paying attention. ‘I don’t have my car with me. It’s at home.’

  ‘I know that. I’m looking at it out the window right now. Where are your keys? I’m coming to get you.’

  ‘No. You don’t have to do that. You’ve got plans for tonight,’ I added, suddenly remembering he’d been going to some big musical event with Ally. ‘David, really, I just got myself a bit spooked, that’s all. You don’t have to come. That wasn’t why I called you.’ Wasn’t it? A voice protested in my head. Isn’t that precisely why he was the one you chose to call, instead of Mike, Andrew or Pete?

  ‘Charlotte, either you tell me where your keys are kept, or I’m phoning the police myself.’

  ‘No. Don’t do that,’ I begged hurriedly.

  ‘Keys,’ he said tersely.

  I may have hesitated for a second, possibly two. ‘On the desk in my room.’

  ‘Hold tight,’ he promised, and I felt his words sliding over me, like a protective suit of armour. ‘I’m on my way.’

  It was cold on the path, the temperature was dropping rapidly and nothing I was wearing was particularly effective at keeping out the bitter bite of the wind. I paced up and down in a small rectangle as I waited for David, like something in a cage. With every passing minute I began to feel more foolish. Clearly no one had been following me after all. I wasn’t usually such a drama queen, but I’d massively overreacted, and even worse I’d dragged David into my paranoid delusion too. He was going to be rightfully furious when he charged in here to rescue me, only to find the danger had only been in my imagination.

  I waited for ten minutes, before it occurred to me that I should have continued walking down the dark path towards campus. Too rattled to think clearly, I’d just been wasting time. David was sure to be there by now and just knowing he was close by comforted me. That probably explains why, when I felt a hand come to rest on my shoulder, my first feeling was one of overwhelming relief. I sighed and felt the tension slipping away with my exhaled breath. ‘Thank you so much for meeting me,’ I said with a smile as I turned to face him.

  ‘My pleasure,’ he purred, his hand tightening as his fingers dug into the hollow beneath my collar bone. ‘Thanks for waiting for me. I thought you would.’

  ‘What?’ I cried, my mind still grappling with the realisation that the man standing before me wasn’t David. ‘Get off me,’ I said, shaking my shoulder to throw off his hand, but his grip was manacled on to me, like talons into prey.

  ‘I’m not on you,’ he said, and I heard the slur in his voice, even before I smelled the beer on his breath. ‘Yet.’

  There was no mistaking the meaning of his words, and fear and bile rose up in my throat in an unpleasant cocktail. I put my hands on his chest and shoved with all my strength, but he was surprisingly strong. His free arm came around my back and thrust me up against the hard wall of his body, effectively imprisoning both my arms between us.

  ‘Stop playing games,’ he said, his face lowering. ‘You know you want this just as much as I do.’ I struggled in his hold, like a lunatic in a straitjacket, but I just couldn’t get away from him.

  ‘Let me go!’ I shouted into his face, which was inching closer towards mine. ‘I’m waiting for my boyfriend,’ I lied, my voice trembling. ‘He’ll be here any minute now.’

  ‘I’m already here,’ he said in a throaty growl as his mouth captured mine. I kept my lips tightly clamped together, gritting my teeth so hard I probably ground off several layers of ename
l. Even so, he managed to prise open my jaws. His tongue was like a thick twisting snake filling my mouth, poisonously lashing against mine, so forcefully that I gagged in reaction. I fervently hoped I was about to throw up, all over the pair of us.

  He took his mouth off mine, and I gasped in the cold night air as though I were drowning. His eyes were small glittering slits and I could see a feral red haze burning within them. He was beyond the point of listening to reason, if ever that moment had existed. The hand that gripped my shoulder so hard he’d already left five fingerprint bruises, now slid down the front of my jacket and fastened on to my right breast. His fingers bit through the leather and squeezed my flesh painfully. His breathing increased until he was practically panting with lust. ‘Been dreaming of these,’ he muttered, squeezing so hard it brought tears of pain to my eyes. His hand went to the zipper of my jacket and when he began to slide it down, I pulled back sharply and broke his hold on me.

  ‘I said: Get. The. Fuck. Off. Me!’ I yelled, emptying the air from my lungs with my warning. Although he no longer had hold of me, his hand still gripped a handful of leather jacket, and although I pulled with all my strength, he wasn’t letting go. I bucked away from him, but he hung on in a deadly tug of war.

  ‘My boyfriend is going to destroy you,’ I threatened, battering on his arm, trying to make him release me.

  He pulled a mock frightened expression, and spoke in a high girlish tone. ‘Ooh I’m so scared. Big old boyfriend is on his way.’ He snapped back to his own voice. ‘Stop jerking me around. There is no boyfriend. Unless, of course, you mean me?’ He tried to pull me back against him, but finally some long-ago-learned self-defence tactic surfaced from wherever it had been stored. I twisted in his arms so that my back was to him. I could feel the bulge in his pants pressing up against me as I brought up one leg and rammed it downwards, with as much force as I could muster. The heel of my boot connected with the arch of his foot. He swore, and then grunted as I twisted the stiletto, as though I was grinding an insect into obliteration. It was a pretty good analogy.