frightened of the dark as well. But he’s not allowed. It’s
a secret.
Wednesdays are their secret. Him and gran…
‘You OK in there, lovely?’
He realises that he wants to kick something very,
very hard and is a wicked boy. Mostly he loves his gran.
Mostly he wants to throw his arms around her and hold
on tight, tight, tight.
But on Wednesdays he doesn’t understand grown-
ups at all. He wants to kick and bite and scream at the
whole world.
He can feel tears coming right this minute, and he
thinks of last Wednesday in school when Patrick caught
him crying in the library corner. And he had to push
Patrick right off his stool.
He is six next birthday, and he wonders if he will feel
braver when he is six.
21
CHAPTER FIVE
Matthew
Matthew Hill stares at his daughter lying on the ground in
the middle of the biscuit aisle. He’s on the verge of giving
in. The shameful whisper – don’t tell Mummy – right on the tip of his tongue . But there is suddenly a problem; Amelie’s spectacular lungs have attracted an audience.
Several shoppers are staring at him now, apparently wait-
ing for his next move.
Matthew tries to calm his face for the crowd – his options
all at once limited. No one warns you, he is thinking. Just
six months back his daughter was a cherub in floral dresses.
‘I hate you!’ Amelie again stamps both feet in turn
on the ground, her little fists clenched into tight, angry
knots. Knuckles white. She flips her back up and down
off the floor like some furious seal.
Matthew looks once more at the spectators; bribery
sadly off the table. Too many witnesses.
‘Daddy’s going to leave now, Amelie. Are you going
to stay and live in this supermarket or do you want to
come home with me?’
‘I want Pippy Pocket biscuits.’
Matthew glances at the display on the shelf as two
middle-aged women widen their eyes, apparently eager
to see if he will fold.
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I Will Make You Pay
‘And if you had been a good girl, you might have
been allowed Pippy Pocket biscuits. But this is the fifth
time you’ve lain on the floor, Amelie. So no Pippy Pocket
anything today. We’re going to pay and leave.’
The screaming, once it starts up again, is spectacular
both in volume and pitch. Matthew instinctively raises
both his arms and swings to face the little crowd. ‘Look.
Not guilty. Not touching her.’
‘Terrible twos?’ The voice from just behind him sounds
older. Its owner then steps forward to stand right alongside
him, and he turns to take in the white hair. Thick coat
despite the mild day.
Matthew tries to find a small smile – any expression
which might suggest he’s coping.
The truth? If there were no audience, he would def-
initely go with the bribe. He would buy the sodding
biscuits just to get the child up off the floor and out of
the store. But he can already hear his wife Sally’s voice
in his ear.
You mustn’t give into the tantrums, Matt. If you keep giving in, we’re doomed.
The word resonates. Doomed. He stares at the child on the floor and wonders what happened to the angel baby
placed into his arms. The sweet girl with blonde curls in
a high chair who was always smiling. As a new couple
peer around the end of the aisle to find the source of the
screaming, Matthew reflects that the word doomed pretty much sums up his life right now.
‘How about you walk off and pay and I keep an eye
on her. She’ll throw in the towel.’ The overdressed gran
has moved closer to whisper her proposed strategy.
Matthew looks at the woman more carefully. She
doesn’t look like a child-snatcher. The problem is, his
23
Teresa Driscoll
years in the police force and now as a private detective
make him suspicious of everyone. ‘We’re fine, thank you.’
‘Up to you, but she looks settled in for the night to
me.’ The woman is watching Amelie, still kicking her
feet on the floor. ‘I had one like that. Especially stubborn, I mean. Expect she’s bright? Yes?’
Matthew narrows his eyes. He glances at the till and
realises that the reflection in the window beyond will
save the day, allowing him to monitor his daughter and
the granny child-snatcher quite safely.
‘Thank you,’ he whispers finally. ‘I appreciate it.’
‘Right then, Amelie. Daddy is going now. I hope you
like living in the supermarket but I should warn you it gets
very cold at night here. And they switch off the lights.’
He turns his back and pushes his trolley towards the
tills, all the time watching the scene in the window
reflection.
Amelie stops screaming almost immediately but stays
on the floor. After a little while she lifts her head to check his progress. The gran stands guard. One more minute
and Amelie gets up, looking utterly bemused. Then a tad
worried. As Matthew places item after item on the rolling
belt, humming a little tune, Amelie starts to walk slowly
along the aisle. He glances again at the window reflection,
that familiar beat of surprise at how much taller he is than
everyone else in the queue, but he does not turn round.
Very soon he feels his daughter’s body pressed against
his left leg and can hear her quietly sobbing, her little
shoulders heaving up and down with the full weight of
defeat. He pats her hair but continues with his task. ‘Want
to help Daddy unload?’ The trick, he has learned, is not
to make eye contact just yet; to limit her humiliation
which could so easily morph into another tantrum. He
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I Will Make You Pay
passes a cereal box, which she puts on the trolley belt.
Then a loaf of bread in its paper bag.
They continue their double act until finally the sob-
bing ceases and the shoulders still.
‘I sorry, Daddy.’
And now his heart explodes. He pats his daughter’s
hair again as a sign it is OK between them. He wonders
if it will always be like this. Love. War. Love. War. He
wants suddenly to go back and buy all the Pippy Pocket
biscuits on the shelf to show how much he forgives her
and loves her. But he knows he must resist and so he
strokes Amelie’s hair some more and just keeps passing
the lighter items of shopping.
He turns now to lift his hand as a thank you to the
mystery gran, who is smiling at them. He remembers his
own mum warning him on their last family visit that he
must not wish time away, however hard it gets. She says
these years will go too fast and he will look back one
day and wish he was right back here. Tantrums and all.
The problem, he thinks, is that when you are here
– right here with this unpredictable two-year-old who
will not sleep, will not put her co
at on, will not get into
the car seat and will not get up off the floor – it is all so permanently exhausting. And so you can’t help wishing
for the next phase. For a bit. More. Calm.
As they finish loading the belt, his mobile sounds.
He sees from the display that it is a call automatically
forwarded from his office in Exeter. Damn. He is starting late this morning to allow Sal to visit the hairdresser’s,
but doesn’t like to appear part-time to his clients; he also
hates anyone realising that he still doesn’t have a secretary or assistant.
‘Hello – Matthew Hill, private investigator.’
25
Teresa Driscoll
The woman on the till raises her eyebrows and
Matthew widens his eyes in return.
‘Hello, Mr Hill. Right. Um. My name is Tom Stellar.’
The voice sounds thirties. Nervous, which is par for the
course. Most clients find it hard to make the leap. Make
the call. ‘I’m wondering if you might be able to help me.
Well, my girlfriend actually.’ There is a long pause.
‘Go on.’
‘She’s being harassed. Some kind of stalker, we think.
Nasty phone calls at first. I was hoping it would pass, to
be honest, but instead it’s getting worse. A delivery to her
office. I’m really very worried. The police don’t seem to
be able to do very much and so I was wondering…’ He’s
talking faster and faster.
‘OK, Mr Stellar. I hear you, but I’m on a case right
this minute and it’s difficult for me to talk properly right
now. I’ve logged this number, so how about I call you
back very soon. Within the hour? Would that be OK
with you?’
‘Oh.’ The man sounds deflated. ‘It’s just I’m so very
worried. It’s urgent.’
‘I absolutely promise I’ll get back to you shortly. Then
you can tell me everything and we can decide how to
move forward.’
‘Right. OK. She’s with the police at the moment but
she’s very upset, and I don’t have much confidence in the
police, frankly. Last time they seemed to just fob her off.
Sent her home – on her tod, would you believe.’
Matthew sighs, still stroking his daughter’s hair. He
doesn’t like to hear the police criticised. Deep down
there’s an old loyalty he cannot shake. Most officers do
their best. It’s a tough job; he of all people knows that
from his past. But the truth is that stalker cases are the
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I Will Make You Pay
force’s worst nightmare. So difficult to handle; to get
right. And never enough resources to do what officers
would like to do.
He realises this is the first time he has been asked, as
a private investigator, to get involved in a stalker inquiry, and isn’t at all sure what to say. Whether to even consider
the case. Deep down he doubts he will be able to help
very much. Not on his own.
‘I’ll call you back very soon, Mr Stellar. Try to get
an update from your girlfriend meantime, and we can
see where we are.’
27
CHAPTER SIX
Alice
I am in the editor’s office now and look up at the window
on to the newsroom, several faces looking in. They turn,
embarrassed, as I catch their eyes.
‘So you’re saying you think this is the fourth thing?’
The woman police officer is staring at the evidence bag
on the desk between us, turning it over to read the card
which was inside the cake box with the dying flowers.
‘Each thing happening on a Wednesday?’
I nod. I want to speak but I am afraid that I’m going
to cry and there is no way I want to do that in front of
this woman or the other journalists still glancing in. It
is good that Ted loaned us this space but I wish it had
blinds. More privacy.
The only relief is that my mother is OK. I’ve spoken at
length to the staff at her home. A carer is with her and they’ve reassured me about their security; they log all callers and
won’t allow any visitors to my mother without my say-so.
I look back across the desk at the police officer. She
seems very nice, understanding completely why I freaked
out over my mother. I’m embarrassed now that I don’t
remember her name. She’s a DI, which suggests they’re
taking it more seriously – or Ted has leant more heavily
on his mate Alan. From her initial questions, she’s clearly
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I Will Make You Pay
competent; sharper than the officer they sent last week, I
would say. She has a warm and open face but she is heavily
pregnant, and for some shameful reason this really troubles
me. You will struggle to find a more outspoken feminist
than me, but right now I feel a complete fraud – all my
thoughts betraying the sisterhood.
I can’t explain it but I don’t like the idea of sucking
this nice, pregnant woman and her unborn child into
this horrible thing that’s going on. This man who talks
of using cheese wire, who sends nasty decapitated flow-
ers, who mentions my mother, and who I now believe has been into my home. I find myself glancing at her belly.
It makes me think of my sister – how protective I felt of
Leanne when she was pregnant. I am thinking of the new
life starting there; the wonder that in a few short months
it will be a real, little person. The innocent child. And
then I think of this cruel and horrible man…
‘I think he’s been in my house.’ I reach for the cup
of water as I speak. I didn’t even plan to say this yet. I’m
still trying to work out in my head if this can really be
true. I have to take out my phone for my diary, to check
all the dates again.
‘Right. No hurry, Alice. When you’re ready, talk me
through it from the beginning. One step at a time. Why
do you think he’s been in your house?’
I stare at my phone and scroll through to check the
date I went to London and then the emails to my landlord.
Yes. Jeez. It really fits.
‘OK, so when I got that phone call to the office – the
one using the voice changer last week, I thought it was
the first thing. Was hoping it would be the only thing.’
‘Yes. I’ve looked back at the statement my colleague
took. There was no mention of any other incidents.’
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Teresa Driscoll
‘That’s because I didn’t realise the connection then. But
this box turning up today with the message, mentioning
my mum.’ I stare again at the evidence bag containing the
little card, still on the desk in front of the officer.
She turns it over again and reads it aloud.
‘ Your mother’s favourites? Like the flower on your car? Oh
– and did you miss the light bulb, Alice? ’
‘I’m sorry. I’ve forgotten your name, Officer. So rude
of me but I’m a bit all over the place and I didn’t really
take it in properly earlier.’ I can feel myself blushing. Did she say Mandy?
‘DI Melanie Sander
s.’
‘Right. Thank you.’
‘You’re welcome to call me Melanie.’
‘OK. Thank you.’ I pause. ‘Melanie.’ I don’t like to
say that this doesn’t feel right at all; to call her by her
Christian name. As if she is my friend. My buddy. As if
I can know yet whether I can trust her.
‘So talk me through this card, Alice. The flower on
the car. What’s that about?’
I let out a little huff of air as I picture it. The peony
on my windscreen. Why didn’t I realise right from the
beginning?
‘When I read that on the card – about the flower – I
suddenly realised it was him. The first thing, I mean. About
a month back. The first Wednesday. I just checked the
date in my diary. I was up in London at the headquarters
of the housing association involved in a story I’m working
on. Demolishing the Maple Field House complex and
building new homes.’
‘Yes, I read about that. Good outcome.’
‘I’ve been doing the campaign stories; all the features.
So I went up to London for an interview about the place
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I Will Make You Pay
of housing associations in a landscape where councils
fund so little new social housing. I used the train from
Plymouth and I left my car in the railway car park. When
I got back – quite late because I wrote and filed my story
from Paddington station – there was a single flower on
my windscreen with a business card. I’m not going to lie
– it did startle me a little bit because of the coincidence
that it was a peony. It’s my mother’s favourite flower, you
see.’ There is a slight crack to my voice. I cough, hoping
she didn’t notice this. ‘But the card seemed to be from a
florist, and you often get flyers left on cars in car parks.
I thought it was a gift. A gimmick – just some clever
marketing. The choice of flower a coincidence.’
‘What did the florist’s card say? Have you still got it?’
‘No. Unfortunately not. Mine was the last car in that
section of the car park and I just assumed all the cars
would have had them. I took the peony home and put it
in water. But I threw the business card away.’
‘Try to remember, Alice. What it said. The name on
the card. Close your eyes if you like; that can help some-
times. Try to picture yourself sitting in your car with the
card in your hand.’
I feel self-conscious but she widens her eyes in en-
I Will Make You Pay (ARC) Page 3