I Will Make You Pay (ARC)

by Teresa Driscoll

  She smells of Chanel. Good. They’re taking care of the

  little details here too. Mum has always loved to smell nice.

  ‘Do you miss the view of the sea, Mum?’

  ‘It’s fine.’ Her eyes are closed so I cannot read the

  true reply. She seems to be drifting off to sleep and so I

  whisper that she should rest and I will be back to see her

  soon. But as I move she suddenly reaches out to grab my

  hand and squeezes it very tightly.

  She holds on for longer than is natural, her eyes still

  closed, and I feel tears pricking the back of my own eyes.

  I know, Mum. I know.

  I smooth her hair, kiss her one more time, then put the

  book back on the top of her bookcase and leave the room.

  257

  Teresa Driscoll

  We had a meeting earlier with the nursing team and I

  can see that this home is better equipped to deal with the

  march of my mother’s disease. They do full ‘end of life’

  care here. There will be no need to move her again to

  hospital or a hospice. Leanne has done her research well.

  Mum is on maximum oxygen but there’s a ceiling on

  how much this can help her now. The problem, we’re

  told, is not so much getting the oxygen into her lungs

  but the fact that her badly damaged lungs can no longer

  process that oxygen. This is measured daily and is get-

  ting worse and worse. We’re on a graph. The black line

  is plunging downwards.

  We all know where we’re going.

  The staff are almost impossibly kind. They’re efficient

  and I do trust they’re doing everything they can. We are

  lucky that Leanne can throw money at this. I’m told the

  NHS is marvellous too, but I like that this home hires

  the best people. So much for my liberal politics. When it

  comes to your own, politics go out the window.

  I think of my mum puffing away on her cigarettes in

  the garden when we were kids. She said she took it up

  after the stress of my father’s death. A widow with two

  small girls. Can I blame her? As we got older Leanne

  and I both nagged her. But she called it my one pleasure.

  My one failing. In the end we gave up, and I feel guilty for that now.

  I sit in reception to check my phone for messages.

  Nothing from Matthew or Melanie Sanders. What the

  hell is happening?

  Is it Alex? Why would it be Alex? I need to know.

  I glance around at the fittings. The beautiful fabrics of

  the curtains at the window on to the garden. The fresh

  flowers so carefully arranged on the reception desk. I think

  258

  I Will Make You Pay

  back to the time my mother moved into her first home

  in Devon and I wonder what she really thinks about the

  transfer here. She must be baffled. A struggle for her to

  get through each day with her breathing so very strained

  now. What must she be thinking really? I never ask if

  she’s afraid of what’s coming.

  I am too afraid myself…

  When my mother’s COPD was first diagnosed, she was

  living in the family home a few miles from Hastings. It

  was where Leanne and I grew up and we loved to return

  there. Thankfully my father had good life insurance and

  a decent pension so we didn’t struggle financially. It was

  a lovely home and lovely garden.

  Her condition progressed slowly at first and we were

  told there was no set pathway with this disease. Every

  case is different. She was taught breathing exercises and

  seemed to manage OK for a while. But then she started

  to have episodes which put her in hospital, and things

  deteriorated with each one. Once it was obvious she could

  no longer live alone, we had a terrible dilemma.

  Leanne immediately suggested this home near her in

  London. But Mum surprised us both by saying she wanted

  to spend a spell by the sea. Devon. Where we had enjoyed

  so many holidays when we were little.

  Leanne was offended. I was secretly delighted. The

  truth? I think Mum wanted, for a time at least, to be nearer

  me. Jenny-turned-Alice, with no husband or family yet.

  I think my mother with her soft grey eyes – It’s all right, Alice – wanted to be near me for a time. And so Leanne gave in. She wasn’t working but I was. She could leave the

  children with the nanny to visit Devon more easily than

  I could travel to London. I had my job to work around

  and I was working shifts. So we all just got on with it.

  259

  Teresa Driscoll

  And now an email pings into my phone from Claire

  at the charity. She’s pressing again for my thoughts on

  the personal alarm and whether I would like to write an

  article for the website about it. I get this strange rumble

  in my stomach again.

  I don’t quite understand the switch – from initially

  implying the personal alarm scheme was perhaps not the

  right step for the charity to suddenly pressing for my

  support?

  I decide not to reply. Instead I do some googling. I

  google Claire’s background. I find her LinkedIn profile

  and some interviews about the charity. I find her private

  Facebook page but then I also discover an older listing

  not in use. Some of the posts are set to private and I as-

  sume she closed the page to protect her sister. But not all

  the security settings are in place. I find that I’m able to

  check older photographs and some of the older posts too.

  It’s very strange. Some of it does not tie in at all with the things she told me when we met.

  I do some more research, but my phone is too slow

  and the battery is low. I need to get back to Leanne’s.

  Something is not right here.

  260

  CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

  Matthew

  ‘So is Romeo still singing?’

  ‘Every time anyone tries to question him.’ Mel’s tone

  is pure exasperation. ‘Seriously. It should be made a crime,

  Matt. Opera during police interviews. I blame Morse on

  the telly.’

  ‘So what’s happening?’

  ‘He’s being transferred back to jail. Apparently he’s

  very popular there. Runs a choir and smarms everyone

  to death. Word is he’s encouraging his so-called fiancée

  to launch a media campaign about their “true love story”.

  Her parents are trying hard to dissuade her. We may

  confide in her about that third teenager Alex seduced.

  See if that sways her.’

  ‘What an utter creep.’ Matthew presses his phone closer

  to his ear and unclicks his seat belt. He glances across at

  Ian’s front door and checks his watch.

  ‘Precisely. I’m desperate for the techies to come up

  with something. Alex was using two phones apparently.

  There were some searches for Alice using her original

  name Jenny on the second phone but no other evidence.

  May just have been curiosity. We have nothing concrete

  yet.’

  261

  Teresa Driscoll

  ‘And still nothing on the flowers in the cake box? Or

  the bike us
ed in the fake acid attack?’

  There’s a long sigh and Matthew regrets asking. Mel’s

  doing her best. It’s frustrating all round. They’re up against someone clever. No prints. No forensics.

  ‘OK, sorry, sorry. I know it’s frustrating for you. Let

  me know if anything changes. I’m just desperate to know

  where we are. You know … with Wednesday hurtling

  towards us again.’

  ‘OK, Matt. Speak soon.’

  Matthew gets quickly out of the car and hurries across

  the road. He needs to keep this brief. When Ian answers

  his door, he’s as smartly dressed as ever. Proper shirt.

  Crease in his trousers. He leads Matthew straight into

  the dining room to signal the new arrival.

  ‘The module came two days ago. Three months’ free

  trial. Are you absolutely sure it’s not sending out danger-

  ous signals? Radiation of some kind? I don’t want to be

  radiated. Also I read somewhere that these devices can

  listen to you.’

  ‘It’s fine, Ian, I promise. There’s no microphone in it.’

  Matthew asks Ian to fetch the iPad still on loan and removes

  the little square of plastic with password details from the

  modem. He sets up the iPad and is relieved to see it connect

  immediately. Ian has thankfully charged it as instructed.

  He’s been practising, using all the notes he made.

  ‘Good. We’re up and running, Ian. You now have

  Wi-Fi, which means you can now use this iPad whenever

  you like to talk to Jessica. No extra charges – just the

  monthly Wi-Fi bill. I had a message from her last night

  to say she’s coming off shift around now, so let me show

  you again how to call her up via Skype.’

  262

  I Will Make You Pay

  Ian now looks a little stressed.

  ‘I promise you’ll get the hang of this, Ian, but you will

  need to concentrate. OK? And make some more notes.’

  ‘OK, Mr Hill. I’m writing it all down.’

  Matthew talks Ian through the steps and watches him

  scribble away in his little exercise book. He decides he

  will discuss his new hypothesis regarding the little people

  over tea once father and daughter have caught up.

  * * *

  Half an hour later, he reaches for a chocolate Hobnob

  and launches in. ‘So, your daughter was telling me in

  our email exchange that it would have been your golden

  wedding soon. You must miss your wife very much, Ian.

  I’m so sorry.’

  Ian doesn’t reply. Matthew presses on. ‘Jessie also says

  that it would have been your wife’s seventieth birthday …

  around about the time the little people turned up.’

  ‘I don’t talk about the little people with Jessica.’

  ‘I know, I know. I didn’t say anything. I just put the

  dates together.’

  Ian now stares at Matthew, his lip trembling. Matthew

  waits. They each sip their tea.

  Finally Ian puts his cup down and lets out a long sigh

  as if giving in.

  ‘So here’s the thing. We were saving up to visit Jessie in

  Canada. Dream trip to celebrate our golden wedding. We

  had it all planned out. We scrimped and we saved every

  spare penny. Barbara wouldn’t buy herself anything new.

  Put all the money in the travel fund. That green dress. It

  was her favourite. She wore it every birthday. I said she

  263

  Teresa Driscoll

  should have a new dress for her seventieth but she wouldn’t

  have it. Wanted to save to see our daughter instead.

  ‘And then she got sick. Pancreatic cancer. It was all

  terribly quick. And in the end I had to spend the holiday

  fund on her funeral.’

  Matthew feels a change in the air temperature around

  him. The room is suddenly too still. Too quiet. He stares

  at Ian’s perfectly ironed shirt and the crease in his trousers.

  ‘I hung the green dress on the door because it made

  me feel she was still around. That she might get up and

  put it on. But then suddenly it upset me too much. I

  wished I’d made her buy herself some new things. Nice

  things. Why didn’t I insist, Mr Hill?’ He turns to look at

  Matthew. ‘Anyway. I got in a pickle, staring at that green

  dress, but I didn’t want to move it from the wardrobe

  door so I moved myself instead. Into the spare room.’

  ‘Is that when the little people turned up? Guarding

  the room. Guarding the green dress?’

  ‘I know what you’re thinking, Mr Hill. You’re think-

  ing I’m completely barmy. A silly old fool.’

  ‘I don’t think that, Ian. Not at all. But I think the

  little people don’t like solutions. Modems … and happier

  times. So let’s see how things go now with you chatting

  more regularly to Jessie.’

  ‘Good plan, Mr Hill.’ Ian clears his throat and Matthew

  can hardly bear to see the strain on his face.

  ‘You can borrow the iPad long-term, by the way.’

  Matthew tries to make this sound casual. ‘I meant to say.

  I’m getting a new one. I don’t need it at the moment.’

  Ian stares at him and then takes in a long, slow breath.

  ‘But we haven’t even talked about your fee yet? I

  expect to pay. I’ve been putting a little aside from my

  pension. Every week—’

  264

  I Will Make You Pay

  ‘Oh. Don’t be worrying about that. We can talk about

  that another time.’

  There is another pause.

  ‘You are a very decent man, Mr Hill.’ Again Ian clears

  his throat. Smooths his trousers. ‘Very decent indeed.’

  265

  CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

  Alice

  It’s now Monday and I am booked on to a train this even-

  ing to return to Devon for tomorrow’s work meeting.

  First-class ticket this time.

  The police are going ahead with a harassment charge

  against the perv on my last train journey. Technically I’m

  pleased, though I’m not looking forward to giving evi-

  dence. I’m nervous of my link to Alex coming out – but

  what choice do I have? The guy who hassled me needs

  to be punished; I don’t want him doing that to others.

  This morning, I’m in work mode, using Leanne’s study.

  It overlooks their garden with impressive views across

  Notting Hill. More and more I can see that living in London

  has its appeal. Last night Leanne and Jonathan took me for

  a meal on the South Bank. Seventh-floor restaurant with

  a vista to die for. I looked out over the city, street lights twinkling and car headlamps sweeping across the canvas

  which is so very different from my own landscape. Yes.

  Little by little I’m coming to understand my sister better.

  I turn back to my laptop. The more research I do, the

  more it baffles and troubles me. I’ve traced the company

  records for the personal alarm that Claire has been trialling and there is no mention of the charity as a shareholder

  or interested party. Instead the company is in Claire’s

  266

  I Will Make You Pay

  maiden name (which I found easily via
her social media

  channels) and a mystery guy – Paul Crosswell. Googling

  him, he seems to have a chequered history in various

  areas of security. He’s run several companies – two went

  bankrupt and a third, specialising in general home alarms,

  is currently in receivership.

  All very odd. No option now but to make the phone

  call I’ve been putting off. It’s a risk and it feels sneaky. If my suspicions are wrong, Claire will find out I’ve been digging behind her back and will rightly be furious with me.

  But what if I’m right? It’s taken more than an hour to

  get this number and I can’t let this go.

  I dial. Three rings. Four.

  ‘Hello?’ The woman’s voice is hesitant. She answers

  the phone as if baffled at the technology. I wonder if she

  uses her mobile mostly and it’s rare for the landline to ring.

  ‘I’m very sorry to trouble you. But is that Claire’s

  mother? Claire Hardy?’

  ‘Who is this?’

  ‘I really am sorry to intrude, but I’m a journalist do-

  ing a feature on stalking. And someone suggested I get

  in touch with your daughter Claire.’

  ‘How did you get this number? Who are you?’

  ‘My name is Alice. And, as I say – I’m a journalist.

  I’m hoping to speak to Claire about her sister and about

  her charity.’

  ‘Claire doesn’t have a sister. Whatever kind of jour-

  nalist you are, you’ve got your facts wrong.’

  ‘But I was told that Claire’s sister had been involved

  in a stalking incident. Which led to Claire’s involvement

  with the charity.’

  ‘What charity? I have absolutely no idea what you’re

  talking about. Look, Claire and I have been estranged for

  267

  Teresa Driscoll

  many years. She’s an only child and quite frankly that’s

  a relief. One daughter has been quite enough trouble,

  thank you very much.’

  And then she hangs up.

  I turn once again to the garden to watch a robin sit-

  ting on the chimney of my niece’s playhouse. My mind is

  racing – in contrast to the robin, which is resting, tilting

  its head as if asking what I’m thinking.

  I narrow my eyes, trying to work out what the hell

  is going on with Claire but my mind is wandering. The

  playhouse is making me think instead of my niece. It’s

  a beautiful timber house, designed with a deliberately

  crooked door and crooked chimney. Yesterday I played tea

  parties with little Annabelle in there and remembered the