WATCHING YOU_The gripping edge-of-the-seat thriller with a stunning twist.

by Lynda Renham

  ‘Now there’s a sense of mystery surrounding you,’ he’d explained.

  ‘I’m not a celebrity,’ I’d snapped.

  ‘That’s just it, in the eyes of the public that’s what you are. You’re an heiress whose only family were butchered by an insane gamekeeper. You’re good entertainment, face the fact.’

  I’d received hundreds of letters. William passed them on. Most were in plain white envelopes with scribbled notes inside. Others came written in bold red ink calling me all kinds of names.

  ‘Some of them are no doubt fucking weird,’ William had warned.

  I never told him what was in the letters. How some were scrawled in, with what looked like, a bloody nail.

  I read each and every one, even those that referred to Ewan as the innocent victim of the bourgeois. Then there were the female devotees of Galbreith. It seems there is something sexy and romantic in a murderer’s eyes. I remember those eyes as they’d bored into mine when I gave my evidence. He should have served twenty years. I should have had five more years knowing I was safe from him.

  A movement at my side makes me start. It’s Simon pouring champagne into my glass. It spills down the front of my dress.

  ‘Jesus, I’m sorry,’ he says reaching for a serviette. ‘I can be so clumsy at times.’

  ‘It was my fault,’ I say, taking the serviette and dabbing at my dress.

  ‘I’m not good at social occasions,’ I say.

  ‘We’ve got something in common then. You still haven’t told me what made you late.’

  I sigh.

  ‘I felt sure Donna was going to try and set me up. I don’t need setting up, you see.’

  Donna squeezes between us.

  ‘There’s food fresh off the barbeque,’ she says. ‘God, it is muggy isn’t it? I don’t envy Joel slaving over the thing. We’ve got loads, so stuff your faces.’

  Simon glances at the barbeque and I take the opportunity to study his profile. The laughter lines around his eyes and the tiny wrinkle around his mouth indicate he may be older than I had first thought.

  ‘I’m starving,’ he says. He knows I’m looking at him. ‘Can I get you something?’

  I shake my head. Donna catches my eye and rushes over as soon as Simon has left.

  ‘What do you think of him?’ she asks excitedly. ‘He’s nice isn’t he?’

  ‘Donna, what have you told him about me?’

  ‘Nothing,’ she groans. ‘I just said you were a good friend and that I felt you would get on well together.’

  ‘You didn’t tell him about …’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous. Of course I didn’t. I’m not a fool.’

  ‘He’ll pity me if you did.’

  ‘I don’t think that’s true. You should perhaps be more open. People might surprise you.’

  ‘I can’t risk it,’ I say, throwing back the champagne.

  I don’t want the attention. I don’t want it to flare up again, the strangers staring at me, pitying me, the comments whispered behind my back. That’s her, they’d say. She found her family slaughtered on the night of the millennium. A madman out for revenge shot them both with their own shotgun. Can you imagine what it must have been like, finding them? The poor thing.

  ‘He’s a nice guy,’ Donna says breaking into my thoughts.

  I shake my empty wine glass.

  ‘Wine or champers?’ she grins.

  ‘Either,’ I say.

  People smile at me. No doubt they remember me from Donna and Joel’s previous do. They’re probably wondering why Donna invites me. They don’t try to approach me. I didn’t communicate very well the last time they met me. Simon is laughing with a brunette by the barbeque. She’s relaxed and carefree, unlike me. Even the alcohol isn’t loosening me up. I down the wine from the glass Donna hands me and say, ‘I may have to go. I’ve got stuff to catch up on.’

  ‘What stuff?’ Donna asks, her tone disbelieving.

  ‘Just stuff,’ I say.

  ‘I’m worried about you Libby.’

  ‘Don’t be silly,’ I say.

  ‘Have another drink and let yourself go,’ she orders.

  I nod but she’s unconvinced.

  ‘He can’t get to you, Libby,’ she says, lowering her voice.

  ‘Of course he can. He could be anywhere.’

  ‘You only have to phone the police and they’ll put him back inside.’

  ‘Yeah, I know,’ I say.

  ‘He can’t get to you,’ she repeats.

  I feel sure she is wrong.

  Chapter Eight

  Fifteen years earlier

  Libby brushed Georgie’s coat until it shone. It was cold in the stables, but she never noticed the temperature when she was with Georgie. Besides, she was still hot and sweaty from their long ride.

  ‘Alright,’ said Ewan, acknowledging her as he entered the barn, his arms full of hay. He carried it to the corner of the stables and without waiting for Libby to reply, walked out again. He returned a few moments later with more. His brown hair had fallen over his forehead and she couldn’t see his eyes. Ewan grabbed a pitchfork and began mucking out, talking softly to Princess as he did so. The white mare shook her mane in pleasure. The portable CD player was playing The Police. It was Ewan’s favourite band and Libby thought how nice it would be if Aunty Rose and Uncle Edward bought him the new album for Christmas. She’d mention it to them.

  ‘You’re cold girl,’ he said to Princess. His soft Scottish accent seemed to soothe the horse. ‘Your Aunty Rose said to tell you they are putting the Christmas tree up.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Libby pulling a face.

  ‘Don’t you want to help,’ he smiled.

  ‘I’d rather be with Georgie,’ she said brushing his coat lovingly.

  ‘Yeah, I know what you mean,’ smiled Ewan.

  Libby liked Ewan’s smile. She knew the women liked Ewan. He was handsome in a rugged way. There was an air of certainty about him and a confidence that made a woman feel safe when with him. Ewan Galbreith was always sure of himself and his warm brown eyes when they looked at you somehow made you feel special. Like in that moment he had eyes only for you.

  Libby pulled off her hat and allowed her long curly auburn locks to fall around her face. Her scalp felt sweaty. Cold air blew into the barn, sending a whisper of snow with it. She breathed in its freshness. It was three weeks before Christmas. Libby and Aunty Rose had been shopping the day before for staff presents ready for the staff party.

  ‘What do you want for Christmas?’ Ewan asked.

  ‘I haven’t thought about it.’

  That wasn’t true. She had thought about it. In fact, she’d done nothing but think about it. But she wasn’t going to share her thoughts with Ewan.

  The early whisper of snow had now turned into heavy flakes. Ewan lifted a thick blanket and draped it over Princess.

  ‘There you go darling,’ he said.

  ‘What do you want for Christmas?’ she asked.

  He shrugged.

  ‘Me?’ he said, as if surprised she would ask. ‘I don’t want anything.’

  Libby was used to Ewan’s short responses. He didn’t say much to those who employed him, but she’d heard tell he always had plenty to say when he was down the pub.

  Ewan’s phone trilled, and he looked down at it. He glanced back up at Libby before clicking into it.

  ‘Patti, it’s difficult to talk …’ he said.

  Libby turned back to Georgie, her cheeks turning red. She considered going back to the house and leaving him to his call. She knew he had women. The kitchen staff gossiped about it. She reckoned Ewan had had more women than she could count on all her fingers and toes.

  ‘He’s a fool,’ Molly the housekeeper had said. ‘Playing with fire like he does, I’m telling you, he’ll come unstuck one day.’

  It was as she was about to leave the barn that everything happened.

  ‘Patti, slow down …’ Ewan said into the phone.

  Libby went to walk p
ast him when the barn door swung open. She gasped as three men wearing balaclavas burst in. She saw something swinging in the hand of one of them and opened her mouth to scream but nothing came from her lips. She ran to the barn doors, but strong arms stopped her before she could get through them. They held her so tightly that her ribs ached. She struggled against them, but it was useless and the screams that now wanted free rein were locked inside her by the gloved hand that covered her mouth.

  ‘Let her go,’ growled Ewan. ‘This has nothing to do with her.’

  Libby looked at him pleadingly.

  ‘Thought you could put your filthy hands on anything didn’t you Galbreith?’ said one of the men, his voice deep and hard. His evil eyes stared through the slits of the balaclava. Libby watched horrified as he lifted a cricket bat and brought it down with a sickening crack on Ewan’s arm.

  Libby fought against the strong grip that held her tight and squeezed her eyes shut. She wanted to block out the sound of the thuds as the punches hit Ewan’s body. Georgie stamped her hooves in fear and neighed loudly. Libby prayed the men wouldn’t hurt the horses. She couldn’t bear that. Blood spattered onto her face. She felt the wetness of it. Her heart was pounding so hard in her chest that she felt sure she would faint. Even the buzzing in her ears didn’t block out the sound of Ewan’s groans. She kicked out, but it was useless. Ewan struggled to protect himself but one of the men was holding him while the other pummelled mercilessly into his body. Ewan’s face was now dripping in blood from a gash over his eye. Libby bit angrily at the hand that was clamped across her mouth and tasted rancid fish before biting hard into it again. The man cursed and released her. She screamed, louder than she had ever screamed in her life. The man whacked her around the head making her ears ring but still she continued to scream. It was the loud crack of a gunshot that finally silenced her.

  Edward Owen stood in the doorway, a shotgun aimed at the back of the man standing over Ewan.

  ‘Get off him,’ he roared. ‘Or so help me God the next shot will be in your back and don’t think I won’t do it.’

  The men stepped back and Edward snatched the balaclavas from their heads.

  ‘Well, if it isn’t Ben Mitchell,’ Edward said, jabbing the rifle into Ben’s ribs. He turned to the man that had been holding Libby. ‘If you touch my niece ever again so help me God I’ll blow your head off. Now get the hell off my property.’

  The men sauntered past Edward.

  ‘Keep your hands to yourself in future Galbreith,’ said Ben.

  Edward threw a phone to Libby before bending down to Ewan.

  ‘Call for an ambulance,’ he ordered.

  ‘Shall I call the police?’

  ‘Just an ambulance, Ewan won’t want the police involved, will you lad?’

  Ewan gurgled something and then spat blood.

  ‘You bloody fool,’ said Edward.

  ‘I’ll get them,’ muttered Ewan.

  Libby flushed and stumbled out of the barn, her legs were like jelly and her hands trembling so much she could barely punch the numbers into the phone. She shakily asked for an ambulance and then threw up.

  Chapter Nine

  Present day

  Libby

  I wake with a start. Did I hear something? I look at the bedside clock. It says 6:50 a.m. The alarm will go off in ten minutes. My heart pounds in my ears. I’m wet with perspiration. I’m afraid to leave the window open at night. It’s madness. I’m four flights up. Unless he has Superman powers he isn’t likely to come through the window. I hear something beneath the beating of my heart. My body jerks up in fear. There’s a scratching sound coming from the bedroom door. I reach for my phone, my finger poised over the speed-dial button for Fran. Then I hear it. Merlin meowing. I exhale and flop back onto the pillows. My throat feels dry and raw. I’m desperate for a drink. I force my shaking body from the bed and pad barefoot to the door where Merlin darts in as it is opened. The sun is already filtering into the room.

  ‘Hello gorgeous,’ I say patting Merlin.

  After pouring myself a glass of water I feed Merlin and check my phone. There’s a text from Donna.

  Great night last night. A shame you had to play Cinderella. Simon asked for your number. I said it was more than my life was worth to give it to him. He asked if you would call him. Make sure you do!

  My head thumps from the champagne. I try to picture Simon in my head. I say his name out loud. It wouldn’t hurt to phone. My fingers hover over the number Donna had texted. Instead I switch on the TV that sits on the kitchen counter and watch the news for a few minutes, and then I text Donna.

  Thanks. I’ll think about it.

  Instead I phone William. He answers immediately.

  ‘Libby?’ he says. ‘Did you not get our invitation?’

  Shit. I thought I’d answered that.

  ‘I can’t make it,’ I say.

  ‘Couldn’t make it,’ he corrects. ‘It was last night.’

  ‘God, I’m sorry.’

  ‘It’s Caroline you should be apologising to. I didn’t imagine you would come for one minute. She had a better opinion of you, however.’

  I curse inwardly.

  ‘I’ll phone her straight after.’

  He grunts.

  ‘We’ve had an offer for Manstead. It’s a good one. I think you should take it. You’ll need to come and clear the place.’

  ‘Have you seen Ewan?’ I ask.

  ‘No and I don’t want to. I think you should come and clear out the house. Sell it and you’ll never have to come to Padley again.’

  I clench my fists tightly.

  ‘I’m not going to let him stop me coming back.’

  ‘I presumed that was why you didn’t come last night?’ he says surprised.

  ‘I … I forgot. I’ve had Galbreith on my mind,’ I admit.

  ‘He’s not worth it,’ he says tiredly and then in a resigned tone. ‘We’ve had an influx of letters. I suppose it’s connected to his release. Do you want me to forward them?’

  I take a deep breath.

  ‘Yes.’

  Why do I torture myself? You know why, replies a voice in my head.

  ‘Thanks William,’ I say. ‘I promise to come down soon. I’ll phone Caroline.’

  ‘Sure,’ he says.

  I hang up and make more coffee. I wonder what Ewan Galbreith is doing. Is he sitting at a kitchen table somewhere, eating breakfast, nursing a coffee? Is he thinking about me? Is he in Cornwall or is he somewhere else? I jump up, throwing Merlin off my lap.

  I type Ewan Galbreith prison release into Google search on my laptop and am hit by a picture of Uncle Edward and Aunty Rose. It’s a wedding photo. They’re smiling. They’re happy. I clench my jaw before scrolling down. I ignore the pictures of the girl I no longer recognise.

  Ewan Galbreith was sentenced today to twenty years for the murder of his employers Edward and Rose Owen. There was outcry at the Old Bailey from the deceased’s family. It was thought that Galbreith would be sentenced to life. The judge advised that due to Galbreith having no previous convictions, that twenty years was a fair sentence. Galbreith aged 24, from Padley, Cornwall, was impassive when the verdict was given but yelled out threats as he was taken down to the cells. The deceased’s only living relative, Libby Owen, had to be helped from the courtroom.

  The web pages are so familiar to me that I could recite the articles backwards. There is nothing new, nothing about his prison release. There are no new photos. I sigh and click into my Facebook page. Merlin jumps onto the table and tries to lick the milk bottle. I pour some into a saucer before scanning my Facebook profile. I rarely look at Facebook. I don’t have many friends. It’s a tool to promote my business so when I see a new friend request notification, I’m surprised. Could it be Simon Wane? I click on it curiously. Did Donna tell him my surname? I struggle to remember. The page opens, and I reel back in shock. It feels like someone has just punched me in the chest. I can’t breathe. My hands tremble so much that I have to
lower my coffee mug. I try to swallow the bile down, but it rises up so fast that I barely make it to the bathroom sink. I vomit viciously while Merlin meows behind me. I stay with my head over the bowl, my eyes pulsating with the beating of my heart. Finally, I go back to the kitchen and force myself to look at the screen, I then grab my phone and hit button two.

  ‘It’s me,’ I say as Fran picks up.

  ‘Libby?’

  ‘He’s made contact,’ I say.

  ‘When?’ she asks, there’s disbelief in her voice.

  ‘I’ve had a friend request on Facebook.’

  My voice is calm. It’s happened. The anxiety and apprehension were far worse. He’s finally made contact.

  ‘From Ewan Galbreith?’ she asks.

  ‘No,’ I say looking back at the screen. ‘From Uncle Edward.’

  Chapter Ten

  Fifteen years earlier

  Ben cursed. His hair was soaked with sweat and it ran down his face.

  ‘Fucking Edward Owen,’ he growled.

  ‘You gave Galbreith a good seeing to though,’ said one of the men.

  Ben crunched the truck into gear and sped out of Manstead Manor. After all, he couldn’t be sure that Owen wouldn’t still take a shotgun to them. He drove fast into Padley, the adrenaline rushing through his veins. Everyone in the truck was silent. They knew best than to speak when Ben was in this kind of mood. He was jittery. There was unspent anger in him.

  ‘If it weren’t for bloody Owen, Galbreith would be on life support,’ growled Ben.

  The men were silent. None of them had anticipated Ben going that far.

  ‘See you on the boat tomorrow,’ said Matt when they arrived back in the town. ‘Weather’s going to be calmer.’