by Maggie James
I cracked wide open then. With my head against the steering wheel, I bawled like a baby. The confident version of Lyddie had exited stage right, leaving behind a blubbering wreck. If I’d thought Gary McIlroy had deceived me, his betrayal was small potatoes compared with this. I’d been suckered to the hilt, played by a master at his game. Screwed in every sense of the word, and I couldn’t say nobody had warned me. Too headstrong to listen, instead I’d gift-wrapped myself, added a silk bow, and presented myself as a willing victim to Scott Champion.
After I cried myself dry, I sat there, numb with shock. An endless loop of Scott ran through my brain; the magic of his kisses, the adoration I’d glimpsed in his eyes. How could he have faked such passion? But then I remembered the posts from Love Rats Exposed. All those women had been convinced their boyfriends’ declarations of love were real. Blinded by arrogance, I was no better. Hadn’t I boasted about being able to spot a dirt-bag at a hundred paces? Of course I’d never become a victim like them, not after Gary McIlroy. Instead I’d set out to catch a rat and ended up being bitten by one.
You’re dead, bitch. God, those awful texts. He’d sent them, every damn one. Scott had been Mr Weirdo Stalker too, even lying about us being followed. All done to scare me – I guessed he got pleasure from frightening women - as well as keep tabs on my movements. Once our relationship turned serious, he hadn’t needed his spy tactics.
Ellie had been right all along but I hadn’t listened, mired too deep in bullshit to admit the truth. Same with Mum, Caroline, Richie. I’d behaved like a fucking idiot; I’d given precedence to a silver-tongued rogue over my family and friends. So easy to write Ellie off as a delusional liar, Mum a control freak. Caroline, though? Hadn’t she always been loyal and supportive? Why had I been so swift to kick her in the teeth?
My face flushed with shame when I recalled shouting at Richie about him being jealous. He’d only wanted to protect me. I found it hard to accept how badly I’d fucked up.
Then I remembered Darcy. What had Caroline said? She’s part of the scam, don’t you see? They’re working you together.
Who could she be, I wondered. I doubted she was Scott’s sister; no family resemblance existed that I could recall. How stupid I’d been not to notice. Not his girlfriend, either. A man that handsome could bag himself any woman he chose. Why would he settle for someone as drab and emaciated as Darcy?
I started the car, dread pooling in my belly. Somehow I drove to Greenbank, ignoring every red traffic light I encountered on the way. All I could focus on was Darcy, the certainty I’d find her at home, not enduring colonic irrigation in California.
I parked opposite the house where I’d visited with Scott and rang the doorbell. Nobody answered. I peered through the letter box, my ears alert for any sound from inside. Nothing. The place was empty. Darcy wasn’t home. I returned to my car to wait.
Even then, hope continued to defy common sense. Might she be in San Diego after all?
But no. The idea was ridiculous, the chances zero. I’d been conned, plain and simple.
I stared at the shabby house across the street, my hands clamped on the steering wheel as I continued my vigil. My patience was rewarded after an hour. I didn’t recognise her, not at first. This woman had dark straggly hair, with no sign of the scarf Darcy had worn around her skull. She was the right height and had the same bird-like build, her shoulders hunched as she carried her shopping bags along the street. As she drew closer, I saw the unhealthy pallor of her skin, the darkness under her eyes. Above them, she’d drawn clumsy brows to replace the ones she must have plucked before I visited. Any vestiges of doubt I had vanished.
Darcy took a key from her pocket and inserted it in the lock. Within a few seconds, she’d disappeared from view.
Another crushing wave of betrayal swept over me. I didn’t care about the money I’d lost, but I did about my self-respect. That lay shattered into tiny pieces, demolished when the real Scott Champion opened his door to me. And again when Darcy - if that was even her real name - closed hers behind her. The two of them must have laughed their guts out at gullible Lyddie Hunter. Oh, the shame of it.
Humiliation gave way to anger. I lowered my window all the way down, then tugged the fake gold bracelet from my wrist. The cheap elastic snapped under the force of my fingers, sending beads flying in all directions, peppering the pavement and bouncing along the gutter. I watched several land close to a nearby drain and disappear into its foetid depths.
‘Fuck you, dickhead,’ I snarled. Then I started the engine and drove towards Caroline’s house.
My friend took one look at me after opening her door, and pulled me swiftly inside. At the sight of her face, so loving and concerned despite my shabby behaviour, I broke down again. Caroline enfolded me in her arms, holding me tight. We stayed that way until I hiccupped to a stop, her T-shirt soaked from my tears.
‘Come inside,’ she said, walking me towards the living room. ‘I should warn you, though. Richie’s here.’
I didn’t care. Wasn’t he one of those to whom I owed an apology?
Richie stood up as Caroline steered me into the room. Shame made it impossible for me to acknowledge him. His voice reached me, warm and soothing, although afterwards I was unable to remember a thing he’d said. I simply stood there, shaking and sobbing, Caroline’s arms around me.
At last I found the words I needed. ‘I should have listened to both of you. About Scott. Or whatever his real name is.’ Humiliation swelled in my chest, my sense of betrayal so great it threatened to choke me.
Both my friend and my ex treated me better than I had any right to expect. They heard me pour forth my anguish, never once saying ‘I told you so’. For that, I was grateful.
‘There’s so much I don’t understand,’ I wailed. ‘Why didn’t he ask for the money in cash like he did with Ellie? Why tell me he’d once dated her? That’s what I don’t get.’
‘Me neither.’ Richie’s voice was thick with anger.
‘He told you to stir up trouble,’ Caroline said. ‘To drive a wedge between the two of you.’
That made sense. I remembered what I’d read about how men like Scott operated. Divide and conquer, in a bid to separate victims from their family and friends. He’d done that so well.
I wiped away a tear. ‘You’re right. He knew I’d believe him, not her.’
She nodded. ‘You need to go to the police, and soon. What with your evidence, and Ellie’s, they’ll be able to nab the bastard. And he doesn’t know you’ve sussed his little game, does he? This is your chance to get the fecker put in prison, so it is.’
I shook my head. ‘I can’t, not yet.’
‘You have to.’ Richie still sounded furious. ‘Caroline’s right. This guy needs to serve jail time.’
By then, my initial shock had worn off. An idea was forming in my mind, but not one I cared to discuss with Caroline or Richie.
‘Thank you,’ I said, my voice hoarse with emotion. ‘For being so kind after I’ve behaved like a complete fool.’
‘Always,’ Caroline replied. Richie didn’t speak, just reached out a hand to squeeze my arm.
‘Let us know if you want us to come to the police with you,’ Caroline continued. She clearly assumed I’d opt for that route, and I chose not to correct her.
‘I need to get going,’ I said. ‘I’ll be in touch. Soon.’ I fiddled with the hem of my jacket, too embarrassed to catch Richie’s eyes. Mend those fences, I reminded myself. ‘Maybe the three of us could go for a drink one night. Or a meal. Or whatever.’ I felt my cheeks redden.
Caroline nodded. ‘Yeah, we’ll do that. When you’re feeling better, lovey. I’ll call you, all right?’
I’d not long arrived back at the Harbourside when my mobile pinged in my bag. A text from Scott.
Darcy just called. All good in California. She’s starting treatment tomorrow. You still up for Sunday night? Love you, babe. xoxo
‘Fuck you,’ I growled, the urge strong within me to hu
rl my phone across the room. What a bastard, piling lies on top of bullshit. So Darcy was in San Diego, was she? Yeah, right.
I was done with crying. Fuck that. Anger had replaced my tears. If Scott been in front of me I’d have torn him to pieces, then pissed on his remains.
A second ping from my mobile. This time from Ellie, ending her recent silence - another text begging for us to get together. How badly I’d treated my sister, despite what I’d promised Dad. I’d been harsh with her when she was recovering from an attempted suicide, and she deserved better. I prayed she’d forgive me.
I pulled up her number and placed the call. She answered straightaway. ‘Lyddie? Thank God you’ve finally got in touch.’ She sounded nervous. ‘We need to talk.’
‘Hey, Els.’ Relief swept over me. My sister still loved me. We’d be okay.
‘I’d like us to get together soon,’ I said, not giving her the chance to interrupt. ‘I have some news to tell you.’
‘Has something happened?’ Concern in Ellie’s tone. Time to hedge around the truth, otherwise she’d fret about me.
I kept my voice cheerful when I replied. ‘Yes. Nothing for you to worry about, but I can’t go into it over the phone. Can we meet up?’
‘I’d love that. Although I’m busy most of next week. Several bags and purses to make for a rush order. I won’t be coming up for air until they’re finished.’
A stone sank in my gut. I’d hoped to see her as soon as possible.
‘Listen, Lyddie …’ She tried again to discuss our quarrel, but I deflected her attempt. We’d have time for all that later. We ended the call with an arrangement that I’d phone her on Thursday to arrange lunch the following weekend.
‘I love you,’ I said as we wrapped up the conversation. To my relief, Ellie said it back.
Next came my mother.
‘Didn’t I tell you so?’ was her initial reaction. Annoyance sparked in me, but she’d been right and I’d been wrong, so I needed to suck it up and move on. By the time we finished talking, our relationship seemed on a firmer footing. I made her promise not to discuss my disastrous love life with Ellie, not until I’d spoken to my sister myself.
I headed off to bed, my mobile in my hand. The Lyddie staring at me from the bathroom mirror was a very different creature to the one who’d watched a fake cancer victim walk down the street earlier. Inside me burned a determination for revenge. Go to the police? Sure, I could do that, but I wasn’t convinced it would result in justice. With Sophie dead, the available evidence had dwindled. None of Scott’s other victims, including Ellie, were willing to involve the law. Apart from me, the bastard had conducted his scams via cash, and the bank transfer to Darcy linked me to her, not Scott. No paper trail existed for the cops to follow to his door, wherever the hell that might be. Not in Southville, that was for sure.
I kept circling round to the same argument; the police would need more proof to secure a conviction. Besides, I was dealing with two expert swindlers. I didn’t doubt the pair of them would claim the money had been a loan or a gift, pitting my word against theirs. Scott, or Steven, or whatever his goddamn name was, would wriggle off the hook somehow. That brought me back to the idea I’d formed while at Caroline’s.
I’d beat Scott at his own game. I already had a notion of how to accomplish that. One thing worked in my favour. He had no idea I’d discovered the truth.
Yes. I was going to do this. Revenge would taste sweet, and he’d never see me coming.
Time to return Scott’s text.
Sorry I didn’t reply earlier. I’d love to get together tomorrow. Maybe a curry? Love you too.
17
Scott and I arranged to go to Monsoon Spice, an Indian restaurant I told him I wanted to try, on Sunday evening. Revulsion churned in my stomach at the thought of playing the loving girlfriend a second longer; it had been difficult enough when he called after getting my text. I reminded myself to stick to the plan, picturing Ellie’s pale face in her hospital bed. How determined I’d been to get justice for her. The devastation I’d suffered at Scott’s hands. The dose of his own medicine I’d shove down his throat would taste bitter indeed.
We’d agreed he’d pick me up at eight. When my doorbell rang, I drew in a deep breath and wiped my sticky palms on my jeans. ‘You can do this,’ I told myself.
‘Hello, beautiful.’ Scott stood before me, a smile on his mouth and love in his eyes. The latter was so convincing I doubted myself for a second. God, he was good at this.
‘Hi, handsome,’ I said, stepping into his arms. Our lips met, and my resolve almost shattered, although through anger, not desire. I yearned to slap the prick so hard they’d hear it in California, then drive straight to Bridewell police station. Cool logic overrode instinct, however. Remember the plan, I reminded myself. So I poured myself into the kiss, smiling at him when we pulled apart.
‘Shall we go?’ I patted my stomach. ‘I’m hungry for that curry.’
Once we were seated in the restaurant, I took Scott’s hand from across the table. ‘Any news from Darcy?’
He nodded. ‘We spoke on the phone earlier. It was still morning in California, and she was so excited, like you wouldn’t believe. Beats me why anyone would be thrilled about only drinking prune juice for three days, but anyway. I can’t thank you enough, sweetheart.’
‘My pleasure.’ I squeezed his hand, a Judas grin on my face. Time to increase the stakes. ‘I’d do it again, if she needs more money. Anything to make you happy. You’re such a good brother to her.’
Was it my imagination, or did Scott’s eyes narrow when I mentioned giving Darcy more cash?
‘I couldn’t ask you to do that a second time,’ he said. ‘You’ve been more than generous already.’
I smiled at him, all lightness and love. ‘I would, though, in a heartbeat. If this round of treatment isn’t successful. Should Darcy find she needs longer in California …’
He shook his head. ‘I don’t deserve an angel like you.’ He raised my hand to his lips, planting a kiss on my palm, his eyes fixed on mine. His expression spoke of tenderness, devotion, gratitude. The Lyddie of two days ago would have swooned at the sight. Instead, hatred filled every cell of my being. I’d enjoy playing this bastard at his own game.
His mobile, set beside his cutlery on the table, vibrated with an incoming message. Scott laughed. ‘I bet that’s Darcy.’
I bet it is too, I thought. A pre-arranged text, sent to deepen the deceit and convince me his sister was thousands of miles away sipping prune juice. And I was right. Scott entered his pass code, read the text with a grin, then handed me his phone.
Bile seared my throat when I read the message. Everything great here in sunny California!!!! Just done yoga on the beach!!!! Off for an enema next - don’t you envy me?!!!!!!! Talk soon, xoxo
The bitch, I thought sourly, annoyed as much by the proliferation of exclamation marks as the deception they represented. ‘Sounds like she’s off to a flying start,’ I said, schooling my features into a suitably gratified expression. In my head, I made a mental note of his pass code, or what I thought it might be. His mobile had been upside down and Scott’s fingers had pressed the numbers with lightning speed. 1507, I decided, perhaps his date of birth. Useful to know. The chances were good I’d need to snoop though his phone at some point.
We continued the charade while we scoffed our food.
‘Aren’t vindaloos incredibly hot?’ he asked. ‘Are you sure you can eat something so spicy?’
I waved a dismissive hand. ‘I’m tired of playing it safe with curries. Time to crank up the heat.’ As our meal progressed, I made a show of struggling to eat my lamb dish, yet reassuring Scott I was fine whenever he feigned concern. My stomach handled fiery food with ease, but he didn’t know that. All part of the plan.
Once we were seated in Scott’s Toyota, I clutched my belly, grabbing his hand in mock alarm.
‘That vindaloo might have been a mistake,’ I said, my voice low and pain-wracked. �
�Too hot and oily by far. Can we go home, please? Now?’
‘Of course.’ We drove in silence to the Harbourside, with me scrambling from the car the minute we arrived. ‘I need a toilet,’ I gasped, faking a retch. ‘Huge apologies, but I think I’m going to be sick.’
‘Can I come in? Make sure you’re all right?’
A vehement shake of my head. ‘I’d rather not subject you to whatever’s going on in my stomach. Way too embarrassing.’
More bogus concern. ‘Please, sweetheart. I just want to help.’
My hand gripped my belly again. ‘Oh, God. Sorry, but I really need to go.’ I flung the last words over my shoulder as I ran to the entrance door, yanked it open, and stood on the other side, hidden by its wooden panels.
Within a minute I heard Scott restart the engine and drive away. Slowly and with care, I opened the door and peeped outside. After I watched his taillights disappear around the curve of the car park, I scurried to my rented Audi. My fingers shaking, I switched on the ignition and set off after Scott.
I stayed three cars behind him as we drove in the opposite direction to Southville. Instead, he headed up Park Street towards the Triangle. I maintained my distance, tailing him along Clifton’s Promenade, a road lined with Georgian mansions and reeking of wealth. Most were rented out as offices. Scott indicated right, turning into the car park of a building called Clifton Heights. I recognised it as a block of serviced apartments I’d rejected when conducting my search for somewhere to live. The location was too far from the Harbourside and the prices were eye-wateringly expensive. Such a place would suit Scott, though. The apartments in the Clifton Heights building, like the Airbnb address, could be rented on a short-term basis, making it ideal for his itinerant lifestyle.