The Surrogate

by Tania Carver

  She looked at him, frowning. Gave a small nod of her head. ‘I know what you mean,’ she said.

  He nodded also, wondering if she did know what he meant. Wondering also whether he had still been talking about crime scenes.

  ‘I think I’ve seen everything for tonight,’ she said. ‘D’you mind giving me a lift home, or should I call a cab?’

  ‘I’ll take you home.’

  He turned the lights off and they left the flat.

  Dark and empty. A stage set with no actors.

  25

  H e was hunting again.

  He didn’t really need to. Not yet. But it was good to plan ahead. In fact, it was essential. And he had to keep working at it. Hone his skills. Improve all the time. Never too old to learn something new. Plus he was good at it. And he enjoyed doing things he was good at.

  The animal had no idea he was watching her. And he liked that feeling. Just planning something that his prey had no idea about, sitting there watching her, that made him feel good. He drew power from that. Enormous power. He could feel his erection stirring at the thought. A feral lust.

  This one was tricky. But that didn’t bother him too much.They all presented problems; all he had to do was work out the best way round them. They were obstacles in the path to his goal. And obstacles could be overcome.

  This one was about vantage point. The housing estate was open. If he sat watching from the side of the street he would be seen. He knew the type of people they were round here. Anything – anyone – that didn’t look like it fitted in, and they called the police. So he had to be careful. Cunning.

  He had parked before the entrance to the estate and walked in. From there it had been easy to go to the house opposite and find a shadow to crouch in. Simple. They all had huge plastic wheeled bins and large cars parked out front. Some of them even had skips and rubbish from home improvements. Plenty of places. Anyone looking at the street would see a normal housing estate. Nothing out of the ordinary. Nothing to be scared about. No one would ever notice him.

  He watched the house. She was moving from room to room like she couldn’t settle. Like if she left a room for too long she would forget what was in it. And she had been alone all night. Her husband was coming back later and later. Like he didn’t want to be with her. Didn’t matter. Soon he wouldn’t be with her at all.

  She would be his. Or the part of her he wanted would be his.

  Lights at the end of the street. Sweeping round. A car coming into the turning.

  He stayed completely still. Head down, so the beams couldn’t even catch his eyes, waiting until it had gone past. It slowed, stopped.Turned in to the house opposite.

  The husband coming home.

  The husband turned off the engine, the lights.Took his briefcase from the passenger seat, got out.Walked towards the house. Slowly, like he didn’t want to go in. Closed the door behind him.

  He stood up, slipped out of the shadows and down the road. He had seen enough for the night.Time to head back now.Things to do. Duties to perform.

  But he would be back.

  Very soon.

  26

  ‘ Not here. Round the corner. He might see.’

  Clayton put his foot automatically on the brake, then eased it off again. He drove the car past the house Sophie shared with Brotherton and parked around the corner. He turned the lights off. Highwoods was an area consisting entirely of housing estates with a huge Tesco at the centre of it. Most of the houses were large and fronted by laurel hedges but crammed so close together it made them seem smaller than they were.

  Clayton looked at Sophie, her face lit by the overhead light in the car. ‘How do you usually get home from the gym?’ he said.

  ‘Taxi. Sometimes I take the car. But sometimes I’ll meet a girlfriend and have a drink.’

  ‘Bet he doesn’t like that.’

  She gave a smile Clayton couldn’t read. ‘He would prefer it if I brought them back here for a drink.’

  ‘Then he could keep an eye on you.’

  Sophie nodded, gave a grim smile. ‘Yeah. He does that all right. That’s why most of my girlfriends want to meet me in town now.’

  Clayton said nothing.

  ‘I’m not saying I don’t enjoy it; it’s just… I like to pick and choose, you know?’

  ‘You like to be in control.’

  This smile wasn’t grim but teasing. ‘Sometimes…’ She leaned across the seat towards him, whispered in his ear. ‘But sometimes I do like to do what I’m told. If it’s the right person telling me…’

  Clayton could feel his erection springing up immediately. She moved in closer to him, licking the side of his neck. Goosebumps ran over his skin. He couldn’t sit comfortably. Her hand was on his chest now, smoothing down the front of his shirt, heading down towards his belt buckle…

  ‘No…’ It sounded like someone else had borrowed his voice and was doing a bad, timid impression of him.

  ‘That’s not what your body’s saying.’

  He gasped as she found his erection. ‘I can’t…’

  ‘Sshh… I won’t tell anyone.’ She eased his zip down. ‘And neither will you, will you?’

  ‘Wh-what?’ He thought she had said something important but he didn’t know what it was. There was also something else he should be thinking about, something important. but he couldn’t remember. He could only concentrate on one thing at a time.

  ‘I said,’ said Sophie, working her hand into his trousers, ‘you won’t tell anyone, will you? About meeting me, about anything I’ve told you… You’ll keep my name out of it, won’t you?’

  He felt her hand gripping him tight, working him up and down. She began to lower her head into his lap.

  ‘Will you?’ she said, looking up, eyes staring directly into his.

  There was no love in those eyes. No warmth. Just calculated professionalism. His lust mirrored.

  ‘No,’ he said between gasps. ‘No…’

  She lowered her head. He closed his eyes.

  Anni Hepburn was cold. She had taken over from the Birdies over half an hour ago, having asked for the job specifically. Sometimes she got so hyped about a case that Phil gave in to her, let her put her energy to use.

  But despite remembering to wrap up warm, she was still cold. She couldn’t put the car heater on in case it ran the battery down. The same with the radio. She knew they all did it, but if she needed to get away quickly and the battery was dead, the whole investigation could collapse and she would be in trouble. And she didn’t want that. So she sat there, several layers of clothing wrapped tightly round her, staring at the house.

  Scrap metal must pay, she thought. Nice house. Not her style, and bigger than she would be able to afford. Unless she married a scrap metal merchant, obviously. Though if they were all like Ryan Brotherton, she wouldn’t bother.

  She was just wondering how she was going to entertain herself for the next few hours to stop herself from falling asleep when a car approached. She sat up immediately, watching. The car came to an abrupt halt, then continued round the corner, away from the house. She sat back again. Probably nothing, she thought. But she would keep watching, just in case.

  The lights on the car were turned off, but no one emerged. Strange, she thought. Maybe another car had been sent on surveillance. Not a BMW, though. Hardly a pool car.

  She watched, waited. There were two people in there; she could make that out from the silhouettes. Then there was movement, the silhouettes rearranging themselves, one moving to the other side.

  Oh God, she thought. Doggers.

  She shook her head, tried not to watch as the woman’s head disappeared under the dashboard and the man threw his back in ecstasy. If she had been feeling difficult she could have walked over, tapped on the window, flashed the warrant card and put the fear of God into them. But she was on surveillance. Still, it was tempting. Not because of the law-breaking aspect, but because it was so long since she had been in a relationship or had any real excitem
ent along those lines and she was jealous.

  She and Clayton had almost been an item. A work attraction, that kind of thing.They had gone for a drink a few nights ago. Just to see whether the fact that they got on so well was because they were friends who worked together, or if there was something more. Jesus, was it only a couple of nights ago? Felt like ages. And yes, she had gone back to his flat. And yes, they had had sex. Or something approaching sex. It wasn’t very good. And afterwards they both knew it was something they had done more out of a sense of duty to each other than from anything approaching burning passion. The next day had been surprisingly easy and they had laughed it off as a bad idea. And that was that. The question had been answered. They were friends who worked together. Nothing more. She didn’t want it to develop any further. Besides, she knew what he was like, knew his reputation. She didn’t want to be just another conquest of his. Someone else to show off to the lads about down the pub. Just leave it at that.

  As she watched, the silhouettes separated. The one in the passenger seat made some adjustments and rearrangements and got out. Anni reached for the binoculars. A thrill ran through her. The woman she was watching matched the description of Ryan Brotherton’s girlfriend, Sophie.

  ‘You two-timing bitch,’ she said to herself, laughing.

  She watched as Sophie walked to the front gates, let herself in, walked up the driveway and into the house.

  She turned her attention to the car. The headlights came back on and it turned round, ready to come past her and drive away. She raised the binoculars to her eyes, tried to get a look at the driver as it went.

  ‘Oh my God…’

  Clayton. Unmistakably Clayton.

  Her mind was racing. She reached quickly for her phone, ready to make a call. Who to, she didn’t know. Phil? Clayton himself? And say what? Ask what was going on?

  She sighed, put the phone down. No. She would wait until the morning, have a word with him.

  She sat there, still watching the house, not expecting anything more to happen. Her mind was racing. She was no longer cold. She was hot.

  And angry.

  Clayton was with another woman so soon after her. The fact that there was nothing between the pair of them wasn’t important. It showed a lack of respect. And it wasn’t just that – the woman he was with was involved in a murder inquiry. And that was serious.

  There would be no sleep now.

  She sat there watching. Planning.

  27

  W hat you doin’ standin’ here in the dark?

  Hester jumped at the voice, opened her eyes.

  ‘I’m…’ She didn’t know. What was she doing standing there in the dark? She looked down. The baby was in its cot where she had left it. She was standing over it. ‘I’m lookin’ at the baby.’

  In the dark?

  She blinked. Unaware of how long she had been standing there. She must have blacked out again. ‘It… wasn’t dark when I started lookin’ at it.’

  Her husband grunted. You made my dinner?

  ‘It’s…’ She looked again at the baby. It wasn’t moving, its breathing shallow. But it was peaceful.

  Well?

  She looked at the kitchen area. ‘I’ll get it for you.’

  Disorientated from her blackout, she pulled the blanket up to the baby’s chin, being careful not to wake it, and ignited the Calor Gas heater. Then she switched on the light over the baby’s head. She had rigged up one of the electrician’s work lamps at the side of the cot, clamping it to the bedhead so she could see the baby from wherever she was in the house. The lamp threw down hard light and heat. It illuminated the baby all right, but she could also see the condensation on the bare brick and stone, glistening and running above the heater. The house would soon be warm enough, she thought. The baby was wrapped well enough.

  She must have been staring at the still baby for a long time. She did that sometimes, stood still, not moving from the spot she was in. Losing all track of time. This time she hadn’t noticed the day slip away, to be replaced by night. And she hadn’t heard her husband enter. But that wasn’t so strange. Usually she just heard him as a voice in her head, a presence, and she knew straight away that he was there.

  She looked at the baby one more time and, satisfied that it was all right, crossed over to the kitchen area. Her husband had built it for her. He had put up plasterboard walls to divide it from the open space, built shelves and cupboards from what he had salvaged on his travels. He had even painted the bare stone and brick walls in the kitchen area white. She liked that. Thought it made the place look more homely. And that was important, now they were a proper family.

  She stood in the kitchen area. She hadn’t prepared anything. She looked round to see what she could make quickly. There were two skinned rabbits on the counter top, some root vegetables in a basket. That would do.

  ‘How… how about rabbit stew?’ she said, closing her eyes, hoping her husband wouldn’t see her lack of preparation.

  He grunted again. I’m hungry. Now. Whatever you do, you’d better make it quick.

  She nodded and, as fast as she could, lit the stove, put on a pan of water to heat up. She looked round. The baby was lying still in the cot, making no sound. Good. Knowing no harm could come to it, she made their evening meal.

  Later, after she and her husband had eaten and she had washed up and cleared away, she returned to the baby. She couldn’t keep away. She had been getting up and checking on it all through dinner. She had heard her husband give a few exasperated growls, but he had said nothing. She had smiled inwardly at that. Perhaps he was an understanding man after all.

  While she was staring at the baby, her husband slipped away again, leaving her alone with the infant once more.

  It hadn’t wailed for ages. Once she had changed and fed it, it had kept quiet, slipping into what she thought was sleep as she rocked it in her arms. She remembered, before she blacked out, studying it as it lay breathing shallowly but raggedly in her arms, its eyelids just about closed, leaving only a sliver of milky white showing through as its eyeballs rolled into the back of its sockets. It was so small, so helpless. She could have done anything to it. Cuddled it, kept it warm, squeezed it tight. Or put her fingers round its throat, choked the air out of its tiny, frail body. Anything. She felt a rush of adrenalin as that realisation sped through her. She had the power of life and death. She could play God.

  Power. For the first time in her life. She had smiled at the thought. No wonder people went to such lengths to have babies.

  Hester looked down at it now, deliberating what to do. She wanted to pick it up. After all, that was what mothers did. But it looked so peaceful lying there, hardly moving, hardly breathing.

  That was when she thought something might be wrong.

  She leaned in closer, angled the lamp over to see it better. The pink blotches on its face seemed to be lessening in number. Its skin now had a blue tinge all over and the yellow was increasing. Hester didn’t think that was right. It most definitely wasn’t what they looked like on TV. Something was wrong.

  ‘Oh God, oh God…’

  She looked round, panic welling inside her, willing her husband to turn up, but he was nowhere to be seen. She would have to cope on her own.

  ‘Oh God… oh God…’

  What to do, what to do… She looked down at the sleeping child. She couldn’t take it to the doctor, she knew that. She hated doctors, had had a bad time with them all her life. So what, then? Did it need feeding? She checked her watch. No. Changing? She couldn’t smell anything. Should she pick it up? Yes. That seemed like a good idea. Then what? Hold it. Why? Because that was what mothers did, she reminded herself. Because doing that would make it better.

  She reached down, picked the still infant from the cot. She stroked its cheek. It felt cold to the touch, its skin clammy. Just like stroking the walls behind it.

  She held it to her. Warmth. That was what it needed. She got into bed, holding the baby to her chest. Eventua
lly her arms began to cramp up from keeping them in the same position for so long, so she put the baby back in its cot with an extra blanket on top of it. The tin cot was right beside her bed. She lay on her side, looking at the baby.

  And that was how she lay well into the night. Staring at the baby, keeping vigil for signs of a worsening condition. Trying to keep awake but dropping off occasionally. At some point during the night, she woke to find her husband was back.

  ‘The baby’s not well,’ she said.

  He grunted. So?

  She looked at the baby once again. For the first time she voiced the fear and doubt that had built within her. ‘I don’t… I don’t think it’s goin’ to get better. Not on its own.’

  It’ll have to, her husband said.

  ‘Can’t we just…’

  No.We can’t. Don’t be fuckin’ stupid, woman.

  She nodded. She knew that.

  You’ll just have to hope it gets better on its own.

  ‘Right.’

  If it lasts the night, it’ll be all right.

  ‘What if it doesn’t?’

  Then it doesn’t. Go to sleep.You’ve still got jobs to do in the mornin’. Baby or no baby.

  And he was gone again.

  She took his advice, tried to get some sleep, but couldn’t. Instead she lay there, watching the baby. At some point she plucked it from the cot, held it to her. She could feel something happening inside herself and she didn’t know what it was. An unfamiliar feeling, like it was tearing a hole in her. She didn’t like the feeling but she wouldn’t have wanted to be without it somehow. Not now.

  So she held the baby. Waited for morning.

  28

  Caroline Eades couldn’t sleep. Her husband, lying on his back, mouth open and snoring like an angry lion growling, had no such problem.