Perfect Stranger: A gripping psychological thriller with nail-biting suspense

by Jake Cross

  There was a lot of that still to learn. He wasn’t sure he was ready for it yet.

  Thirty

  Dear Mr Redfern,

  * * *

  Thanks for your query about a replacement trophy. Unfortunately, it is not possible for us to trace the exact models given from the go-karting establishment to the race winners. I would suggest you contact the venue to see if they have any spares. On this, I’m happy to say I recall only one go-karting firm we designed for in that time period: Go-Racers. Sorry to disappoint.

  * * *

  Kind regards,

  * * *

  Dora Darlington – General Manager

  * * *

  Alan was back with news – that he had no news. He announced to the whole lab that he’d got no answer at Louise’s door, and now her mobile phone was off. As he walked to his office, he jerked his head at Chris, who followed.

  ‘I apologise,’ Alan said as Chris entered the office. ‘Bad morning for me, even without the Louise thing. I didn’t mean to say the things I said. My son got his leave cancelled.’

  Chris relaxed a little. ‘But he’s in Cyprus, Alan. He’ll be on the beach in his shorts, not in a jungle taking cover.’

  Alan’s son was part of No. 84 Squadron, Search and Rescue, based at Royal Air Force Akrotiri. Alan had often commented that his boy didn’t face combat and likened the base to a holiday camp. But that didn’t mean he didn’t miss the kid and look forward to seeing him on leave.

  The irony struck him. Alan’s son had been in his life a long time, then he’d gone away; Katie had been away a long time and had now come back. Alan yearned for his son to give up the army life and return to the fold – but would Chris want Katie in the flock even if Redfern blood filled her veins?

  ‘Chris?’ Chris snapped back to now and apologised.

  Alan said, ‘So can you do it?’

  ‘Do what? Sorry, I was daydreaming.’

  Alan wanted something Chris could refuse, so Chris got only a grin for his ignorance.

  ‘Louise’s Saturday. Tomorrow. I’m taking her off because we can’t guarantee she’ll be back and I can’t risk just waiting and seeing. Do her Saturday and I’ll get you a day off next week. I’ll get someone else for Sunday.’

  The weekend. Of course. Louise had tried to get him to cover it. He didn’t want Alan to go knocking on her door again.

  ‘Yes. But you’ll have to get someone else to do the on-call because it’s my wedding anniversary.’ Which he wasn’t looking forward to.

  ‘Done. Good man. Thank you. Now get lost while I call my boy. Don’t forget it’s a silver hollowware gift for sixteen years’ servitude.’

  Feeling much better, Chris returned to his bench and the business of saving souls.

  Half an hour after the lab had cleared, his phone and the intercom buzzed at the same time.

  Julia, miles away, said, ‘Dad? Can I miss the party on Saturday? My friend, Donna, wants to meet and go over some coursework.’ And a guy twenty feet away said, ‘Delivery.’

  He didn’t know this Donna, but then he didn’t know half her friends. At least it wasn’t a boy. He wanted the whole family present for the anniversary party, but he also didn’t want to upset Julia. So he put it on Rose.

  ‘We’d feel better having you there. But ask your mother.’

  Chris opened the lab door to see a guy with a transplant box. He put it on the floor and tried to hand Chris a slip of paper to sign.

  ‘It’s just a party. Mum said no.’

  ‘What’s this?’ Chris said to the courier. And then, into the phone, ‘Don’t play us off against each other, Julia. If she said no, it’s no.’

  ‘Eyeballs,’ the guy said, deadpan. Not a joke. ‘A bagful. Just sign this for me.’

  ‘I’m an adult, you know? I shouldn’t need to ask permission,’ Julia said.

  ‘That’s not for here,’ Chris said, refusing to take the pen, even against the hypnotism the guy seemed to be attempting by waggling the item in front of his face. ‘This is microbiology. You want the theatre department, don’t you? They hand the eyeballs out.’ Then, to Julia, ‘We’ll talk about this later.’

  The courier looked disheartened, like someone whose last hope had evaporated. ‘Theatre’s shut. They’re all shut except you lot. Everything shuts after five. Sodding cop shop near me shuts at five. No one gets ill or stabbed at night, obviously.’

  To Julia, ‘Sorry, what?’

  ‘I said this is important. You can’t control my life.’

  And to the courier, ‘Surgery as a walk-in centre? I’ll mention your idea to the big cheeses. By the way, my daughter used to eat hair bobbles when she was a toddler.’

  ‘Who are you telling that to, Dad? Stop playing around, this is important to me.’

  ‘Won’t help me now, will it?’ the courier said. ‘Sodding traffic, and now what do I do? Someone’s gotta take this. I’ve been traipsing around with it. Can’t take it back. Guy over there at haematology said no.’

  ‘No to a bag of eyeballs? Is he mad?’

  ‘Theatre’s shut. Where am I supposed to put this, in the mailbox?’

  ‘Dad, are you listening? It’s rude to talk to someone while you’re on the phone. I’m an adult and I want to see my friend on Saturday, not do some silly party.’

  The courier was awaiting an answer. ‘Find someone. Phone the theatre people or go to reception or something. I’m not taking that.’

  Courier and daughter started moaning. ‘The answer’s no,’ he told both. And he killed the call and shut the door at the same time.

  Just before leaving for home, Chris googled ‘Go-Racers’. Beneath the website name and URL was a description of ‘The leading Go-Karting experience with twenty-two super fun and family friendly venues across England and Wales’.

  He clicked onto the website and immediately knew he had the right place. The logo depicted a cartoon go-kart with wings, exactly the same as on Katie’s trophy. It was a corporate chain, so he needed to find the Bradford site. The title banner had a ‘SELECT A VENUE’ drop-down list, but he didn’t get that far. Because of three letters and four numbers located beside the GO-RACERS logo – ‘EST 2015’.

  At home, Rose was in the kitchen alone, massaging her own neck. Julia was upstairs, on her phone, and Katie, she said, had just run out to the shop. He took over the massage duties and told her that he’d been on the Go-Racers website. But, no, he hadn’t contacted the Bradford branch.

  ‘Est 2015,’ Chris said, using his thumbs to gently unknot the muscles in his wife’s shoulders.

  ‘Est? Established? In 2015. You mean the company was formed in 2015?’

  ‘Yep. Four years ago. Katie didn’t go there and win a trophy, not as an under-7.’

  ‘So you think she might have lied?’

  ‘She did lie. Est 2015. The winged go-kart logo is trademarked. So it’s not some other company.’

  She put her head back as he kneaded her flesh. Eyes closed, a smile of content. She didn’t see this thing as quite the problem he did, as proven by her next words.

  ‘So she found it. It looked old and battered. The nameplate was missing because her name’s not Donald Smith or whatever. No big deal. Drive me to the party, won’t you? I want wine.’

  ‘She lied to us, Rose. And what party?’

  ‘Someone once told me he was captain of the college rugby team. He wasn’t.’

  ‘I thought they were on the verge of picking me. That’s different. I was trying to impress a girl. Men do that.’

  She used her hand to move his to a different part of her neck. ‘And Katie is trying to impress the man who might be her father. Kids do that. Rub this left side harder.’

  He rubbed harder, silent as he considered this. Was she right? Katie didn’t run a company, hadn’t starred in films or written books or climbed Mount Everest. Embarrassed, or thinking Chris might be embarrassed for her, had she sought some way of proving she’d achieved something memorable, something to be proud of?
And lied because there was nothing?

  ‘The party, Chris. Carol’s party. It’s tonight. You said it was okay. You’re going out with Katie, aren’t you? So film night is off anyway. And stop worrying about Katie and some silly trophy. It was just something to impress Daddy Dearest.’

  He wanted to continue the discussion, but the front door opened and Katie called out that she was back. They met her in the living room, where she pulled a box of tealights from a bag. As Rose explained that Chris was driving her to a party before the pair hit the pub, Katie arranged the tealights long the windowsill. Scented candles, she announced. For promoting a happy mood. Spiced apple, for relieving stress. Peppermint pumped through vents into the Tokyo Stock Exchange to perk up traders. And pumpkin, shown to enhance the libido.

  That one made Rose blush.

  Thirty-One

  Carol’s ex was standing outside the front door with a male friend, both holding bottles of alcohol.

  ‘How come John’s here?’ Chris was surprised. ‘I thought he was moving to Scotland. Are they back together?’

  Now Rose was surprised. ‘No. It’s his party as well. It’s a divorce party, isn’t it?’

  ‘A what? They’re celebrating getting divorced? Both of them. Christ, look.’

  Carol appeared at the door and handed her ex, John, a cracker loaded with cheese.

  ‘Well, they have on-and-off days. Today they’re fine. Have you never heard of a divorce party?’

  ‘And all their friends are here? To have a good time?’

  ‘Divorce parties are all the rage now, apparently.’

  ‘Oh, well let’s have one, then.’

  Rose punched his arm on her way out of the car. ‘Right, see you later.’

  But Chris got out, too. ‘I want to come in for a look. I just need a little more proof that this is the most bizarre thing I’ve ever heard of.’

  Both waved at the people by the front door. When they turned back to the car, Katie was out.

  ‘Can I come in, too? Sounds intriguing.’

  Rose gave a nod. Chris gave her a fearful look. He’d met Carol and her cronies numerous times, mainly because of bowling, and he knew someone would ask who Katie was. She got this, but didn’t share his concern.

  ‘Katie,’ she said. ‘I hate to do this. But these are our good friends, and it’s too early to tell…’

  ‘I understand. I’m a family friend tonight, that’s all.’

  ‘Then let’s go.’

  At the door, Chris shook Carol’s ex-husband’s hand. He’d met John a couple of times over the years, but not enough to be called friends. It made it easier to ask the question.

  ‘So. John. A divorce party?’

  ‘Fresh start, my friend.’

  John didn’t ask who Katie was, but his hungry eyes scanned her up and down twice, slowly, like a roving CCTV camera.

  They moved inside. It was thriving. Friends, even family. There was a ‘JUST DIVORCED’ banner across one wall. Once over his shock, Chris did a lot of handshaking. Heads turned to watch as Katie followed them around the room silently, but nobody asked any questions. Like a kid, Chris pointed, jaw dropped, at a wedding photo on the wall. Blown up onto A1 paper, cut down the middle and the two halves tilted to create a bride and groom leaning away from each other. Rose slapped his hand down.

  ‘What, I’m not allowed to find it surprising?’

  ‘You’re not supposed to giggle like a kid in front of everyone.’

  Carol’s mother and father were there and so was Rose’s mother, because the parents were friends. Rose and Carol hugged and shrieked. Chris slinked away and left the women to chat.

  Carol said to Rose, ‘I told John about your Chris and that girl in America—’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Don’t worry, I didn’t mention a baby. I just said a fling when he was young. I told the story of the car racing championship, and you know the only thing he said? The championship wasn’t decided at that race. Talk about nit-pickingly obsessive!’

  ‘Carol, don’t ever tell him the truth. Ever. Jeez.’

  ‘I won’t, I won’t. Jeez.’

  Chris had sauntered over to a small cake and stared aghast at the two wedding rings inside mini coffins on top. Rose wasn’t there to prevent his childish giggle this time.

  He looked around, but didn’t spot Katie. She wasn’t by Rose’s side. But he did see John walk past Carol and pinch her bum slyly, fielding a sultry wink from his ex. He almost barged people aside in his haste to get to Rose and tell her.

  She didn’t share his giddiness. ‘Yes, they still have sex. They’ve got a hotel room tonight because Carol’s mum is watching their daughter after the party.’

  ‘I’m sorry, I thought you said a divorce party.’

  ‘Oh, Chris, get with the twenty-first century.’

  ‘So I can still be your sex toy after you dump me?’

  ‘If you’re lucky,’ she replied with a wink.

  It all got weirder for him when Carol called for quiet and, by John’s side like newlyweds, made an announcement by the—

  ‘Cake! They’ve got a proper cake!’ Chris pushed past a couple of people for a closer look. White and fluffy, three tiers atop pillars, just like something from a wedding. These bride and groom figurines were facing away from each other, posed in mid-run, and each wore a manacle with broken chain.

  ‘Is the father of the bride going to take her back?’

  She blew on his nose and told him to behave.

  ‘To new-found singledom,’ John said. There was a round of applause.

  ‘We hope to stitch up the gashes amongst our family and friends,’ Carol added, to the same adoration.

  ‘Your support would be great,’ John continued. ‘Remember that this is just like a business deal. It’s been a great run, but now the future is open to both of us.’

  ‘Divorcees are not lepers to be pitied,’ Carol said. ‘We are happy. Thank you. A toast to new beginnings.’

  The applause again, wild and with cheering, as if war’s end had been broadcast. Rose grabbed Chris’s hands and clapped them together. He started laughing.

  ‘You’ve got a child!’ someone yelled. Heads turned. The clapping faltered. ‘A poor child who’s going to lose her father!’

  The applause ceased. Everyone was focussed on the person who’d interrupted.

  ‘Shit,’ Rose murmured.

  Katie.

  Near the back of the room, she was holding up a framed headshot of John and Carol’s five-year-old son, Carter. Rose started to move towards her. Chris tried to evaporate.

  ‘Is this what we’re celebrating?’ Katie yelled across many heads, at a dumbstruck John and Carol. ‘We’re celebrating that this little girl’s becoming part of a broken family?’

  ‘Who the hell are you?’ John yelled right back. A similar chorus filtered through the throng, while a woman by Katie’s side snatched the photo from her.

  ‘Two parents, a child needs two parents,’ Katie said, quieter now that the noise had died down. ‘You people are a joke. This party is a joke.’

  Rose grabbed Katie’s arm and led her quickly towards the door. The whole room was silent until they were gone, then myriad voices started making cutting comments. Chris didn’t know where to look. Rose’s mother grabbed his arm.

  ‘You shouldn’t have brought that obnoxious woman here. Who is she?’

  Wilting under vile glares today, and seeing terrible tension in the future, Chris fled.

  Rose was standing by the car, angry. Beyond her, Katie sat in the back seat with her head down, chomping her ponytail.

  ‘I get it,’ Rose said as Chris ran to her. ‘I get her anger. Tell her everything is okay, and we understand. But get her away from here. I’ll go in and make up some excuse.’

  Chris got in the car and started the engine. Behind him, Katie stared at the floor and said nothing. Chris told her exactly what Rose had outlined, but it got little more than a soft nod. Chris left it at that for now.
As he got the hell away at speed, he pictured all those people back there, their friends, family, talking about that hateful, strange girl. What a bitch! But at least she’s gone, never to come back. Right?

  Thirty-Two

  ‘Can I ask why you didn’t stay with my mother?’

  A question he’d been awaiting with all the joyful prospect of root surgery. Even the thought of the question, asked in the confines of his own head where the answer could be edited and moulded, had been too scary to complete. So he hadn’t tried. But now he was on the spot and wished he’d prepared an answer. The hustle and bustle of the pub lounge helped.

  ‘I didn’t know about you, Katie. It was a holiday romance. I liked your mother, believe me, but we spent a day together and that was all. It was, I assumed, what we both wanted.’

  ‘Tell me. I don’t know how you met.’

  He wasn’t surprised by this. A deathbed admission probably didn’t go into detail. So he recounted the tale of fake tickets bought from a tout outside a tourist spot, and a steward at the race track gates who refused him entry; of meeting Eve outside with the same tale of woe and no plans for the rest of the day. A walk through White River State Park. He left out the hotel romp, of course, although it was obvious that his term ‘holiday romance’ implied a sexual pairing. There was also the concrete evidence of Katie herself which satisfied a slant on Descartes’s philosophical argument: I think, therefore they did it.

  ‘And she didn’t try to contact you when she was pregnant?’

  They stared at each other across a pair of pints – water for Katie. ‘Of course not, Katie. I didn’t know there was a pregnancy. If I had, I would have contacted you.’

  ‘You never met her again after that? Didn’t see her in the street or anything? In all those years?’