I Will Make You Pay

by Driscoll, Teresa

  Most of the papers carried photographs of Alex only, but one has an exclusive interview with the girl he disappeared with – she waiving her right to anonymity to warn others how easy it is to be duped. She is heavily made up in the photoshoot for the feature, and Matthew tuts. The picture makes him very uneasy.

  Only two stories ran small pictures of the fiancée Jenny Wallace. The copy makes it clear she knew nothing of what was going on. She gave no comment on the record and her court evidence seemed to be insignificant compared to the two girls’.

  In the photograph Alice looks very different. On closer examination she is recognisable, but as Jennifer she has long, dark hair. Now she has a chin-length, blonde bob with a fringe and is much slighter.

  Just as Matthew is twisting his lips to the side, wondering what the hell to make of all this, his phone rings and Tom’s name flashes up. He winces.

  ‘Hello, Tom.’

  ‘So what’s happening? Where is she? And what the hell happened, Matthew? I mean, I’m paying you to keep her safe.’

  Matthew takes in a long, slow breath. ‘I can understand why you’re so upset. Trust me, I blame myself too. It’s shaken me. But Alice insisted. She didn’t want to travel with me . . .’

  ‘So have they tracked the bike? I’m on the way to the police station now but Alice won’t answer her phone. She’s not even answering texts. So have they caught the guy yet? Is it over? Have they found him?’

  ‘I don’t know, but I don’t think so.’ Matthew pauses. ‘Tom. There are new complications which Alice will need to speak to you about.’

  ‘Complications? What do you mean, complications?’

  ‘Look, I don’t have all the information myself yet, Tom. So you’ll need to speak to her. I’m sorry but I’m in traffic right now. We need to decide about the rest of the day. If you want me to continue the cover, I mean, once Alice has finished with the police.’

  There is another pause. Matthew fully expects to be fired.

  ‘I’ll take over supporting Alice for the rest of today. I think that’s best.’ Tom’s voice is curt now.

  ‘Fine. I understand. She’s had a tough time. I’ll catch up with you both when she’s finished with the police. Hopefully we can find out whether there’s any decent CCTV or other evidence.’

  ‘Right. Good. OK then.’

  There is nothing more to be said and so Matthew ends the call and immediately dials home, badly needing to anchor himself.

  ‘Hi there. How’s life as Kevin Costner?’ Sal’s voice is upbeat as she answers, and he can hear opera playing in the background. Her favourite. He pictures her in her sloppy red sweatshirt and jeans in their kitchen with a view of the sea, and would give anything this moment to be right there with her. For none of today to have happened.

  ‘Gone a bit off piste, to be honest, but never mind about me – how are my two girls?’

  ‘What does off piste mean? You OK?’

  ‘Yes. I’m fine. So, what are you up to?’

  ‘Oh. I’m doing housework, so feeling pretty fed up, actually. Your princess is currently taking a nap, which gives me a break from demands for Pippy Pocket biscuits. I have no idea what’s got into her this week. Pippy Pocket this. Pippy Pocket that. I tell you, if Pippy poo-faced Pocket showed up right now, I’d sock her in the face.’

  Matthew feels a smile for the first time today, remembering their daughter on the supermarket floor. The screaming and the little back flips.

  ‘You do know we have the Barbie phase to come, Sal.’

  ‘Don’t remind me.’

  ‘OK, so give her a hug from Daddy when she wakes up and I’ll see you both soon.’

  ‘You knocking off early? What’s happened? I thought you were covering right through until this evening?’

  ‘Her boyfriend’s finished work early so he’s taking over bodyguard duties.’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘So I’ll see you fairly soon. Love you.’

  ‘You too.’

  Matthew throws the phone on to the passenger seat and stares at it for a moment as if longing to hold on to the connection just a little bit longer. He will tell Sally everything later but doesn’t want her worrying meantime. Finally, he refastens his seat belt. With the click of the metal there is a flash from earlier. The roar of the motorbike. Alice screaming. He squeezes both hands into tight fists then fires the ignition, mentally planning a route home via the supermarket.

  For Pippy Pocket biscuits.

  CHAPTER 18

  HIM – BEFORE

  They are nearly home. There are no lights on as they walk up the path and he is glad that in the dark his shame is hidden.

  ‘Stop worrying about it,’ his gran says, squeezing his hand as if she can read his thoughts. ‘It’s just an accident. Not your fault. We’ll soon get you sorted out.’

  Back at the care home after Stan found them, he had tried ever so hard to hold it in. To save it for the bushes out in the garden – but he just couldn’t. Stan watched them leave, and that somehow made it all worse. As they walked out the back door, he could feel the warmth trickling down the inside of his trousers. He looked down, praying there would not be too much, but there was soon a large wet patch and it seemed to come even faster.

  ‘You can go in the bushes over there,’ his gran had whispered, nodding her head towards the shadows. But then she twisted her face into a puzzled expression and turned to him. He could smell it too, and wanted to cry.

  ‘Oh, right.’ She was looking directly at the damp patch on his trousers. ‘Never mind. It was my fault. Not yours. I’m so sorry, poppet.’

  Now, as they creep up the stairs to their flat, the automatic lights come on and he hates that the wet patch can be seen again. He longs to be inside so he can hurry to the bathroom and strip off his trousers – but to his horror, as they walk along the corridor on the third floor, there is a noise from just inside the flat next door to theirs. His gran puts her finger up to her lips as she searches in her bag for her key, but suddenly the neighbour’s door opens and Brian is standing there in his dressing gown.

  ‘Everything all right there, Martha? I thought I heard something . . .’ He is looking at his watch, frowning.

  ‘Family emergency,’ his gran says suddenly. ‘All sorted now but I had to take the boy with me, obviously.’

  ‘Anything I can help you with?’ Brian’s expression is still a little strange. ‘Nothing too serious, I hope? At this hour . . .’

  ‘No, thank you. All sorted. We’re fine now. Just need to get to bed.’ His gran sounds a bit flustered but she smiles at their neighbour. ‘Really sorry to disturb you, Brian.’

  His gran then unlocks their door and hurries him inside, whispering that he should pop his wet clothes into the laundry basket. She will run him a quick bath and fetch some clean pyjamas.

  In the bathroom he strips naked and puts all his clothes into the big basket in the corner. When he was very little, he used to think it was a snake charmer’s basket and his gran would let him take it into the sitting room and play his little whistle to charm imaginary snakes. Sometimes, when she was busy in the kitchen area, he would climb into the basket and put the lid on top to surprise her. Secretly he suspected that she knew he was in there, but she always pretended to be surprised.

  Now he worries that the smell of his clothes will ruin the basket. He is very tired and he wishes that they had a shower like on the telly. He thinks that would be much quicker but he does not say this out loud because he is thinking suddenly about Brian. How he is fat like Stan and how he doesn’t like either of them.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he says as his gran moves into the room to join him. She is sitting on the edge of the bath, running the taps and adding a little bit of bubble bath. It is pink and he worried that it is for girls, but it smells quite nice so he doesn’t say anything. Anyway – he likes bubbles.

  ‘You need to be quick, my lovely. School tomorrow. But let’s get you smelling nice and we can forget all about this.�
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  ‘I’m sorry, Gran, about making a noise. My friend gave me a trick sweet and it made me cough. I didn’t mean to—’

  She reaches out to brush his hair and leans forward to kiss his forehead but he pulls back. Even with his clothes stripped off, he feels a bit sticky.

  ‘What are we going to do next Wednesday, Gran?’ He is worried about it already and needs to know. He watches his gran test the temperature of the water before nodding to say that he should step in the other end. The water is warm and the bubbles feel lovely. He is so relieved for the smell to change.

  He wonders if he should tell his gran what happened last Wednesday night when she was working. The knock-knocking on the door in the middle of the night. You in there? I know you’re in there . . .

  But his gran doesn’t answer his question about next Wednesday. She just keeps checking the temperature of the water before turning off the taps. He watches her face very closely and is horrified. There is a sort of glistening to her eyes and he feels terribly afraid that she is actually going to cry.

  He loves his gran and knows that this is his fault.

  All his fault.

  CHAPTER 19

  ALICE

  ‘So, your real name is Jennifer Wallace. And when precisely did you plan to tell us that?’

  I half shrug, lips clamped tight. I stare at DI Melanie Sanders and want to ask if they have caught him. Never mind Alex Sunningham – the man I try every waking day to forget. Have they caught the man on the motorbike? The man who made me think just two hours ago that he had managed to melt my flesh. To disfigure my face . . .

  ‘Do you have any idea how much time you’ve wasted, Jennifer – concealing this from us? Playing games.’

  Jenny. I want to say that people only ever called me Jennifer in anger. Jenny was my real name . . .

  DI Sanders still looks furious. She has a file in front of her on the desk and I find myself daydreaming. I let my mind wander because I don’t want to be here. In this scene. At this desk. I stare at all the papers on the stained, wooden surface, and wonder when the police will go paper-free. Or if it’s like a newsroom – just some ridiculous pipe dream. We all like to print things off.

  Some of the sheets in front of her seem to feature cuttings from Alex’s trial. Others seem to be from his prison records, but it’s difficult for me to read them upside down. She clocks me narrowing my eyes, trying to read, and tilts the file up at an angle so I cannot see.

  ‘I’m not playing games,’ I say finally, surprised at how quiet my voice sounds. Inside I am angry and I had expected my voice to be stronger. I am not the criminal here. I have done nothing wrong. Alex Sunningham and this stalker are the criminals here.

  I want to be angrier and I want my voice to be stronger but what happened earlier, outside the café, has completely knocked the wind out of me. I keep thinking about Matthew standing over me, pouring water slowly over my skin. I close my eyes, reliving those seconds of fear that I might go blind.

  There is an odd sound of sucking in air, and when I finally open my eyes, DI Sanders is staring at me, her expression changed slightly.

  ‘It was terrible – what happened to you earlier, Jennifer. We’re still checking all CCTV. Nothing solid yet but we’ll find him. Don’t think I’m not sympathetic, but the reason I’m wound up here’ – she pauses as if to control herself – ‘is that we would have had a head start in this inquiry if you’d come clean with us.’

  ‘This has nothing to do with Alex Sunningham,’ I say.

  ‘Oh, right. You’re sure about that, are you? With your long experience of police investigations?’

  ‘He’s in jail. And unless he’s escaped . . .’ I raise my eyebrows, aware that my tone is inappropriate; borderline sarcastic. ‘I had no reason to tell you.’

  Melanie Sanders shakes her head and looks up at the ceiling as if in disbelief. Then she stares at me, unblinking, and takes a piece of paper from her file and turns it around to place it in front of me.

  It is a photocopy of some kind of parole document. Sensitive details – email addresses and names and notes have been blacked out – but I am able to get the main gist of the message.

  No. This can’t be right.

  ‘But why wasn’t I told about this?’

  ‘Well, you’re not technically one of his victims, are you? And even if you were and someone wanted to let you know as a pure courtesy, we wouldn’t know where to find you. With you changing your name and disappearing off the face of the earth.’ She is tapping the document with her index finger. ‘He’s been out of jail on licence for nearly two months, Jennifer. All agreed by the parole board. Alex Sunningham was a good boy inside. Sentence shortened for exemplary behaviour.’

  I can feel the blood draining from my face. Again there is a change of temperature. Cold. Then hot. Just like that first moment I saw the card in the cake box in the office.

  Alex was sentenced to five years. I had never imagined he could be let out this soon. I had three years in my head as the absolute minimum he would serve; it’s barely been two and a half years . . .

  ‘But there’s been nothing in the papers saying he’s out.’ I am staring again at the photocopied page. ‘You’re seriously saying a teacher can seduce two underage girls and he’s out in a couple of years? And that’s not in the news?’

  ‘It’s not unusual – a sentence shortened for good behaviour. He’s on licence. Parole conditions. You know how it works.’ A pause, during which DI Sanders’ expression changes. ‘Though it’s a bit delicate at the moment. There’s going to be a press announcement soon.’

  ‘Why? What press announcement? You don’t seriously think he could be connected to any of this? These things happening to me?’ I can feel my chin pulling back into my neck. ‘Look. My evidence didn’t put Alex away. He has no reason to target me.’

  ‘Do you seriously not realise that he should be topping our list of possible suspects, Jennifer? You – an intelligent journalist. You are aware of what this man is capable of? Lying? Deceit? No moral compass. We specifically asked you if there were any ex-boyfriends we should look at. Anyone who might have a motive; who might be tricky.’

  I put my hands up to my head, a million thoughts suddenly swirling around my brain. I hadn’t mentioned Alex because I thought he was still in jail. And I wanted to pretend I had never known him; that I wasn’t this naive, stupid, gullible mug who was taken in by him.

  And now, hands still clutching my head, I am back in court suddenly, trying to remember the way he looked at me. Was there blame? Did he look like a man who might one day blame me? Turn on me?

  ‘No, no. I just don’t see it. He blamed the girl’s family. The one he ran off with. They were the ones who drove the prosecution and persuaded their daughter to give evidence. I genuinely had no idea what was going on. I looked a complete idiot, if you must know. And you’re right. He has no moral compass but I don’t see him as violent. Someone who would ever do the things this guy is doing.’

  ‘Prison can change people, Jennifer. They can make contacts and they can get steered in a darker direction. He’s had a long time to stew about this. We have to find him. And you have to start being one hundred per cent straight with me about everything.’

  ‘Find him?’ I feel my head pulling backwards again as I take this in. What does she mean – find him? I’d imagined they would have him in custody. If the police seriously suspect him, wouldn’t they want to immediately check alibis against my nightmare Wednesdays – inquiries which I strongly suspect will simply discount him.

  Suddenly the door to the interview room opens and a woman in civilian clothes steps in to whisper a message to DI Sanders, who nods. The other woman then leaves the room.

  ‘Your boyfriend Tom is here, Jennifer.’

  ‘I would prefer it if you called me Alice still. It’s my second name. My birth name. I’m Alice now.’

  ‘Well, we’ll see. I’m told Tom is throwing his legal weight around. He’s making a fu
ss at reception, demanding to see you. He’s been told that he will have to wait. I take it he knows all about this Alex? About your past? Your name change?’

  I move my left hand up to my ear, pulling at the lobe. I can feel my head sort of twitching. All the tension building inside me.

  I don’t want to think about Tom yet; about how the hell I’m going to explain myself to him. I am trying to deal with the echo of Melanie Sanders’ voice, which makes no sense.

  ‘Why did you say find him? Surely the probation service knows where Alex is?’

  CHAPTER 20

  ALICE – BEFORE

  After the concert finished – that night I met Alex – tea and coffee and cakes were served by a team of volunteers, supporting the charity. I glanced around, disappointed to find no option of wine. And then a tad guilty at the longing for a nice glass of Shiraz.

  I interviewed a few of the performers and a representative of the charity, all the while pretending that I was not aware of Alex watching me. He had that distinctive gaze of a man who is confident of his own attractiveness, and from across the room he was clearly willing me to look back at him. For as long as possible, I resisted. I planned instead to head home for that glass of wine.

  And then finally, as people began to drift away, he was suddenly beside me, leaning in to whisper, ‘Do you like dolphins, Jennifer?’

  ‘Jenny. Everyone calls me Jenny. And of course I like dolphins. Isn’t it illegal not to like dolphins?’

  ‘So, are you free now?’ He paused. ‘Or not?’

  I was entirely thrown by this. Up this close he smelled wonderful – expensive aftershave. Though I had been expecting an approach, I thought any invitation would be casual – for a drink one night in the future. I was not expecting this immediacy. I didn’t like that he was so sure of my interest, and tried to hold on to my resolve to play it cool; I tried to think of the delicious sound of pouring my glass of Shiraz at home.